My Fair Highlander (17 page)

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Authors: Mary Wine

BOOK: My Fair Highlander
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“Being unhappy does nae give her the right to attack ye. That is her fault.”
“I know.” Being mistress would mean making hard decisions. Ones that made her no friends. Yet that was the cost of making sure that a castle was run well. A noblewoman wasn't anything if her holding didn't run smoothly. If laziness was tolerated during the summer, there would be empty bellies in the dead of winter when the food stores ran dry. Gordon was charged with seeing to the protection of the castle, but she would be expected to make sure the kitchens ran smoothly and that her husband was not cheated by servants who failed to earn their pay.
That was the reason most men contracted a bride years before they intended to wed them. They wanted a woman who was raised to know the skills necessary for running a castle. Many a noble mother had dangled the account books of her own estate beneath the nose of a daughter's prospective groom, proving that her daughter came with expert knowledge on how to run an estate.
She realized she was looking forward to having the workload again. She had run Amber Hill for years until her brother brought his new bride home. It had been right to turn over the books and the authority to her, but that had left Jemma with even less to keep her from riding.
Another rap came from the door. Jemma hugged her arms around her bare chest and looked over her shoulder to see Vanora making her way into the chamber once more. A prickle of anxiety crossed her skin, raising it into gooseflesh. It was normal enough to have a midwife such as Vanora look at her before she went to her groom. An age-old practice that protected women from accusations of greedy men who wanted to collect dowries by claiming there was something wrong with their wives once the marriage was consummated. It could take years for divorces, and all of that time the dowry might be kept.
“Well, I can't look at ye with yer hands up like that.” Vanora made a motion with her hand. “Let me see ye, girl. Ye're not the first bride I've taken a look at. The sooner started, the sooner finished.”
It was a practical idea but one that Jemma found little comfort in. Vanora made a slow circle around her, her keen gaze sweeping her from head to toe.
“A good bath and ye should please the laird,” Vanora announced with an approving grin.
Ula pulled the baskets of coals out so that the bottom of the tub would not burn her. Jemma went into the water gratefully. At least it felt as if something was covering her, even if it was transparent.
Different pieces of soap were laid out on a small table near the tub. The aroma of flowers drifted up to her nose, and she reached out to pick one up. It was scented with rosemary. Jemma reached for another and discovered the smell of heather mixed in with the soap. The third one was spicy cloves from gillyflowers. She kept it and began to run it along her arm. Ula watched her with a keen eye, noticing every detail.
Another knock on the door and two maids entered. They didn't consider their presence during her bath anything to worry about. No one would think such a thing. Privacy was something only traitors and plotters craved to cover up their sins.
But she had become accustomed to being alone. Jemma bit her lower lip and sat still while Ula directed the maids to begin washing her hair. They worked carefully around the new stitches in her scalp while still more maids entered with the dresses Ula had spoken of. She closed her eyes but could hear the footsteps all around her. Nervousness and excitement brewed inside her until she was flooded with a combination of the two emotions. The sun seemed to be arching toward the west remarkably quickly today. Maids flowed in and out of the chamber. They brought her trays of food that she left untouched, and warmed cider that she only sipped. The dresses were tried on, and then more women appeared with their sewing boxes in hand to begin stitching quickly on the one that was selected.
A hush remained, and Jemma realized that she was the cause of it. The staff was waiting to see what sort of woman she was. No one wanted to be the one who chattered too much and gained the displeasure of the new mistress. Everything felt as if it was rushing too quickly toward the moment when she would be expected to make her choice.
You've already made it and you know it,
she told herself.
Knowing that didn't ease the tension. It tightened and filled her with anxiety while Ula brushed her hair until it shone. The dress was a soft blue silk with velvet edging. The neckline was square and the sleeve had thick cuffs that turned back to lay against her forearms. Ula looked at the hat that came with it but shook her head. It was a style once favored by Catherine of Aragon, built high to represent the desire to achieve heaven's favor.
“I don't understand the court fashions at times, but ye do nae need a hat since it is yer wedding day. It's a pity there is no ivy left, everything has turned to color now.”
“I don't need decorations.”
Ula nodded approvingly, and the housekeeper raised her voice just a bit when she answered so that every maid in the chamber was sure to hear.
“A wise thing that is, knowing that decorations are naught but a waste of resources.”
The last thing set out for her was a pair of silk slippers. Jemma stared at them for they appeared too fragile to be anything but a figment of her imagination. But she stopped before stepping into them.
“Gordon took my shoes away.” Saying the words awoke her temper—she was still quite displeased with the manner in which the man had tried to keep her inside his fortress. But her cheeks also heated with a blush as she recalled just what had happened when he took her boots off.
“I wouldn't be calling these shoes, they are more slippers, and pretty as they might be, they are quite useless for much more than supping and dancing.”
Of course, court ladies would have slid their slipper-clad feet into over-shoes that kept the delicate silk creations from being soiled on the way to their banquets. Costly Persian carpets would have been rolled out to cover the hallways so that they might step out of their over-shoes and onto carpet that would not mar their pretty slippers.
She wasn't going to wear them.
Turning around, she walked toward the table and picked up a hand mirror that lay there.
Was she pretty? She really had never contemplated the question. Her father had told her she was fair beyond all others, but he was her father.
“Ye will please the laird.” Ula spoke in a soft tone.
“Hmmm . . . perhaps.” Jemma placed the mirror carefully back on the table. “But will he please me?”
There was a collective gasp from everyone in the room except for Ula. The housekeeper held her silence for one long moment before erupting with laughter. She slapped the top of her skirts and continued to shake with amusement.
“I do believe the laird may have met his match. 'Tis a grand day indeed.”
 
Gordon couldn't recall when he'd been so nervous in the past. His shoulders tingled with the strain, every muscle tight with anticipation. Would she come? He debated the alternatives if she didn't appear.
But the truth was, he wanted Jemma to walk down to their wedding of her own free will. Part of him needed it more than he wanted to admit. Trying to tell himself she was a logical choice for a bride didn't change the fact that he yearned to see her submitting by choice.
That was something too many men didn't understand the value of. It was something that they failed to see in their own mistresses. Part of what drew them away from their marriage beds was the freely given affection a mistress offered. She embraced a man because she wanted to, not because of some contract. Many would tell him he was insane to want that from a wife, and there was a possibility that they were correct, but that wouldn't keep him from hoping. He looked toward the door and sighed when it remained empty.
He ground his teeth against each other and moved down the aisle. He wasn't abandoning his ideas, but he would have her tonight.
Even if that was outside the bonds of matrimony.
 
Jemma took a deep breath and tried not to turn and look at all the women watching her. She could feel their eyes on the back on her head, but she kept her pace slow and steady as she crossed the courtyard.
Gordon suddenly appeared at the doorway of the church, his face a mask of disgruntlement. She stopped, staring at that expression and trying to decide what to do next. Her firm decisions didn't hold up well against that dark expression. She stood in place, trying to recall what her reasons were for joining him.
But his eyes suddenly lit with joy. There was no other way to describe it. The emotion erupted clearly in those blue centers before his lips parted and his teeth flashed at her in welcome. He held out a hand with his palm up in invitation. Jemma took a step forward and frowned when she lowered her foot onto a sharp stone. His smile faded but not completely as he closed the distance between them.
“Are ye losing yer courage now when ye are so close? Where's the spirit that got ye this far, Jemma?”
“It is annoyed by being barefoot.” She kept her voice low so that her words did not drift to those watching. The men along the curtain wall had turned to witness the moment, and the priests filled in the doorway to the church while the nuns peeked through the stained glass windows.
Gordon's eyes filled with wicked merriment, something that she was beginning to understand was a major facet of his nature.
“Brides used to wed in their shifts to demonstrate their submission to their groom.”
His hand was still out, and she placed hers in it before digging her fingernails into his skin. He choked on his amusement.
“Well, I suppose that if you see naught wrong with every man seeing my body through the thin fabric of my chemise . . . I believe the light is just right to shine through and show every curve I have.”
“Barefoot is submissive enough.”
“Too much for me.”
His hand closed around her, and his expression became pensive. “Then why did ye come, Jemma? Somehow, I doubt it was my promise to return to yer bed even if I believe that ye know I mean to do exactly as I said.”
She raised her face and stared at the joy that was still glittering in his eyes. Her heart absorbed that single emotion and cradled it close.
“You are correct that I am not here because you promised to take my innocence tonight. Maybe I am here because you left me a virgin last night.” She offered him a guarded look. “It is possible that I do trust you even if I detest the idea of wedding you barefoot.”
“I rather like the notion.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “It means I'll be able to undress ye so much faster.”
She dug her fingernails into his skin once again, but the priest narrowed his eyes at them both.
“Are ye ready, lass?”
“As ready as I am ever going to be, I believe.”
Gordon took the first step, leading her by their joined hands toward the church and the priest waiting to bless their union. She forbade herself to think, trapping her emotions down beneath all the reasons why taking her vows was the correct thing to do.
And in an impossibly short amount of time, she was wed.
Chapter Seven
T
he Barras clan was waiting for them when they made their way out of the church. Jemma was astounded at the number of people crowded into the yard. They were straining to see her and Gordon, fathers lifting their sons up to sit on their shoulders while rows of children stood on the few wagons dotting the area. A cheer rose when they followed the priest out of the sanctuary. There had not been one inch of pew space left inside, either. The small procession that preceded them included the altar boys; one held up a crucifix and one held a small painting of the Virgin Mary. The priest followed while swinging the incense burner to spread the fragrant herbs over those who came to see their laird wed.
They were led all the way to the great hall and then inside. The priest remained until she and Gordon sat at the high table. The man gave a final blessing, and the hall erupted into cheers. Jemma couldn't contain her smile because there was just too much merriment surrounding her. The cheering died down and the music became louder, and her toe began tapping beneath the silk skirt of her dress.
“Ah, something that pleases ye.” Gordon reached out to capture her hand beneath the table. He gave it a soft squeeze. “I'll have to be remembering that.”
Large platters were brought toward them from the long tables in front of the hearths. The cook was turning back linens draped over the food to decide the order it was to be served in.
It was far more effort than she had anticipated. While she had been bathing, there must have been a flurry of activity in the kitchen.
Gordon squeezed her hand once again, and she turned to discover him watching her.
“Did ye think I'd just take ye upstairs straightaway without celebrating?”
Her cheeks heated because she had been completely focused on the next important part of marrying.
The consummation. Her mind offered up the fact that tonight she would do far more than feel his cock. She could expect her groom to remove his clothing. That idea deepened her blush, and the warm fingers clasping hers gently stroked her fingers.
“As much as I'm eager for that, lass, 'twould be a blackguard that did nae offer ye a wedding feast.”
“But there was so little time.”
He leaned in so that his words remained between them. “Aye, there was indeed, but look, Jemma, it seems that everyone is very eager to lend their effort to making tonight special for us.”
“I did not expect such, but thank you.”
One of his eyebrows arched arrogantly. “Have I given ye the impression that I do nae know how to celebrate, Jemma? Well, that is something that is going to have to change.”
His tone suggested that he was more serious than teasing. Her eyelids fluttered because it was another hint of tenderness she had no idea how to accept. He released her hand and a moment later cupped her chin to raise her face. His eyes simmered with happiness.
“I can see that it is definitely something I am going to have to work on proving to ye, for I care not for the fact that ye doubt me.”
“There has been little happiness between us.”
He tilted his head to the side. “Aye, well, it was a wee bit of an intense moment that I found ye in, Jemma.”
Another cheer went up, and Jemma turned to see that men were pushing the tables back to clear a large section of the floor. The moment they completed their task, couples flooded the area and began dancing. Several men and even some women were gathered together with their instruments to provide music for the dancers. There were handheld drums, flutes, violins, and Scottish bagpipes. They blended together in a lively offering of music that kept her toe tapping.
“Do ye play any instruments?”
“Yes . . .” Jemma stumbled over her response because she realized that Gordon was making an attempt to know her. It surprised her because she suddenly realized that she had never taken any time to attempt to talk to him, either.
“I play the mandolin. My father enjoyed the soothing sound very much.”
“Would ye play for me?”
Her lips tugged up at the corners, and she had to fight the urge to lower her lashes again.
Sweet virgin . . . she is simpering, he thought.
“If you like. Is it possible to have my things brought from Amber Hill?”
Gordon looked slightly uncomfortable for the first time. “Aye, 'tis something I should have seen to before, but I confess that I was distracted by ye too much to consider that ye had not even a clean chemise.”
“Ula brought me what I needed.”
He grimaced. “Aye, and slipped a few barbed words into me ear when she made mention of the fact.”
Jemma couldn't resist laughing. Just a low sound of amusement that gained her a scoffing sound from Gordon.
“Do nae start laughing at me. That woman knows how to strip the flesh off a man without muttering a single word that ye might be able to take offense at.”
“I have noticed that, but that is her experience rising above our own.”
“It is that, lass, I hope ye'll be considering that valuable.”
Jemma suffered another jolt of shock hitting her. He hoped? So the man was not going to usurp her authority when it came to the running of the house, even if he disagreed with her choices?
“I have never disrespected ye, Jemma.”
She snorted and lowered her voice. “You spanked me and took my shoes.”
He offered her a cocky smile, one that flashed his teeth at her.
“Now that was just playing, lass. I admit that placing my hand on yer bottom was quite enjoyable.”
“Playing?”
Jemma kicked him beneath the table, but her bare foot took more pain from the blow than his shin did with his knee-high boots to help protect him. He chuckled.
“Ye see? There is evidence as to what I am saying . . .” He leaned toward her and she was too curious not to do the same. There was something about the man that was far too hypnotic. “Ye like to play, too, which is why I indulge ye so often.”
Jemma pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes. “You toy with me too often, sir.”
His expression turned sensuous, and his eyes filled with dark promise. “I've only just started, lass, but it would be a poor groom I am to take ye above stairs the moment the priest finished the blessing. Ye might think I only think of two things in life, fighting and
riding.
”
Jemma smiled sweetly at him. “Do you mean to say that you do think of other things?” She kept her tone innocent and honey coated, exactly as her nurse had once instructed her.
He snorted and then laughed out loud. He tipped his head back and let his amusement bounce off the ceiling. Heads turned to glance at them, and Gordon picked up his tankard and raised it toward the assembled company.
They cheered and grabbed their own mugs, everyone tipping them back to drink long and deep. Gordon slammed his mug down and pushed his chair back.
“Come, wife! I want to dance with ye so that ye are too tired to lead me on a chase around our bed tonight.”
His words gained hearty approval from those who heard him, and they were happy to repeat what they heard to those who weren't close enough. Jemma blushed as the men all cheered on their laird and the women offered her tiny smirks.
“You are incorrigible.”
“Aye, lass, I am.”
But he still knew how to play, and that was something she realized she had missed. Amber Hill had been too structured, a necessity while her father was ill, but she couldn't recall the last time she had danced anything but slow pavans.
Gordon pulled her into the middle of the dance floor, and the music picked up its tempo. The dancing was Gaelic with some of the younger girls rising all the way up onto their toes. They pulled their skirts up to show off the quick motions of their feet, and the men roared with approval while clapping in time with the musicians. Everyone joined in, from the young to the old. Even Ula passed by, her skirts held in her hands while she wove in and out of the men. There was flirting and boldness such as Jemma had never seen in her dancing instructions. The dances were not the orderly Italian steps she had been taught in case she went to court. They were more like the ones danced at festivals outside the walls of Amber Hill.
Gordon pulled her along, but she took to the beat of the music well, reaching down to grasp her skirts and pulling them up as the young women had done. The stone floor was smooth and cool against her bare feet.
Ula danced by and caught her hand to pull her along. The housekeeper wove and dipped through the men while women joined them, forming a long line of linked hands. The musicians played faster, and Ula pulled Jemma toward the doorways. A snarl and growl rumbled from behind her, and she turned to see Gordon being held back by his clansmen.
But it was done with a great deal of jesting. Gordon would frown, but he couldn't maintain the harsh expression for more than a couple of seconds before his lips returned to smiling.
“Here now . . . I think he needs a bath, lads!” Kerry shouted over the noise the other men were making.
“A cold one!” someone else added.
Ula pulled her down the hallway before she heard any more. The noise coming from the hall became a blur of male excitement. But it was drowned out by the laughter of the women escorting her. They giggled and crowded around her, all the time sweeping her toward the stairs, but not the set that led to her chamber. They kept going until they entered the west tower. There they took her up the stairs, passing three floors before they pulled her into a chamber.
Without doubt, it was the laird's chamber.
A huge space, it took up the entire area between the walls of the tower. They were on the top floor, and the ceiling was covered with arches that made for a breathtaking view. Candles cast their flickering orange and scarlet light over the rugs covering the floor. Persian ones and also thick fur ones. The chamber itself was round, with glass windows set in all the way around it with only two-foot sections of stone to interfere. Thick curtains, which undoubtedly cost a huge amount of money, hung on either side of those windows.
She didn't get the chance to look at the room anymore. The older women clustered about her, gently unlacing her dress. They lifted her unbound hair up carefully while the silk and velvet garment was removed. The scent of rosemary touched her nose and the sweet fragrance of flowers. She could see the younger, unmarried girls pulling the heavy bed covering back to expose the sheets. They folded everything down to the foot of the bed, leaving only the creamy expanse of the bottom sheet. Vanora peered at it, reaching out to run her hand over the smooth surface before grunting with approval.
Jemma blushed and felt her limbs quiver. Nervousness assaulted her in a flurry, threatening to buckle her knees.
Vanora would be back at sunrise to look at that sheet. It was an ancient custom and one she had seen played out many times at the village that clustered around Amber Hill. When the merchant's daughters married, the next morning there would be a stained sheet hanging from the window of the house or there would be deep disgrace for the bride and her kin.
She didn't fear disgrace. No, the anxiety that flooded her came from the knowledge that there would be a stain on that sheet come the morning. For all the playfulness Gordon had displayed in the past couple of hours, it was passion that had led them to this night. He would have her, and his cock was no doubt hard with hunger right that very moment.
She sat down while someone brought a basin forward to wash her feet. Hushed bits of conversation drifted to her ears, but she was far too absorbed with contemplating her groom.
Cool water splashed over her toes, drawing her attention to the women eagerly preparing her for her wedding night. She'd missed out on helping brides in the past few years, and she discovered that her memories were those of a little girl, because as soon as her feet were rinsed and dried she was pulled to her feet and her chemise plucked right off her.
A soft sound of shock passed her lips. That drew more attention to her.
“Make a path for Vanora.”
The women tending her parted, and the old midwife crossed the floor toward her. Jemma tried to remain poised, but it felt impossible to remain still. She wanted to cover her breasts with her arms, but forced them to remain at her sides. She mustn't act as though she had anything to hide. Gossip was a vicious thing, and brides suffered from it more than others. If she refused to have the midwife inspect the entire chamber to her satisfaction, there might be talk that Jemma had hidden chicken's blood somewhere to stain the sheets.
The midwife stopped in front of her, and the chamber went silent. The women behind her lifted her hair to show there was nothing hidden. Jemma forced her hands to open wide, her fingers spreading for Vanora's gaze. It took every bit of nerve she had to remain still, but every wife in the room had tolerated the same on their wedding night, so she stood steady. She would not cringe like the pampered Englishwoman many of them called her behind her back. She would show them courage.

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