“Chasing after her already like she’s a bitch in heat,” Myrna snapped. Padraig stared at Myrna for a long moment before he took her arm and steered her toward the keep in silence. Myrna and Micheil both described Cairren the same way, but the only one who seemed like a bitch was Myrna.
Chapter Six
The bluidy bastard can’t keep his hands off her. He must have bolted to find her the moment he left his father’s solar. Then easy as you please, they’re standing together where anyone can see them. As though his entire clan doesn’t ken his betrothed arrived today, he’s standing there clinging to her. I understand, plain and simple. I’m not simple. Cairren kept her smile in place as she sat beside Padraig at the evening meal. With the announcement of the wedding the next day, it forced Mary to seat Cairren beside her son, but the older woman kept casting withering glares at Cairren and heaving pitying sighs when she looked at Padraig.
Despite sharing a trencher, the betrothed couple appeared to barely notice one another. Cairren spoke softly to Collette through most of the meal, even speaking once or twice with Wynda, but she never looked at Padraig. He wanted to offer her an apology, but he wasn’t certain what he would apologize for. Would it be the incredibly rude comments his mother and —he didn’t even know how to think of Myrna—made when the Kennedys arrived? Would it be the way Myrna clung to him whenever she could? Would it be the disgusting things Cairren hadn’t even heard Myrna and Micheil say? Or would it be his cowardice for not being able to talk to her even though they sat shoulder-to-shoulder? He swallowed and made his first foray into a peace offering.
“Would you care for more duck, my lady?” Padraig whispered to Cairren. He watched her eyes drop to their trencher, where a pile of duck still sat on her side.
“Thank you, no.” Cairren’s tone was polite but cold.
“Perhaps more wine?” Padraig tried again. He watched Cairren bite her lip as if she was steeling herself for whatever would come next.
“I am well. I have more than enough to eat and drink, but I thank you all the same.” Cairren’s accent, a blend of Scots and French, intrigued Padraig. He caught himself wondering what he could mention that would draw her into conversation just so he could listen.
“I imagine the weather made the journey rather arduous.”
“It did on the days it rained. On the days it didn’t, it was pleasant.”
Padraig wracked his brain for another topic, since something as banal as the weather didn’t elicit much of an answer. Perhaps I should ask her a question. A question other than if she wants more food. I havenae a clue what a safe topic is at this point.
“Would you tell me aboot your time at court?” Padraig assumed this would be something she could speak at length about since she lived there for three years. But he watched Cairren’s expression, and he could tell her instinct was to say no.
“It was interesting,” Cairren paused, unsure of what to say next. “I hadn’t met the king or queen before I arrived, and I knew no one there. I recognized the names of a few ladies-in-waiting. Most are Lowlanders, so some were neighbors, but Dunure is rather isolated, being on the coast. I had traveled little before joining the court. Now I have seen much of Scotland since I’ve accompanied the queen on summer progress.”
“It is certainly different from being on one’s clan territory. What did you find most different at court from being at home?” Padraig began to feel more confident since he elicited more than one sentence at a time from Cairren, but he caught his breath as she turned to stare at him. The hurt in her eyes was so penetrating that he didn’t know where to look.
“How unwelcome I was,” Cairren whispered.
“Lass—” Padraig was at a loss for words. Rather than smooth things over, he’d ripped open an unhealed wound. “I—That was thoughtless. I’m sorry.” His words sounded lame to his own ears, but he didn’t know what else to say.
“There is naught to be done aboot it, and you couldn’t have known. Think no more on it,” Cairren’s voice was strong, but Padraig noticed her chin tremble as she forced out the words. He glanced at his family, and shame washed over him as he considered how their behavior must have mirrored what Cairren had already endured once.
“Would you take a walk with me after the meal?” Padraig prayed he’d have a nimbler wit once they were not surrounded by so many people.
“No. I don’t think that’s wise.”
“Why not? We’re betrothed and marrying tomorrow.”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t understand.”
Cairren turned an exasperated face to him, and he could tell she clenched her jaw. “I would prefer not to spell it out to you.”
“I’m afraid you must because I’m not following.”
“No one wants me here. They all wish you were marrying Myrna tomorrow rather than—what was it—someone so brown. If they discover you’ve taken me for a walk, they will despise me even more for what they’ll assume is me seducing you, and they will resent you for turning away from Myrna. It’s best that we don’t.”
“We should talk, Cairren,” Padraig pressed. It was the first time he’d spoken her name aloud without the honorific, and he liked how it felt rolling off his tongue.
“No, we shouldn’t. At least not tonight. We have a lifetime ahead of us to talk.”
“Are you always so disagreeable?” Padraig muttered.
“Are you always so naïve?” Cairren returned. Padraig opened his mouth to respond, but Cairren lifted her palm off the table, signaling him to wait. “I’m not trying to be disagreeable, Padraig. You’re the only person who’s been…” Cairren didn’t know how to describe Padraig’s welcome. It hadn’t been warm, but neither had it been hostile. “It would be unwise of me to create any more animosity. Eventually, it will spill over to you.”
“You’re protecting me?” Padraig was aghast.
“Call it experience hard learned. You would do well not to be caught in the storm's eye. I’m here to serve a purpose. Neither of us needs to pretend it’s aught else. I brought a dowry, and I will bear your children.” Cairren swept her eyes over the diners seated at long tables beneath the dais. She glanced down at her hands and flinched. “Perhaps we shall settle on I brought a dowry.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Cairren’s gray eyes met Padraig’s, and once more he recognized hurt in her gaze. But this seemed soul deep. He watched her swallow several times before she felt composed enough to speak. “Perhaps it would be best if I didn’t bear you any children. In a few years, you can claim I’m infertile and set me aside. Perhaps you’ll be able to have the marriage you want.” Cairren glanced at Myrna before returning her gaze to Padraig. “They might be brown like me.”
Padraig sat back, the wind let out of his sails. He hadn’t considered what their children might look like, not even when his father spoke of her polluting their bloodline. His eyes swept over Cairren’s clear complexion, noticing a smattering of freckles on her nose. Her brows were finely etched as if each hair had been placed just so. Her lips were plump and glistened from when she licked them before speaking. While he understood the ramifications of having a wife who didn’t resemble anyone in his clan, he couldn’t deny that she was beautiful and would likely one day have beautiful children. He wondered if all of her would be the same bronze hue or if she were paler under her clothes. He realized that he was more curious about the contrast and being able to see her undressed than hoping that she would have lighter skin.
The longer he gazed at her, the less he cared about her skin color. But he doubted anyone else in his clan would have the same reaction. He’d seen how many of the men looked at her, and it set him on edge. He could only describe it as leering, but he’d watched Cairren pretend not to notice, and it saddened him to realize that she was accustomed to such lecherous behavior. The men appreciated her beauty and the desire it stirred, but Padraig knew none of them respected her. Once more he felt trapped in the middle. He realized he’d
sat quiet too long when Cairren dipped her chin and returned her focus to the uneaten food on her side of the trencher.
“We will only say you’re infertile if it proves to be true,” Padraig said.
“You can’t mean you’re willing to risk…” Cairren couldn’t say it again. It tore at her to acknowledge that if she had children, no one would see it as a blessing other than her.
“Did your father see having children with your mother as a risk?” Padraig prodded.
“He loves her,” Cairren whispered. She couldn’t continue this conversation. The musicians tuning their instruments as the servants pushed the last tables to the sides increased her need to escape. “Excuse me.”
Cairren pushed back her chair, grateful she sat on the end and could step off the dais without drawing attention. She attempted to make her way to the stairs, but too many people were milling around for her to cut a direct path. As she wound through the crowd of Munros, she caught the snide comments and disdainful glares. She kept her chin up and back straight as she tried to navigate the least congested parts of the Great Hall.
“Hope his cock doesn’t shrivel up after touching that quim,” Cairren heard a man’s voice.
“Nay. He’s a lucky bastard. Perhaps she’ll swive us once he’s through with her. Her whoring type can never get enough.” Another man’s voice carried to her along with the laughter that followed. But suddenly, Cairren was surrounded by silence. She looked over her shoulder and caught sight of Padraig’s murderous glare. For a moment she feared he directed it at her for causing a stir, but when he narrowed his eyes at a man standing beside Cairren, she realized he must have heard what she had.
“Rest assured, I don’t share what is mine,” Padraig growled. What he heard disgusted him, but it mortified him that Cairren heard it too. “You two have just earned yourselves a moon of mucking out the motte. Anyone who feels the need to voice similar opinions will find themselves knee deep in shite.”
Padraig wrapped his arm around Cairren’s shoulders and steered her toward the massive doors that led to the bailey. He hadn’t trusted his clan not to harass, even harm, Cairren as she tried to leave the Great Hall. He had been right not to. He never imagined he would hear such filth directed at a lady, and he was certain the men were aware she could hear. He was sure that was exactly why they’d spoken. They’d painted the gentle lady at his side as little more than a tavern whore. Call it experience hard learned. Cairren’s words rang in Padraig’s ears, and he realized Cairren was far too familiar with the insults spewed around them.
As soon as the doors closed behind them, Cairren refused to budge. “You shouldn’t be out here. You need to go back inside.”
“Would you let me worry aboot myself for a while? I’m not a child. I can choose for myself where I go and with whom I go.” Padraig found himself pulling Cairren’s Kennedy plaid over her shoulders before he realized what he was doing. He had a flash of an image of Cairren wrapped in a Munro plaid; Padraig was unsettled by how right it seemed. “It’s chilly.”
Cairren watched as Padraig turned away and proceeded down the steps, assuming she would follow, but she refused. She would return to the Great Hall before anyone could claim they’d slipped away together. The cool northern night air eased much of the tension between Cairren’s shoulders as she inhaled deeply. She turned her face toward the stars and searched for her favorite constellations. Her father often sailed and had taught her about how the stars were a navigation tool. She oriented herself to the south, looking off into the distance as though she might spy Dunure all the way from the Highlands. When Padraig returned to her side, she felt too depleted to reject the embrace he offered. She rested her cheek against his chest. She began to relax but the memory of seeing him in the same position with Myrna only hours earlier had her reeling back, shaking her head.
“I’m not who you wish to be out here with. I’m less than a poor substitute. I’ll go back inside.” Cairren turned away, but Padraig grasped her arm. Unlike the Armstrong representative who waylaid her at Stirling Castle, Padraig’s grip wasn’t punishing. Just the opposite. It was gentle, and Cairren knew she could pull away, but she found she didn’t want to. The fight had gone out of her, and she was suddenly too exhausted from the months of anxiousness, the interminable journey, and the open hostility. She just wanted to climb into bed and close her eyes.
“How do you know who I want to be here with? Have you asked? Do I look like I want to be somewhere else?”
“You will when Myrna finds you.”
“Let me worry aboot that.” Padraig was firm.
Cairren’s laughter held no mirth. “You haven’t spent the past three years surviving the social politics of a hoard of young women who are mercilessly competitive. She may be displeased with you, but I will pay for this.”
“You don’t know Myrna. She’s not like that.” But even as he defended his beloved, Padraig feared Cairren was right.
“You defend the woman you love to the woman you’re marrying.” Cairren crossed her arms.
“I do love Myrna. I may not be able to offer you my heart, but I can offer you the protection of my name and fidelity.”
“That’s laughable at best.” Cairren’s lip curled. “Fidelity? You mean coming to my bed at night while spending your days, cow-eyed and lovestruck, with the woman you want. How long will that last? Just don’t seek me out when you smell of her.”
“That’s unfair,” Padraig protested.
“Unfair? To you? Let me guess what she said to convince you she should stay and witness our wedding. She can’t believe you’d abandon her. That it will devastate her to be away from you. That she can’t live without you. That she just needs time to find a way for you to be together.” Cairren waived a dismissive hand in front of her. “I’ve heard that drivel from desperate women more times than I have fingers and toes. But it still surprises me how many men believe it. Though I can’t say you surprise me at all. You’re wholly predictable.”
Cairren turned away, but Padraig’s arms drew her back against his broad chest. His heated palm rested on her belly, wide enough to cover most of her abdomen. He leaned in to whisper beside her ear. “That is a future you concocted. I will swear my oath before God, and I will keep it.”
“You may claim you’ll be faithful, but you don’t deny Myrna made those pleas to you.”
“So what if she did? You will be my wife by this time tomorrow.”
Before Cairren could respond, he eased her around and cupped her jaw, bringing his mouth within a hair's breadth of hers. When she didn’t pull away, his lips brushed hers before pressing more firmly. His tongue pressed against the seam of her lips twice, but she did little more than part them, making Padraig realize Cairren was more innocent than he realized and didn’t understand what he wanted. He used his thumbs to press down on her jaw, coaxing her to open for him. When his tongue swept across the satiny depths, Cairren stilled. She didn’t pull away, but Padraig suspected she didn’t know what to do. Possessiveness unlike anything he had experienced before swept over him as he realized that no man before him had enjoyed the drugging effects of Cairren’s kisses.
She tentatively twirled her tongue with his, a gasp of surprise confirming Padraig’s suspicions. He could recall every moment of his first kiss with Myrna as though he were sharing it with her again rather than kissing Cairren. He never recalled Myrna being as hesitant. He’d assumed her eagerness came from curiosity and long-restrained want, but as he thought about it, Myrna seemed to have known exactly what to do, her mouth open and ready to receive his tongue even before the kiss began.
His hands were almost wider than Cairren’s narrow frame, and he feared for a moment that she wouldn’t be able to manage coupling with him, let alone bear children. But he groaned as his hand cupped her backside while the other slid along her ribs until it captured the swell of her breast. He marveled at how such a slender woman had such lush curves hidden beneath her gown. He noticed how easy it was to hold her ag
ainst him even when he had to stoop to reach her. Cairren came to the middle of his chest, and as he held her, he had a surging sense of protectiveness blended with desire that surpassed any he’d felt with other women. He’d been attracted to the women he’d been with between the sheets, against walls, even in haystacks, but the need to bury himself within a woman had never consumed him as it did now. His aching cock throbbed behind his sporran. It tempted him to push the pouch out of the way and let his sword press against her sheath. He’d long believed that he would never desire a woman more than Myrna, but he found his body ached for Cairren with an insistence he doubted he could ever satiate.
Footsteps behind him in the bailey brought Padraig back to reality, and as he looked around, he realized the torches blazing near the doors would have illuminated everything he did to the men on the battlements. His broad shoulders might have hidden Cairren, but they didn’t hide his obvious movements as his hands explored her body. Shame washed over him, knowing the men would believe his actions represented his view of Cairren: she was little more than the whore the men in the Great Hall had called her if the laird’s son pawed at her in plain sight. As he watched Cairren bring her fingers to her lips, as though still shocked by the kiss they shared, he recalled once again that Myrna had never seemed so innocent and transfixed by any of their early kisses, and he had a moment of niggling doubt that Myrna had more experience than he’d believed. When Cairren gasped again, it wasn’t the breathy sound of surprise. It was disgust. She covered her mouth with her hands and shook her head.
Cairren felt lightheaded and drugged as the world fell away around them while she shared her first kiss. Her head seemed to float above her body, all of her senses but touch dulled. But when she pulled away and noticed Padraig’s distant stare, her world crashed to smithereens around her.
“Even now you’re thinking of her. Picturing being with her rather than stuck here with me.” Cairren’s expression was so filled with loathing that Padraig wanted to turn away rather than accept the shame that flooded him. “Consummate this marriage, then leave me the hell alone.”
An Enemy at the Highland Court: An Enemies to Lovers Highlander Romance (The Highland Ladies Book 5) Page 5
