My Cursed Highlander

by Kimberly Killion

  The crack of a whip made her jerk and set the carriage in motion. Viviana sniffled and pulled her knees tighter to her chest. Her eyelids slid shut and she tried to remember a time when she didn’t feel so alone.

  The palace gates squeaked open then shut behind them. Soon, Viviana heard Giotto’s bells at Santa Reparata. She crossed her forehead, her lips, then her chest, with the sign of her religion and wished she could have visited her sister one last time.

  Farewell, Fioretta. I will keep you forever in my heart.

  Chapter 7

  “What in the name of Zeus?” Taveon squinted to see better through dusk’s pink light and watched the carriage bounce up and down. They’d traveled as far as the outskirts of Modena without event before an odd quiver took hold of the carriage. How could one wee woman cause such a commotion? “She is completely wowf?”

  Remi sidled up beside him. “Mayhap she needs to stop.”

  “Can she not poke her head out the window and simply say, ‘M’laird, I have need to stop?’”

  “Mayhap ‘tis of a personal matter and the lassie is modest,” Remi suggested.

  Taveon studied Remi’s odd expression, trying to figure out what he knew that Taveon did not.

  “My Meghan does a little jig when she is in need of privy time. ‘Twas always worse when she was carrying.”

  “What are ye speaking of?”

  Remi directed his blinking eyes upward. “M’laird, ye have relieved yourself thrice this day. M’lady hasnae left the carriage even once.”

  The lines of confusion smoothed on Taveon’s face when understanding set in. Did Viviana think him such a brute that she feared asking for time to tend her personal needs?

  He didn’t want to know the answer to that question.

  He kicked the enormous black stallion and trotted up beside the carriage to peek through the window. Viviana clasped her bouncing knees and the pained look on her face told him she was, in fact, in a world of need.

  Why had he been so thoughtless? The least he could have done was give his new wife a chamber pot. “M’lady, do ye need to stop?”

  “Sì. Sì.” Her head bobbed up and down in time with her legs.

  “Monroe, stop the carriage.”

  The wheels rolled to a stop on the dirt road, but the shaking carriage continued to fill the air with a cacophony of creaks and screeches. Taveon dismounted, opened the small door, and assisted Viviana to the ground.

  “I will be but a moment, m’laird.” She raised her skirt and hastened forward pulling out of his grasp.

  Taveon lunged forward and caught the back of her gown to save her from falling into the ditch. “Ye cannae just go traipsing off into the timber, woman. Ye are blind.”

  “You need not remind me of my flaw. I am fully aware of my limitations.”

  This certainly presented a problem he hadn’t foreseen. Taveon led her into the woodland what he felt was a respectable distance from the road, and set her beside a thick oak. “Go.”

  The look of horror on her face was laughable; jaw dropped, violet eyes wide and unblinking.

  He turned around and crossed his arms over his chest. “There. My back is to ye.”

  “Have I not suffered enough humiliation at your expense?”

  He knew she referred to their wedding and had no desire to rehash the experience. “Give me your word ye willnae try to find your way out of the wood on your own.”

  “Of course, you have my word.”

  Taveon left her in privacy and waited beside the carriage. No breeze fluttered the leaves or relieved the heat, even with the sun hanging low behind the landscape. Insects had not yet begun their nightly ritual, and only an occasional snort from the horses broke the quiet.

  He waited.

  In silence.

  This is awkward, he decided and reached into his pocket for a bit of licorice. He savored the bittersweet treat, knowing the supply Madame Bianca had sent with him would soon be depleted. ‘Twas the one thing he might actually miss about Italy.

  “Can you please make some noise?” Viviana hollered out. “Talk amongst yourself.”

  “What would ye like us to discuss?” His attempt to be congenial was met with a growl.

  She muttered a slew of foreign curses. “I care not what you discuss. You can sing for all I care.”

  Monroe laughed outright from his seated position at the front of the carriage.

  Remi had dismounted and now stood beside Taveon. “I think the lassie wants ye to serenade her whilst she is pi—”

  “Ouish, Remi!” Taveon rubbed his eyes. Would this day never end? He’d wracked his mind to find sweet words for his new wife since leaving the palace. Something he might be able to use to worm his way into her good graces.

  And now she wanted him to sing?

  Remi started humming a familiar song.

  What did he have to lose? Taveon shrugged and drummed a beat against the carriage.

  “There once was a maiden fair,” Remi began on a high-octave note.

  “With curves enough to share,” Monroe sang in a deep baritone.

  “She danced in the woodland in naught but bare skin. Without worry or care for the men who peeked in.”

  “Ooohhh,” Taveon led them into the chorus. “A one for the laddies whose eyes she blessed, and a two for the men who ogled her breasts, and a three for the warriors she put to the test. For a bonnie lass was she.”

  “For a bonnie lass was she,” Remi and Monroe repeated.

  “Then came October faire, and frost took o’er the air.”

  “No more came the maiden to show her favors. So sad were the men, they sulked through their labors.”

  “Then alas came July and what graced their eyes was of no surprise. For a bonnie lass was she.”

  “Ooohhh,” all three men held the note. “A one for the laddies whose eyes she blessed, and a two for the men who ogled her breasts, and a three for the warriors she put to the test. For a bonnie lass was—”

  “Enough!” Viviana shouted from the edge of the thicket causing the awkward silence to return.

  Taveon rushed to aid her, grateful he didn’t have to hide his grin as he guided her through the ditch. ‘Twas astounding how a tune could lift one’s spirits. “Ye gave me your word. Ye could have stumbled.”

  “I didn’t want to interrupt your ditty.” Thin black brows flared out at the tips.

  “The third verse is even better.” Remi opened his mouth, but slammed it shut when Viviana punched her fists onto her hips.

  Taveon assisted her back into the carriage and instead of closing the door, which would have been the sane thing to do, he followed her and her sweet citrus scent inside. He closed the door and poked his head out the window, his attention set on Remi. “Tie my mount to the back of the carriage and ride ahead. See if there is a place to bed down for the night.”

  “Aye, m’laird.”

  Taveon banged on the side of the carriage. “Keep moving, Monroe.”

  The sudden jerk of the carriage threw him into the seat opposite Viviana. Her knees, held tightly together, were positioned between his thighs as there was little room inside the carriage. While it might be too soon to hold a civil conversation with her, he intended to try. She was, after all, his wife. The tiniest pressure gripped his chest as he looked into her swollen eyes and realized he didn’t want her to hate him.

  “I do not need to be entertained, m’laird. I’m quite accustomed to doing nothing.”

  “Mayhap ye packed the wind pipe.”

  “I did. Unfortunately it was with my sculpting tools.”

  “Ouish!” Taveon rubbed his temples with one hand. The woman had a knack for making him feel like an ogre. “Then mayhap we could talk.”

  She lowered her eyelids and spun her wedding band round and round her finger. “What is it you wish to discuss?”

  “The stars, the moon. Any topic will suit me.” He leaned forward, wanting to touch the fan of black lashes resting against her cheek.


  “The woman in your song. Is that what men want?”

  “‘Twas just a silly tune. Undoubtedly composed in a tippling house by a band of blootered Scotsmen.” ‘Twould be the last time Remi led them in song.

  “But men are tempted by women of such ilk.”

  “Temptation is all around us,” his gaze locked on the beauty mark beside her pouty lips, “and oftentimes, it is close enough to touch. And difficult to deny.” He raised his fingers to her lips, feeling the undeniable lure of temptation right now. He fisted his hand and suppressed the desire to actually touch her. ‘Twas too soon.

  Viviana backed away, as if she sensed his closeness. “Do you think a man who has succumbed to such temptation in his past, can deny himself of it in his future?”

  An alarm went off in his head.

  She was trapping him, again. He didn’t know how, but she was pulling him directly into the middle of her web the same as she had when she asked him about wanting an heir.

  Damn-it-to-Hell! He had to think quickly. He pressed his back into the velvet settee and studied her question. Temptation. Women. Whores?

  They’d had few conversations thus far, but he distinctly remembered her accusing him of romping with drabs. “I believe if a mon takes an oath in a house of God to be faithful, then he is sworn to deny such temptation.”

  “Pish!” she scoffed and turned her head.

  “What is it ye think you know about me, m’lady? Please, enlighten me.”

  She crossed her arms and raised one brow. “You smell of licorice, m’laird. The same as Radolfo did every night when he returned from the bordello. You were at the bordello yester morn before our wedding, and after you vowed to be faithful in a house of God, you spent your wedding night in a whore’s bed instead of mine. I know this because you reeked of licorice this morn when you took me from my home.”

  He ran his tongue over the licorice still stuck in his back teeth. Sweet Venus! His wife was a sleuth. “I’m not your Radolfo, and I did not lay with whores before or after we were wed.”

  “Then you deny being at the bordello.”

  “Nay. I do not. Monroe managed to acquire free rooms for us after a few nights with the Grand Madame.” He waited for a response that never came.

  “Ye dinnae believe me.”

  “No.” She drummed her fingers on her elbow.

  “Then ye dinnae trust me.”

  “No.”

  “Then I suspect ye are angry with me for sleeping with whores I did not sleep with.”

  “Sì.”

  Taveon stared at her. ‘Twould be difficult to earn her trust. He doubted few did. ‘Twas fortunate she couldn’t see his bruised eye. It wouldn’t benefit his cause if she knew Lorenzo had him beaten and then coerced him to the altar. He would take that secret to the grave. “Do ye know how long ye intend to hold on to your temper?”

  Her dainty chin rose. “At Spedale degli Innocenti I once begrudged a maid for spouting lies to Sister De Rosa about Fioretta. I worked with Elena in the laundry for two years, and I never spoke to her again.”

  Stubborn hizzie! He had no intention of waiting two years. Taveon leaned out the window. “Monroe, have ye any bones?”

  “Aye.”

  Taveon stretched out the window and collected dice from Monroe then twisted awkwardly to search inside the bench seat for a flat playing surface. He located a wooden trough beneath a wool blanket, returned to his seat, and tossed the two die into the narrow container on her lap.

  Viviana reached into the box and studied the dice with her fingers. “I do not partake in games of chance.”

  “Humor me and roll the dice.” A rush of excitement coursed through his veins. He did love a good game, especially one he couldn’t lose.

  After long moments of thought, Viviana blew a breath and tossed the dice inside the box.

  “Ouish.” Taveon frowned. He had hoped for a smaller number.

  Viviana touched the face of each die with the tip of her finger, counting the pips. “Ten. What does it mean?”

  “‘Tis the number of days I’ll give ye to cool your temper.”

  “Before what?”

  He leaned close enough to inhale the clean scent of her hair before he whispered in her ear, “Before we begin our honeymoon period.” He popped a quick kiss on her lips, then existed the carriage.

  Chapter 8

  Viviana stirred from her slumber and reached for Miocchi. Her hand flattened atop the bench seat inside the unmoving carriage and reality pushed to the forefront. Her world had taken a drastic change to be certain. Normally, she would awaken to Miocchi’s cold nose against her palm, but not this day.

  A sudden sadness gripped her. Would Angelo remember to let Miocchi out of her chamber? Would he collect the bones from the cook after the evening meal?

  Of course, he would, she assured herself. No good could come out of fretting over Miocchi now.

  She sat up and breathed in the scent of cooked meat. The crackle of a fire and hum of conversation awoke her ears. She had fallen asleep before they found lodging and could only assume Laird Kraig decided to save his coin and sleep beneath the sky.

  Footsteps approached the carriage. “Good morrow, sweetling. I trust ye slept well.” Laird Kraig’s voice came outside the window.

  “It was a bit cramped, but more favorable than the ground.” Which is where she assumed they had slept, if they slept much at all. A salty aroma exploded beneath her nose and her stomach responded with a gurgle. Heat touched her bottom lip, causing her to pull back.

  “‘Tis still hot.”

  She was stubborn, not stupid. Having eaten little to nothing the previous day, Viviana felt as though she could devour an entire boar. Her pangs of hunger reminded her of the days she’d suffered trying to please Radolfo. She’d never been the twig he wanted.

  “There’s plenty. Are ye hungry?”

  “I am.” She touched his thick forearm and opened her mouth, allowing him to set the bit of meat on her tongue.

  He didn’t withdraw his fingers. Instead, he caressed her bottom lip with a tenderness that set her pulse aflutter.

  “It is good.” Her voice cracked. She chewed the savory meat, swallowed, and licked the lips he’d just lingered over. She felt his eyes on her and yearned for the amulet’s power so she could see exactly what drew his attention. Was it her lips? Her eyes?

  Doubtful. The lusty Scotsman was most likely gawking at her breasts. She supposed he preferred to ogle her in private, which was why he kept the amulet.

  “We have oatcakes with cherry sauce as well as hot spiced cider.”

  Oh, he was cunning. “You intend to soothe my temper with food?”

  “Is it working?” he asked with an enthusiasm she thought premature.

  “No.”

  The latch on the carriage door clicked and a warm breeze swept inside. “There is a brook over the knoll. I can take ye there before ye break your fast if you prefer.”

  He assisted her from the carriage and walked in silence over the hillock until the trickle of water grew loud in her ears.

  A tug on her hand slowed her steps. “Do ye know how to swim?” He set a cake of soap and a towel in her hand.

  “Sì.”

  “Remi, Monroe, and I will ready the horses while ye tend to your ablutions. We will make as much noise as possible to ease any concern ye might have regarding your privacy. I located a bell amongst your belongings and will ring it thrice to alert ye before I return.”

  Laird Kraig had certainly been thinking this morn. Had Miocchi been with her, bells would be unnecessary. “And if I’m not prepared for your return.”

  “I suspect I will get a glimpse of what is to come in nine days.” He placed a chaste kiss atop her knuckles then retreated.

  A string of heat drew a path from her knuckles to her breasts. Her nipples sharpened only seconds later.

  Oh, cazzo! She turned her back to him, cupped her breast, and pushed against her betraying nipple. How could a man she was
determined to hate bring her to arousal by kissing her knuckles?

  Goliath’s footsteps faded, reminding her she had little time before he returned. She kicked off her slippers and worked the buttons of her bodice with furious fingers. Her heart pounded as she pulled her gown over her head and removed her overskirt. Her hands shook, her throat seemed to narrow.

  Cease! She berated herself. This was madness. He is going to see you naked in nine days. Why didn’t he just force himself on her and be done with it? Why tease her? Why seduce her? She was his wife. He was within his conjugal rights to have his way with her. Luciano taught her that. Her stomach churned with illness just thinking about the repulsive bastard.

  Clink. Clank. Jingle.

  Her head snapped to the side.

  “M’laird… hand Monroe… the tethers,” Remi shouted, his every word enunciated and drawn out, “so we… can ready… the horses… on this side… of the knoll.”

  Viviana giggled. She very much liked Remi. He was a gentleman. A rare find.

  A slight breeze blew through her sleeveless undertunic and pushed a strand of hair over her face. She clasped the linen and lifted it as high as her thighs.

  How long did it take to ready a team of horses? Her insides spun with nerves. Everything about this moment reminded her of the song they’d sung the day before. In truth, she wasn’t sure she trusted any of them not to peek.

  She smoothed her undertunic back over her thighs and waded into the brook until cool water reached her knees. She dipped the cake of soap in the water, pulled her arms inside her undertunic, and bathed as quickly as possible.

  Toweling off didn’t dry her undertunic, regardless how hard she scrubbed.

  Now what?

  The thought of riding all day with wet undergarments pruning her skin was far from appealing. She snatched her gown off the ground and slipped it over her head. Before she fastened all the buttons, she peeled her undertunic over her wide hips and dropped it to her ankles.

  A deep inhale set her at ease. She’d accomplished her task without getting caught.

  She squirmed against the peculiar feeling; bare skin rubbing the smooth silk of her gown. When she bent at the waist to search for her slippers, the folds of her skirt molded over her backside and slipped between her thighs.