AS SOON AS she had realized what she had done—ran to Frederick and wrapped her arms around him and nestled her cheek into his chest—she thought it had been a fatal error in judgment. He had gone tense and pensive, standing there with his arms out at his sides. She hadn’t intended on hugging him, but when she had, something quite remarkable happened: she found that she desperately wanted him to return her gesture.
Not at any point in the past ten years did she have any desire for physical contact. The only person on this earth she ever touched, held or hugged, was Ailrig. Showing affection to him was as easy as breathing and took no thought. Ailrig was just a little boy, an innocent child brought into this world through circumstances that were not of his own making. Children were not a threat, nothing one had to protect oneself from. Children didn’t hurt you, at least not a-purpose.
Adults, however, were another story. Adults, or more specifically men, were something to be feared and not trusted. Men hurt. They brought no comfort in times of need or want. Men took what they wanted, when they wanted it without regard to feelings or consequence. And if by chance someone were to object to their actions or misdeeds, an immediate punishment would be doled out to the complainer. Oft nothing more than a slap to the side of one’s head. Other times, however, those punishments were prolonged and brutal.
Now here she stood, on the tower roof, holding on to Frederick Mackintosh as if he were the only thing keeping her from falling into a wide, deep chasm. And she found she liked it and that was rather unsettling.
What puzzled her further was how she felt when he did not immediately return her embrace. She worried she’d done something horribly wrong. Mayhap he had no desire for a physical relationship with her. Mayhap he couldn’t see beyond the scars or her stutter. Mayhap he only meant for them to have an amicable relationship and nothing more. It left her feeling bereft and sad which was just as unusual. It wasn’t like her to crave human contact, but crave it she did.
Believing she’d done something wrong by allowing a brief moment of happiness to loosen the bonds of her normal restraint born out of self-preservation, she was about to apologize for acting a fool when he said her name. And when he asked for permission—permission— to wrap his arms around her, her heart and stomach flipped in unison from a blend of surprise and glee. He asked. He didn’t take, didn’t assume, didn’t demand. He asked.
She did not immediately answer for many reasons. One of them being she was not sure she had heard him correctly and had to stop to run what she had thought she’d heard him say over in her mind a few times. When it finally dawned on her that he had in fact asked her permission to wrap his arms around her she was stunned, happy, confused, and amazed. She had to swallow back the tears that threatened to burst forth before she could finally answer.
Strong arms—and not the kind he’d use to hurt her—wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her closer to him. Warmth, strength, and most importantly safety radiated from his arms and wrapped themselves around her like a cocoon.
She had lost her faith in God years ago. Seriously doubted His existence. Didn’t believe there was a heaven but knew without question that hell was real and she’d been living deep within its bowels for more than a decade. Hell was a living nightmare and turmoil its companion.
But here in Frederick’s arms?
Peace.
Peace, comfort, safety, bliss, all those wondrous sensations she had lost faith in over the years. Those were the things she found here in the comfort of his arms, could practically feel it in the beat of his heart against her cheek. Mayhap this was what heaven felt like.
Mayhap God was real. It was too soon to tell, of course. But now, she was at least willing to open her heart as well as her mind to the idea.
FREDERICK HAD NO sense of time passing as he stood on the tower roof holding his wife against his chest. Whether time stood still—or, mayhap, it had finally begun, like the inner workings of his heart—he neither knew nor cared. Time could stop or go on, as long as he could remain here, holding Aggie. Aye, they had been married for a few weeks, but now, they had crossed a threshold. A new beginning emerged on the horizon and it held the promise of many glorious things. Frederick supposed he could not be happier than he was at this moment.
“F-frederick?” Aggie asked, her voice muffled against his chest.
He caressed the top of her head with his cheek. “Aye?”
She pulled away ever so slightly and looked up and into his eyes. He took note of her brown eyes with flecks of gold in them—surrounded by thick, dark lashes—sparkling in the late morning sun. Little wisps of her dark brown hair blown by the breeze clung to her cheek. Her nose was long and slender, not perky but not bulbous either. Her lips were pink and looked to be made strictly for the purpose of kissing.
Casting her eyes to the ground, she asked, “W-would ye like to k-kiss me?”
Hope soared! Kiss ye? ’Tis all I’ve been thinkin’ about fer days now. He didn’t feel he should come right out and say exactly what was and had been on his mind. “Are ye certain?”
Without looking up, she nodded her head slowly. “’Tis yer right,” she answered nervously.
Hope disappeared in the blink of an eye. Instantly, he felt angry. Letting go of her he stepped away. “Me right? Nay,” he gave a shake of his head. “Nay! I told ye before, ’tis no’ a right that I’ll be takin’, Aggie! I’ll no’ do that to ye, I promised ye that.”
“B-but,” she began to plead.
Frederick turned away from her and began walking toward the ladder. “Nay, Aggie,” he tossed over his shoulder. “I be no’ that kind of man, one who takes what is no’ his, just because he believes he has a right to it!” His anger continued to grow. She had lumped him in with all the ignoble and disgraceful men she had known in the past. By God’s teeth he was not one of them! He’d not do to her what others before him had.
“F-frederick!” she called after him.
He stopped at the chimney stacks, spun around and glared at her. “Aggie, I be no’ mad at ye. I be mad at the men ye knew before me, the ones who—” He stopped and shook his head in dismay. “Me right? Nay, Aggie. ’Tis no’ me right.”
Worried he would not be able to control the fury that coursed through his veins when he thought of all that had been done to her, he left her then. She had seen enough anger in her lifetime. She did not need to see him in such a state, not after what had just passed between them.
CERTAIN SHE WAS that her husband had no interest in a physical relationship with her, at least anything beyond a friendly hug, Aggie’s had no idea what to do next. Frederick had been so angry when he left her on the rooftop that she worried he would want naught to do with her at all.
She also worried he would no longer offer her the protection of guards. An uneasy feeling crept into her stomach as she descended the ladder and found no one waited for her on the small landing. Feeling abandoned and alone for the first time in weeks she found that old constant companion—fear—rear its ugly head. If Mermadak caught wind that her guards had been removed and that she was once again defenseless, she’d not be safe anywhere.
Her heart pounded mercilessly in her chest as she slowly made her way down the narrow and winding staircase. Come now, Aggie! She chastised herself. Ye survived all these years without a husband or guards. Stop actin’ like a fool. ‘Tisn’t like yer da be waitin’ fer ye around every corner and turn.
Still unaccustomed to someone other than Rose or Ailrig who cared for her safety—no matter the reasons behind it—she decided for the first time in a very long while not to worry over it. At least not too much. She’d be vigilant and alert at all times, guards or no.
Willing her nerves to settle, she pulled her head up and made her way down the stairs. Determined to survive, with or without the aid of husband or guards she paused on the last step and took a deep breath.
She nearly jumped out of her own skin when she stepped into the hallway. Though frightened half to death, she found
herself to be much relieved to find Rognall and Peter waiting for her. Both men looked as surprised as Aggie felt.
“We beg yer pardon, mistress,” Rognall said with a cautious smile. “We didna mean to startle ye so.”
Aggie could do nothing but offer him a nod of her head as she held her hands to her breast. Scurrying away like a dog just chased from out of the chicken coop, she race to her bedchamber. Once inside, she shut the door and leaned against it, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
Frederick had not abandoned her completely. He would still be kind enough to keep her guarded at all times. He simply did not have any desire for a physical relationship, at least not one born of passion or love.
Why did that realization leave her feeling cold and uncertain? Until the moment Frederick had wrapped his arms around her, she would have sworn that any type of intimacy between herself and any man was an impossibility. Not once in the past ten years did she desire so much as a kiss from any man. The thought had always repulsed her and memories of that horrid summer day would crash into her mind and flood her heart with fear, dread and disgust.
But now? Why did she suddenly find herself wishing mayhap for something more? Had Frederick not done enough already with his offers of protection and outward displays of kindness? And what on earth had he done to make her of all people, want more? When, how and why had that happened? Was it simply nature taking hold saying she needed to feel these things in order to be a good wife and give her husband bairns? Aggie had more questions than answers. The only thing she knew with any amount of certainty was that something inside her had changed. She did want Frederick to kiss her. At least once and if only to learn what it might be like to be kissed by someone who cared about her.
Tears threatened, for she was uncertain exactly how she felt about that understanding.
Taking a deep breath, she shook her hands as if that alone could remove the pounding from her heart and set to pacing around her bedchamber. Frederick’s robe was draped over the end of the bed. She’d yet to see him wear it but could well imagine how distinguished he must look in it. She remembered the first time he had draped it around her shoulders, fussing over her comfort, worried she would catch a chill and succumb to a fever. Now, she donned the robe after each bath or whenever she felt chilled.
A warm smile lit on her face. She picked the robe up and buried her face in it. Inhaling deeply, it smelled of the lilac-scented soap Frederick had given her. There was no trace of him to be found in the robe. Mayhap he had told the truth when he said he never wore it. It had been a gift from his mother—his stepmother to be more precise, one he thought not very useful for a man.
She returned the robe to the end of the bed. With her arms wrapped around her stomach, she walked into the tiny room they used to store their clothing. Most of Frederick’s clothes were stored in trunks, while Aggie’s growing wardrobe of dresses hung from pegs that lined the walls. She could now call five dresses her own, all with matching slippers and veils. Aggie very much felt like a queen when she donned the luxurious dresses that Rose had made with such loving care.
Aggie smiled again, thinking of the day Frederick had given her the very first dress. It hung on a peg next to the pale blue gown he’d presented to her just days ago. Sudden awareness dawned. She looked down at herself. She was wearing her old and worn brown dress, the one with all the patches. Aggie knew she must look a frightful mess and wondered if that wasn’t part of the reason Frederick had turned down her offer.
Nay, she thought solemnly, elegant dresses or no, yer still just Aggie McLaren.
Nineteen
MUCH TO AGGIE’S vexation, Frederick did not join her for the noonin’ meal. She had hoped for a chance to discuss what had—or hadn’t—happened between them on the roof. Instead, he sent Rose in his place with an explanation that he was busy with duties and that he would see her later for the evening meal.
Rose turned her lips inward to keep from laughing out loud once Aggie had explained why she was upset with her husband.
“So, what bothers ye more, Aggie?” Rose asked as she poured each of them a mug of tea. “That he refused to kiss ye or that ye found ye wanted him to?”
Aggie pursed her lips together, perturbed with her friend’s ability to find humor in her discomfit. She remained mute, quietly sipping on her tea. Since Aggie had never told Rose about that day in the glen all those years ago she had no idea why this situation was so difficult. Nor could she understand why these new feelings were so awkward. Oh, how she wished her mother was still alive. While Rose was her dearest, if only, friend, there were still subjects Aggie could not discuss with her. Her mother on the other hand, would have been the one person who could have understood and mayhap have helped.
“Aggie, there be no shame in wantin’ yer husband to kiss ye,” Rose offered with a smile. “He’s a braw man, very pleasin’ to the eye. I believe I’d be wantin’ his kisses too, were he me own husband.”
Aggie had to admit that she agreed with Rose. Frederick was a fine looking man. But he was so much more than muscles, white teeth, and hazel eyes that twinkled. He was a good man. Kind, decent and generous as well as honorable.
“Do ye worry over yer scars, Aggie?” Rose asked softly, breaking the strained silence.
Aggie let loose with a sigh of discontent. “Aye,” she said. “I d-do.”
“I wouldna worry over it much, Aggie. I’ve seen how Frederick looks at ye.”
Aggie quirked an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “How d-do ye mean?”
Rose giggled. “Like a hungry man lookin’ at a slab of venison roastin’ on a spit and he canna wait to dig into it.”
Aggie had to giggle at Rose’s description. She had spent far more time with Frederick than Rose had and not once did she ever take note of such a look. Deciding that Rose was merely trying to make her feel better, she changed the subject.
“And wh-what of Ian?” Aggie asked, knowing full well that Rose liked the young man, even if she refused to admit it.
Rose’s smile quickly evaporated. “There be no use tryin’ to change the subject. We be discussin’ yer husband and how ye can get him to kiss ye.”
Aggie shook her head. “I think y-ye like him.”
Rose looked disgusted by the idea. “He’s an arrogant man, too full of himself to be of use to anyone. I do no’ like him.”
Aggie wasn’t so sure her friend spoke the truth. Since Frederick and his brother had arrived, hardly a conversation between Aggie and Rose took place without Rose mentioning Ian. “B-but ye must admit he is a b-braw man.”
“I have to admit no such thing,” Rose said tersely as she glared at Aggie.
Aggie returned the glare.
A long moment passed with the two women glaring at one another. Aggie was the first to break countenance, and in no time, she was rolling with laughter. Soon, Rose was overcome with laughter as well.
“Och!” Rose exclaimed. “Did ye ever think a time would come where we would be sittin’ over tea talkin’ about men?”
“N-nay, I d-did no’!” Aggie answered between giggles.
HIS FURY RAGED on. Not toward his wife, but toward the men who had been in her life. Since he could not go in search of every man that had ever wronged his wife and filet them like a salmon, he did the next best thing. After leaving his wife on the rooftop, he went in search of Rose and asked her to dine with Aggie. Next, he pulled his men away from keep repairs to go spar in the fields. Training offered him a way to channel his anger and work out his frustrations.
It took no great level of mental intellect to determine that Frederick was upset about something. Ian was the first to call him on it. Unfortunately for Ian, he chose the most inopportune moment; while his brother was armed.
They’d been sparring against one another for more than a quarter of an hour. Covered in sweat and mud while the sound of metal clanging against metal rung through the warm afternoon air. Frederick had thrust his sword toward Ian’s right arm. Ian answered by g
rabbing hold of Frederick’s sword arm and pulled him into his chest. Chest to chest, arms locked, neither man willing to relent.
“Brother,” Ian grunted as he finally pushed Frederick away. “Ye seem upset this day.”
Panting, sweating, they circled one another for a time. Frederick’s scowl deepened as he thrust his broadsword once again toward his brother’s arm. Ian spun out of the way just before the tip of the broadsword could make contact.
“Be it yer wife that has ye so flustered?” Ian chided playfully.
“Shut yer mouth and fight,” Frederick ordered as he continued to thrust and jab.
Ian smiled deviously as he called out to the men who had come to watch the two brothers do battle. “I was right! It be his bonny wife that has him out of sorts!”
A deep growl formed in Frederick’s throat as he took his sword in both hands and sliced the air, just missing Ian’s stomach by the width of a hair. But in his zealousness to best his younger brother, Frederick lost his footing and stumbled, catching himself before he could fall to the ground.
Ian’s eyes widened incredulously. Frederick never stumbled. Ian was not so arrogant as to believe he had bested his brother, had outwitted him, or outfought him. Nay, the credit belonged to Aggie. Or the blame.
Frederick quickly righted himself, his face burning red with embarrassment as well as ire.
“Mayhap we should stop fer the day, brother,” Ian offered, lowering his sword ever so slightly as he took a few steps back.
“Why?” Frederick seethed. “Do ye grow tired?”
Ian chuckled. “Nay, but I fear ye do.”
They began again, to circle one another like lions preparing to pounce. Ian waited patiently, knowing his brother’s thoughts were not here, where they should be. Having his mind preoccupied could prove very dangerous, for Frederick and anyone else around him.
Frederick's Queen: The Clan Graham Series Page 21
