by Lynsay Sands
"Ahhh, see," Gilly grinned. "Yer getting me thinking now."
"Aye," Ross agreed.
"And here's another thought fer ye," Gilly said. "As I recall, she vowed to obey ye in that wedding ceremony, did she no'?"
"Aye," Ross said, wondering what he was getting at.
"Well then, even does she argue that if yer no' in a bed 'tis still bedding, ye can order her to allow it. After all, she vowed before God, the priest and her family to obey ye."
Ross frowned at that. He would not order her to allow it. He'd rather try seduction and convincing. He wanted a true partnership with his bride as his own parents had enjoyed, not a bitter resentful wife who lived under his thumb. He didn't say as much though, but simply turned away and headed for the keep. As he went, his mind was planning how to handle the matter. He would take her on a picnic in the woods outside the wall and seduce her on a blanket under the trees, Ross decided. And if she had the presence of mind to protest before he kissed her silly, he'd point out that there was no bed about, so technically it was not bedding.
Nodding to himself, Ross pulled open the keep doors, stepped inside and paused abruptly as he noted the noise and activity around the trestle tables. A large crowd had gathered and was protesting loudly over something.
Curious, Ross approached the table as someone said, "What are ye thinking? Ye can no' waste good uisge beatha like that."
The crowd immediately murmured in agreement.
"I told you. The whiskey will clean the wound and help prevent infection." Annabel's voice was clear as a bell and obviously exasperated as Ross reached the edge of the group and peered over the heads before him to where his wife presently knelt over a man on the trestle table. She was scowling at the cook, Angus, and as he watched, she held out her hand, a determined expression on her face. "Now give it over, Angus. I am your lady, and I order it. I need to stitch his wound ere he bleeds to death on me."
The surly old cook tsked with disgust, but handed her a goblet apparently filled with whiskey, muttering, "Aye fine, clean his wound then. But next ye'll be cleaning the great hall floor with it."
"I will not," Annabel assured him dryly, and then glanced down with a start as the man lying on the table suddenly sat up, snatched the goblet from her and gulped down the liquid. Eyes wide with amazement, she snatched the goblet away, peered into what Ross guessed was the empty container and then scowled at the man and asked, "Why the devil did you do that? Now I need more whiskey."
"I thought I was supposed to drink it to clean my wound," the man spoke the obvious lie with a straight face. His accent, Ross noted, was English.
"Drinking it will not clean your wound, and well you know it," Annabel said on a sigh, and then glanced to Angus and held out the goblet. "I need more."
Angus crossed his arms, eyes narrowing, and lips pursing and Ross could see he was about to rebel. Scowling, he started to move through the crowd, intending to set the man straight on the matter of obeying or disobeying his lady, but he needn't have bothered. His sweet, chatty magpie of a wife, Annabel, suddenly leaned across the man to snatch the cook by the front of his apron and dragged him closer to the table as she hissed, "I am your lady, Angus. Fetch me the bloody whiskey or you shall be searching for a new position elsewhere. I will not let this man die because you are a stubborn cuss too used to having your own way. Understood?"
Angus nodded wildly. "Aye, m'lady. At once, m'lady."
Annabel nodded and released him, and then watched the man hurry away with a sigh and an expression that suggested to Ross that she regretted what she'd had to do to get the man to obey her.
Movement under his wife drew Ross's gaze from Annabel to the man she was leaning over and his surprise turned to a scowl of displeasure as he noted that her position had placed her chest over the injured man's face, and apparently his injury was not so bad that he was not enjoying the view. Seeing how grand the view was did not improve his disposition any and Ross continued through the crowd, traveling much more swiftly than he had the first time.
"Oh, husband," Annabel gasped with surprise and apparent embarrassment when he caught her attention by grasping her arm and dragging her upright where she knelt on the table. "I was just--Cook--I--"
Her stammered effort to explain what he had just witnessed died when he suddenly put his hands to her breasts. He had meant to fan them over the expanse of creamy flesh bulging out of the tight neckline, but somehow his hands got the message mixed up and simply latched on to each generous globe through the cloth. That brought a choking sound from Annabel that was accompanied by a blush so bright red he wondered there was any blood left in her body. It appeared to have all risen to her face and neck. Muttering under his breath, he shifted his hands to do what he had meant to do all along and said, "Ye need to change."
When Annabel's mouth worked without anything coming out, Seonag stepped up beside them and reminded him, "She has nothing to wear but the gown ye brought her in and yer mother's gowns. Yer mother was no' quite as large in the upper area as your lady wife is. Lady Annabel did have a kerchief there, but--" Seonag turned and gestured to the man on the table and he saw the blood-soaked cloth tied around his wound.
Ross frowned as he realized that his wife's present situation was all his fault for not letting her pack a chest to bring with her. He had been so damned eager to get her away from her parents . . . Ross sighed and then glanced to the interested crowd around them and said succinctly, "Out."
The word was sharp enough, or perhaps his expression was unpleasant enough, that every single person turned and headed at once for the doors. Satisfied, Ross let his hands drop from Annabel's chest and relaxed a little.
Annabel hesitated, but then cleared her throat and said, "I know I was overstepping when I threatened Angus. But I need the whiskey to clean the needle and the wound or this man could lose his leg."
"Lose my leg?" The man on the table squawked with horror.
"If it is not cleaned properly before I sew it up, yes," Annabel admitted and then patted his arm and assured him, "But I will not let that happen. I was trained by the best. You will be fine."
Recalling the way the man had been ogling his wife's chest as it had hovered over his face, Ross scowled at him. His scowl only deepened when he realized he didn't recognize him. "Who the devil are you?"
"The spice merchant," Seonag answered for him. "He was injured when Jasper startled his horse and the beast overset his wagon."
Ross cursed under his breath.
"Jasper?" Annabel queried curiously.
"He was my father's animal," Ross admitted. "A damned fine hunting dog and companion until father died. He's been uncontrollable ever since."
Annabel nodded solemnly, and glanced around as the cook hurried out of the kitchens and rushed across the room with another goblet of whiskey. She murmured "thank you," as she took the liquid, her earlier anger with the man nowhere in evidence.
Angus nodded, his anxious gaze sliding from her to Ross and back, and then he turned and hurried away, back to the safety of his kitchens.
"How are you going to--Yowww!" The merchant broke off and howled when Annabel undid the cloth she'd tied around his leg and quickly poured a good portion of the liquid over the open wound. The merchant also sat abruptly upright, reaching for Annabel. No doubt, wanting to throttle her for causing him such pain, but Ross caught him by the shoulders and forced him down flat again.
His wife did not even seem to notice the man's action. She simply held the half-empty goblet out to Seonag and said, "Please soak the needle and thread in this for a few minutes."
Seonag nodded and moved at once to do as asked while Annabel bent to inspect the wound she'd just soaked. Ross held the merchant down and watched silently as his wife carefully cleaned the wound, applied some sort of salve Seonag provided, and then sewed it closed.
The merchant passed out near the end of the ordeal. Whether from pain or blood loss Ross didn't know. He was just glad the man was silent. He'd h
"Yer well skilled at tending the injured," Ross complimented, and it was no more than the truth. She'd worked with care and precision and her stitches had been small and straight. He had no doubt the merchant would get away with a nice scar and a story to tell. That didn't always happen. He could just as easily have lost the leg to infection, or could even have died from the wound in time, but Ross was pretty sure Annabel's efforts had just prevented either outcome from occurring.
"Thank you." Annabel stopped rubbing the center of her lower back and ducked her head to hide the blush his words had brought on. It made Ross want to kiss her.
Reminded of his plan, he turned abruptly and headed for the door to the kitchens. He stuck his head into the room just long enough to bark orders at the cook, then headed for the keep doors and stepped out to survey the people close enough to be hailed. Spying Gilly and Liam approaching, he waited patiently until they were close enough to hear without shouting, and then gave them instructions on moving the merchant before leading them inside.
Annabel and Seonag were both still by the man on the table, debating what to do with him, he realized when he got close enough to hear.
"Liam and Gilly are going to move him to a room upstairs," he announced, interrupting their discussion. " 'Twill make it easier fer ye to check on him. 'Sides, if Jasper caused this, 'tis the least we can do."
"Aye," Seonag agreed on a sigh. "It might mollify him enough that he does no' warn all the other merchants away from us."
"Oh, surely he would not do that?" Annabel protested and then asked worriedly, "Would he?"
"It's been known to happen at other keeps with lesser incidents," Ross admitted with an unhappy expression. If the man warned off the other merchants, Annabel would be forced to wear his mother's gowns indefinitely. His gaze slid to her over-exposed chest and he frowned. He was enjoying the view, but didn't want everyone enjoying it.
"I'll sit with him and make a fuss over him," Seonag said reassuringly.
Ross nodded as he watched Liam and Gilly pick up the man and start toward the stairs with him. Seonag immediately followed.
"I had better watch over him too," Annabel decided.
She turned to leave then, but he caught her hand to stop her.
"Nay, I--" He released her and glanced around when the door to the kitchens opened. Angus was rushing toward them with a sack in hand.
"Here ye are, me laird. I put it together meself. The best of everything," the cook assured him.
Ross nodded and murmured a "thank you" as he took the bag. Catching Annabel's arm in his free hand, he urged her toward the keep doors. "Come with me."
"Where are we going?" Annabel asked.
Ross didn't answer. He wanted to surprise her.
"A PICNIC," ANNABEL said with wonder as she bounced along on her mare beside her mounted husband. "I have never been on a picnic before."
"I thought it would give you an opportunity to see some of our land," Ross commented. " 'Tis your home now."
Our land . . . and home, Annabel thought and felt her face stretch as her smile widened. She had lived at Waverly her first seven years and at the abbey these last fourteen, but if she had ever thought of Waverly as her home, she couldn't recall. She had definitely never thought of the abbey that way. For the first few years she'd simply been waiting for her parents to come collect her again. She had been sure the abbess was wrong when she said that would not happen. And even when years passed and she'd given up that dream and acknowledged that she would never leave the abbey it had not felt a home. She had never quite fit in there, never felt like she belonged or was accepted. Annabel simply did not have the dignity to be a nun.
"But somehow," the abbess had said with long suffering, "I must teach you to be one."
And she certainly had tried. She had made Annabel's life a misery with her attempts to teach her. And Annabel had done her best to learn. Truly, she had. But no matter how hard she tried it had simply not been enough.
The thought made her consider her present situation, and her worries that she simply would not be enough here either. MacKay might not be her home for long if that were the case. Her husband might set her aside, or banish her, or . . . well, she didn't know what he could do, but she was quite sure she wouldn't enjoy it.
These unpleasant thoughts slid away as she noted that her husband had stopped his mount. Bringing her mare to a halt, Annabel glanced around curiously. They had crossed the treeless valley that surrounded the keep and entered the forest beyond some time ago. Now they were in a clearing beside a river--not a stream, but a full and proper river, she saw. When her husband dismounted, she released her reins and started to slide off her mare. It was as far as she got before Ross reached her side and caught her by the waist to lift her down.
Her gaze shot to his when he let her body brush against his as he lowered her. The action sent a riot of feelings through her that Annabel was unprepared for. They left her breathless, but then she seemed to be breathless around the man a lot. It was as if he had some secret spell that stole the air from her body.
"Thank you," she murmured, ducking her head and then easing away from him once her feet were on the ground.
"Ye're welcome." His voice was a deep growl that seemed to say much more than the words he'd spoken. Moving back to his horse, he retrieved a fur and handed it to Annabel. "Here, lay this out where ye think we should eat while I untie the bag with our food."
Annabel nodded and accepted the fur. She scanned the clearing, and quickly settled on a patch of grass next to the water's edge. She laid the fur out and then glanced around just as Ross approached with the small sack the cook had given him.
"Settle yerself," Ross said, and then waited for her to choose a spot on the fur to sit before settling down next to her. He set the sack on the fur before him and opened it to peer inside. Grunting, he pulled out a skin of wine. It was followed by a roasted chicken wrapped in cloth, bread, fruit, cheese and finally several pastries also wrapped in cloth.
Annabel found herself licking her lips as she surveyed the offerings. They all looked positively delicious. She did wonder though if the chicken had been one of many meant for that night's supper. If so, she supposed there was time to roast another to replace it.
" 'Tis a feast," Annabel pronounced with a smile.
Ross smiled faintly and nodded. "Cook is obviously trying to make up fer his earlier bad behavior."
"He was difficult about the whiskey, but I should not have lost my temper," Annabel said quietly.
"That was you losing yer temper?" he asked with amusement. "Me mother would have had him whipped fer no' obeying at once in a crisis like that."
Annabel blinked at this news. She had expected at least a dressing-down for her behavior. Certainly, had the abbess witnessed it, she would have ordered Annabel to give herself at least a dozen lashes from the whip. Thank goodness she was no longer at the abbey, she thought. Annabel was not a great fan of pain and had detested every blow.
"Tell me about MacKay," Annabel said as Ross removed two trenchers from the sack and they began to fill them with the chicken and other offerings.
"What do you wish to know?" he asked.
"Everything," she admitted with a grin, and for some reason that made him chuckle. Annabel picked a piece of chicken from her trencher and ate it, but when his laughter slowed, she asked, "Have you no brothers or sisters?"
"I had a younger brother," Ross admitted, surprising her. Lifting a chicken leg, he took a bite, chewed and swallowed and then added, "He died when we were still but boys."
"How?" she asked with a frown, a piece of cheese forgotten in her hand.
"He was gored by a boar on his first hunt," Ross said quietly.
"I am sorry," Annabel said solemnly.
" 'Twas a long time ago," Ross said with a shrug, and then added, "I have a younger sister too and she survived our childhood."
"Really?" she asked with interest.
"Aye. Giorsal. She is married to our neighbor, Bean."
"Bean?" Annabel echoed the short form uncertainly.
" 'Tis short for Beatham," he explained. "The MacDonald laird. They visit often. No doubt ye'll meet them soon as she hears I've returned with me bride. Which ought to be by the morrow at the latest," he added dryly.
Annabel smiled faintly and nodded as she watched him pop cheese and bread into his mouth, but his words made her think of her own sister, and wonder how she faired. She hoped Kate was happy with her stable boy and that their mother's predictions had been wrong. Annabel had always looked up to and adored Kate.
"Giorsal and Bean have a bairn. Young Bryson," Ross informed her and Annabel glanced to him with surprise.
"Then you are an uncle?"
He nodded. "And ye're an aunt."
Annabel blinked several times as she realized he was right. They were married now and his nephew was her nephew. Shaking her head, she swallowed a bit of cheese and thought how amazing it was that her life could change so much with just one action. The size of her family had increased more than twofold with one marriage vow.
"Ye had no brothers?"
Annabel glanced up at that question and then shook her head quickly. "Nay."
"But ye have a sister."
That comment made her suck in a breath. Annabel knew her parents had not brought up the subject of their offspring to him, hoping to pass her off as the eldest, but she supposed it was too much to hope that he would not know they had more than one child.
"Aye. I have a sister. Kathryn," she added quietly.
"Who is the eldest?"
Annabel had bowed her head and now closed her eyes. She knew without a doubt that her mother would have advised her to lie to him and claim that she was the eldest. She also knew that telling him the truth might make him very angry, but she simply could not lie.
Her appetite suddenly gone, Annabel set her food down and stood to move to the river to wash the chicken juices from her hands. She had not donned her shoes that morning, something she had often got into trouble for at the abbey, but her husband hadn't seemed to mind. Or perhaps he simply had not noticed it when he'd put her on her horse, she acknowledged. Running about barefoot had often gotten her into trouble with the abbess, but it came in handy now as she merely had to tug her skirts up and wade into the stream and then bend to wash her hands.
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