by Lynsay Sands
“Probably gathering his medicinals,” Alick said with unconcern as he moved up beside him on the side where Dwyn’s bare feet hung over his arm.
Geordie debated what to do. Aulay was at the table and he wanted to speak to him, but he had no idea where Rory would want to look at Dwyn’s feet. It could be her room, or Jetta might suggest taking her to the master chamber to tend them there again. He was trying to decide whether to carry her to the table or take her directly above stairs when Dwyn gasped and gave a startled laugh.
Glancing down he noted the way she was blushing.
“Ye’re ticklish,” Alick said with amusement, and Geordie glanced to his brother to see that he had lifted Dwyn’s foot by her big toe so that he could look at her injuries. Alick then shifted his hold to clasp her by the back of her foot and lifted her leg higher. His smile immediately died, and he murmured, “My, ye did do yerself some damage. Is the other foot as bad?”
“Most o’ them are surface cuts,” Dwyn said quickly as he raised her second foot to examine it as well. “I did no’ even need stitches.”
Disliking Alick touching her so familiarly, Geordie glowered at him, and then started walking again, deciding the table would do for now. He was impatient to speak to Aulay and get the wedding arrangements in place. He wanted to marry her quickly, today even, and would not be talked into waiting to hold some grand celebration once every one of his siblings and their mates could travel here. He’d resort to handfasting with Dwyn, if necessary, and marry her later, but he was not waiting to bed her. He simply couldn’t. Not after tasting her passion in the orchard.
Geordie liked to think he was a good lover, but he’d never had a woman come apart under his attention as Dwyn had. The woman was as open and honest with her passion as she was in everything else, and he was nearly rabid with the need to bed her. But he was determined she understand her worth to him. He wanted her married to him, or at least handfasted, so that she understood how much he valued her, how much he wanted her, but also how much he was coming to care for her.
Pausing as he reached the head of the trestle tables, Geordie hesitated and frowned, unsure where to set her. He didn’t want to set her on the bench and let her unbandaged feet rest in the rushes, but—
“Set her on the tabletop,” Aulay said, seeming to realize the issue.
“Oh, nay!” Dwyn protested, but Geordie was already sitting her on the table so that her feet could rest on the bench.
“We canno’ have yer feet in the rushes, lass,” he pointed out solemnly as he slid his arms out from under her. “They’re unwrapped and like to get infected.”
Dwyn did not protest further, but merely sighed with resignation.
Pleased that she wasn’t arguing or fussing, Geordie bent and kissed her nose. It wasn’t until he straightened and noticed the surprise on her face, and then glanced around to see the interest on his brothers’ faces, that Geordie realized what he’d done. Shrugging, he told Aulay, “I would have a word with ye.”
“Aye.” Aulay stood at once even as Alick settled on the bench next to Dwyn’s feet and grinned up at her.
“No’ yet,” Geordie said, waving Aulay back to his seat. “After Rory returns and I carry Dwyn to wherever it is he wants to examine her.”
“Alick can do that,” Aulay pointed out.
“Aye,” Alick said, popping up off the bench at once. “I’d be pleased to carry—”
“Ye’re no’ touching her,” Geordie barked. “So get that out o’ yer head and sit yer arse down.” He waited until Alick had sat down, and then turned to Aulay to find his brother eyeing him with interest. When Aulay’s gaze shifted to Dwyn, Geordie followed his gaze to her and he frowned when he saw the concern on her face. She was obviously confused by what was going on, and starting to fret.
“Everything is fine,” he assured her in a soft voice. “Just rest here a minute.”
When she relaxed a little, he waved at Aulay to follow and walked over to stand near the doors to the kitchen. Turning to face his brother, he opened his mouth, and then paused, searching for where to start.
Before he could figure it out, Aulay asked, “Have ye slept with her?”
“Nay,” Geordie snapped, glad he hadn’t and could answer that honestly. “But I’m marrying her.”
“I’m glad,” Aulay said at once, not seeming terribly surprised. “I like her. So does Jetta.”
Geordie smiled faintly at the words. “She’s a smart, sweet, honest and lovely lass who laughs as easily as most lassies weep.”
“Aye,” Aulay began. “Well, then, we should—”
“She’s worth more than all the other women here combined,” Geordie added.
“Her father—” Aulay tried again.
“I’ve never met a more sensitive lass either,” Geordie informed him.
Aulay paused to frown at that. “Sensitive as in weepy, or—?”
“Nay,” he said with disgust. “At least I do no’ think so, else Catriona and Sasha’s antics would have had her in tears. I meant something as small as a light caress down her arm can make her shiver and break out in goose bumps, and mere kisses can make her mewl and moan with need, and—”
“Aye, well, I would no’ tell her father that,” Aulay said dryly, interrupting his explanation. He paused briefly, but then asked, “Are ye sure, Geordie? Ye have no’ kenned the woman long.”
“How long did it take ye to decide ye wanted Jetta to wife?” Geordie countered.
“I take yer point,” Aulay said wryly.
“It does no’ take long to sort out whether a lass is a good woman or no’,” Geordie said solemnly. “And once ye do, if ye’re lucky enough to burn to bed her, I figure ye’ve found yerself a wife.”
“Aye,” Aulay agreed, and then straightened. “Then if ye’re sure ye want to marry the lass, I guess we’d best talk to her father.”
“Aye, I’m positive I do,” Geordie assured him. “Tonight.”
“What?” Aulay asked with surprise, and immediately started to shake his head. “Ye canno’—”
“I am,” he said grimly.
“Geordie,” Aulay began with exasperation. “Surely ye can wait the week or two it would take fer Saidh and our brothers to make their way here to—”
“Certainly I could,” he admitted, though he wasn’t sure that was true. Dwyn was like a fever in his blood. He needed to bed her. “But I do no’ want to.”
“Sometimes, ye canno’ do what ye want,” Aulay said firmly. “And if her father wishes to delay . . .”
“I suggest ye help me convince him no’ to wait,” Geordie said grimly. “Because while the wedding may wait, I canno’, and I would really rather she be mine ere I take her maiden’s veil . . . tonight.”
“Geordie,” he tried in a reasoning tone. “It will no’ kill ye to wait a week or two to marry and bed the lass.”
“Really?” Geordie narrowed his eyes. “Fine. I will wait a week or two . . . if you do.”
Aulay stiffened, his eyes narrowing. “What mean ye by that?”
“I mean, if ye’re willing no’ to bed yer wife fer the week or two it takes fer everyone to get here, I’ll no’ bed Dwyn. Howbeit,” he added firmly, “I suggest we both go to the lodge until the wedding day to ensure we both behave.”
Aulay’s mouth tightened grimly. “I’ll talk to her father.”
“Ye do that,” Geordie said dryly, and turned to glance at Dwyn, frowning when he saw that Rory had arrived, as had Uncle Acair, and they and Alick were now all gathered around Dwyn, laughing, and chatting up a storm. And the lass was laughing too. Her hair was a wild tumble of pale gold around her face and shoulders that gleamed in the candlelight, her eyes were sparkling, and she wore the wide, relaxed smile of a woman who had just rolled from bed after being tumbled. She was ridiculously gorgeous, and his brothers were noticing. They were also noticing how the neckline of her gown dropped with her every laugh.
Growling deep in his throat, he started toward the table, bu
t was brought up short by Aulay’s hand on his arm.
“They are yer brothers and uncle. She is safe with them,” his older brother said firmly, and then pointed out, “And we have a contract to negotiate.”
“You negotiate it,” Geordie said in a low grating voice. “I—”
“You will come with me for the negotiations. Ye can survive without Dwyn fer an hour or so.”
“An hour?” he protested with dismay.
“This is yer life we are about to negotiate, Geordie,” he pointed out. “And hers. Ye can spare an hour to see ’tis done right.”
Sighing at that, Geordie glanced toward Dwyn as she laughed again.
“Aye,” was all he said, but he followed silently as Aulay led him to the lower table where Dwyn’s father sat talking to Una and Aileen.
Chapter 8
“Tonight?” Baron James Innes squawked. He’d been most accommodating until this point in the conversation, nodding calmly as Aulay explained that Geordie would like Dwyn to wife. The man did not even seem surprised. He’d agreed with all the points Aulay had made, assuring them that Geordie would be his heir and the next laird, even saying that he grew weary of the task and would be pleased to share it with him until Geordie had a chance to get a feel for the place and the people and was ready to take over fully as laird. It was only when Aulay got to the part about the marriage taking place right away, that very evening, that James Innes had balked.
“Are ye mad?” the man asked now. “How would that look?”
“I do no’ care how it looks. I want her. Now,” Geordie said grimly.
James Innes narrowed his eyes on him, and then dropped to sit on the edge of Aulay’s desk and shook his head. “Ye’ve fallen hard fer the lass, just like I did her mother all those years ago. The two are so much alike, I sometimes . . .” He sighed and glanced to Geordie. “It snuck up on ye, did it no’? Ye most like looked at Dwyn and thought she was a nice enough lass, a small wren, not displeasing to the eye, but by no means as lovely as a white swan, or as majestic as the golden eagle. And then she smiled, and laughed, and began to speak, and ye saw the swan hiding behind the wren. And did ye kiss her, or anything else, ye found the golden eagle and its mighty talons have got ye by the scruff o’ the neck now.”
Geordie remained silent, but blinked at the words. They described things pretty well, except he would have said it was his ballocks the eagle had in its talons, and he liked it. In fact, he wanted more of it.
“Well.” James stood up and straightened his shoulders. “I understand yer eagerness. I have been there meself. But I’m going to make ye wait until tomorrow night.” He held up a hand for silence when Geordie started to protest, and pointed out, “Lady Jetta already planned for a feast tomorrow, and me daughter deserves a feast fer her wedding. She deserves to remember her wedding day fondly, and as special. No’ as some rushed affair ere ye tumble her and take her maiden’s veil.”
Geordie forced himself to relax. Dwyn did deserve a wedding feast. He could wait one night and day to give her a celebration she might be able to remember fondly.
“Very well,” Laird Innes said solemnly, correctly taking his silence as agreement. “Then let’s get this contract drawn up and signed.”
“There we go, then. This leather should protect the linen that protects yer feet.”
Dwyn smiled at Rory Buchanan as he finished wrapping a soft thin leather around the linens he’d already bound her injured feet with. They looked ridiculously big now he was done, but she could sit on the bench seat and set them in the rushes without worry of infection. Which was something at least.
“No more airing them out,” Rory added firmly now. “I ken most people think ’tis good for a wound to be aired on occasion, but I’ve found it slows healing rather than aids it. And the risk o’ infection increases, especially on feet.” Straightening, he met her gaze. “And ye must still stay off them fer now, especially the right foot. Ye’ve a couple o’ deep cuts there that are like to split open the minute ye put weight on it. They’ll heal quicker do ye stay off them.”
“Aye. I’ll stay off them,” Dwyn assured him when he paused expectantly.
“Will she be able to dance by tomorrow night?” Una asked as Rory started putting his medicinals back in his bag. She and Aileen had come to join them shortly after Aulay and Geordie had disappeared above stairs with their father. The pair had hovered behind the men, paying close attention to everything Rory had said.
“Me sisters,” Dwyn explained when Rory and the other two men turned to peer at the two brunettes eyeing them with concern. Gesturing to the taller lass wearing a cream dress today, she said, “This is Una, and—” she gestured to the shorter lass in a dark green gown “—Aileen.”
A moment was spared for the men to offer up greetings and for Una and Aileen to respond, and then Rory answered Una’s question.
“I’m thinking she will,” he said cautiously. “At least for a dance or two.” Turning back to Dwyn, he added, “I would no’ overdue it though. And I’d advise ye to stay off yer feet until then. But keep the linens on until I look at them again. Do no’ even take them off in bed.”
“I will,” Dwyn promised, but asked, “Can I sit on the bench seat now rather than the tabletop?”
Chuckling, Rory moved his bag of medicinals and then clasped her by the waist and lifted her off the table, to set her on the bench.
“Thank ye,” she murmured as she swung her feet over the bench and turned to face the table. Her gaze struck on Catriona and Sasha as she turned, and Dwyn noted the looks being sent her way by the pair, but merely sighed wearily at the sight. Truly, the two women were always glaring at her, and she was growing sick of it. She knew they saw her as somehow usurping attention they wanted, but one would think they’d realize by now that it wasn’t intentional, and that their own attitudes were not gaining them attention, at least not the kind they wanted.
“So,” Rory said now, settling on her right while Una and Aileen took up position on her left. “All these lasses are hunting up husbands, are they?”
“They’re hunting Buchanan husbands,” Acair said dryly as he waved to get a maid’s attention and imitated drinking from a nonexistent mug. Presumably the maid understood the gesture for the request for drink it was. At least, the lass rushed into the kitchens then, Dwyn noted, and then glanced to Rory to see that his gaze was sliding over the women in the room. While Catriona and Sasha were seated at the table alternating between casting glares her way, and sultry smiles toward the Buchanan brothers, the other five women were standing in a group by the hearth, chatting and casting nervous glances toward the newly arrived Buchanan brothers.
“Most o’ the ladies seem nice enough,” Aileen offered quietly.
“Aye, all but the two down the table,” Una added in a quiet growl. “A couple o’ vipers.”
“Why do they keep glaring at ye, Dwyn?” Alick asked.
Dwyn glanced toward the women in time to see Catriona stand and move off toward the kitchens, but then turned back and merely shrugged. “I do no’ ken. They took a dislike to me from the start, though I canno’ think what I did that caused it.”
“Nothing,” Una said firmly. “They are just jealous.”
Dwyn laughed at the suggestion. “Of what? They are much prettier than me.”
“Mayhap,” Aileen said at once, “but people like you. Ye make everyone ye meet feel better just by being around them. Besides, ye have a bigger bosom than the two o’ them put together.”
Dwyn groaned and dropped her forehead into her palm. “Thank ye, Aileen. As if yer forcing me to wear tight, low-cut gowns was no’ enough to draw every eye to me bosom, talking about it surely will.”
“Well, ’tis true,” Una said with a shrug. “And a lass has to make the best o’ her assets.”
“I like to think me mind and kindness are much larger assets than me bosom,” she said dryly.
“Nothing could be bigger than yer bosom,” Aileen said solemnly.
Dwyn grimaced and admitted, “’Tis me own fault. I as good as raised them, and am the one who taught them to be so blunt and honest.”
“Honesty is a fine trait in a person,” Rory assured her.
“Aye, but I am beginning to see there may be such a thing as too much honesty,” she said, her lips twisting wryly.
“Ye raised yer sisters?” Alick asked, turning sideways on the bench seat and propping an elbow on the table to lean that way to see her around Rory.
“Aye,” Dwyn said, and then paused to murmur thanks as a drink was set by her elbow. “Me mother died when I was six, and I was left to run wild until me father married Una and Aileen’s mother. She did try to teach me to be a little lady. However, she died after Aileen was born when I was about nine and . . .” She shrugged, and took a sip of her drink before continuing. “Da had no idea what to do with three daughters.” She smiled suddenly. “In truth, ’tis me father I feel sorry for. He seems bewildered by us more often than not. As for the three o’ us, we rarely have company at Innes and so have got used to saying and doing what we wish. Hence,” she added dryly, “why Aileen and Una have no compunction at all about talking about inappropriate things.”
When Dwyn glanced at her sisters and saw the unconcerned expressions on their faces, she added, “I suspect we are very poor ladies in comparison to most women who were raised properly and with ladylike behavior drilled into them.”
“Well, the three o’ ye seem like fine ladies to me,” Rory said staunchly.
“Aye,” Acair agreed from where he hovered behind her. “’Tis refreshing to talk with lassies ye do no’ have to watch yer every word around.”
