While Mother Cecelia read the note, Brother Michael answered for her.
"Other than God, his son Ranald is the only man Chief Broccin will heed. He is shamed because he cannot frighten his son as he has every other man. Over the last couple years, they have learned to deal with each other. 'Tis a kindness that Ranald has forgiven his father for many things. But the father knows he can never cross his son. He would not survive the outcome."
Mother Cecelia cleared her voice to get their attention. When they looked at her, she pressed the paper out flat and stared down at it. Her face appeared flushed and she made a small sound in her throat as if choking on a laugh.
"I think you and Elyne should spend some time alone together afore the wedding vows."
Graemme sat up straight, surprised when this saintly woman suggested such a thing. Had she read his mind and known he intended to take her to a hunting lodge in the woods? Or did she mean for them to sit across the great room from Chief Broccin and talk to each other?
From the twinkle in her eye, he didn't think it was the latter.
"A good start would be a walk in the orchard surrounding the small chapel on the grounds," she said, understanding his shocked look. "It was Lady Muriele's favorite pastime. It will take you at least two days before you are fit to ride. And once Elyne reads this, she will be reassured. She trusts her brother with all her heart.
"Chief Broccin was short and to the point. He stated they should open the gates to Sir Gramme. He and Elyne were properly betrothed, and her would-be husband had fulfilled his end of the bargain by appearing at Raptor Castle at the appointed time. His son Ranald approved of the wedding and he and his wife will be in attendance."
She stood and handed him Chief Broccin's note. "I think her father expected you to give this to the guard at the gate.
All would have been fine, if the Chief had only stopped writing then. But he stated if Graemme changed his mind and left without his bride in tow, he would forfeit his ballocks when he returned.
No wonder Mother Cecelia had a hard time keeping her laughter from rising when she handed the missive to Graemme!
Chapter 16
Graemme near shouted an obscenity as he shot out of his chair. He clamped his teeth together then sat back down as abruptly as he'd stood. His nose started to bleed again. He fumbled around for something to stop it. He couldn't use his kilt because it would expose those very ballocks Broccin wrote about.
Blood blurred Broccin's signature, which was fitting.
Brother Michael sprang to his aid and tipped Graemme's head backward. Magically, Mother Cecelia placed a small cloth in the monk's hand, which he used to cover Graemme's nose. She must have dunked it in the basin with water from the pitcher. Its coldness was a welcome shock and seemed to help staunch the bleeding.
Magnus took Broccin's letter from Graemme's hand. He had the nerve to laugh.
"Well, now, young man," Mother Cecelia said. "You need not worry further about forfeiting any of your treasures for Elyne. I am sure she will come around once she understands how serious her father is about this marriage."
Graemme snorted then choked for his efforts. He barely heard someone scratch on the door.
"Come." The older woman called out. Elyne entered and jolted to a stop when she saw the blood on Graemme's face. Calmly, she looked him over then decided it was not from a dispute with the monks but simply from getting his nose in the way of her chin.
"If ye had caught me properly, ye could have saved yerself an injury."
"Caught ye properly?" Graemme's muffled voice growled. "If ye were a proper lass, ye wouldna have been upon the gatehouse in the fist place!" His narrowed gaze shot sparks of rage.
"If ye want a proper lass, dinna fear I will be insulted if ye look elsewhere for one."
All he had shown her was anger and dislike. Why didn't he disappear and hie himself off to the Highlands where he belonged? He could take his evil temper out on the wolves that probably raised him! What had he said his family motto was? With a Strong Hand? Seemed to her it should have been With Slashing Teeth and Claws.
He turned and looked at her through squinted eyes. If a cold, menacing stare could kill someone, she would drop to the floor and breathe her last. Good thing she wasn't a weakling or she'd have backed up, gained the door and ran.
On hearing Graemme's voice, Squat bounded into the room and made directly for him. He stood on his barrel-shaped hind legs and clawed at Graemme's arm, demanding attention. Unconsciously, Graemme reached over to ruffle the hair behind Squat's right ear. It stood at attention even in his sleep. Squat leaned his head back pressing into Graemme's hand, his eyes half-closed in enjoyment. The fool dog had taken a liking for the enemy. The little traitor!
Elyne whistled to him, but he ignored her. Graemme didn't, though.
"Yer father has grown tired of yer strange and unmaidenly behavior. He selected me to tame ye and bring ye to the chapel in time for the wedding. He is determined to ruin my life. Why, I dinna know."
He reached up and took the cold cloth from his face, giving her a baleful look. "We will walk on the garden paths and learn to know each other."
He glanced over in time to see the amused look on Mother Cecelia face.
The woman had a warped sense of humor!
"I already know enough about ye to know marrying ye would be the worst mistake of my life!"
Graemme snorted. "How do ye think I feel? I'm in dire need of hiring a taster to assure ye dinna poison me again."
Elyne put her hands on her hips and scowled at him. "'Tis unfortunate ye forced me to vow not to." She mumbled under her breath, "A shame, truly!"
Brother Michael changed the water in the basin and rinsed the cloth. When he handed it back to Graemme, he wiped his face as best he could.
"Ye bleed like a stuck piglet! Ye had best wipe yer neck and chest too." Elyne turned her nose in the air and sniffed, like he was doing something dim-witted and she wasn't going to fall for it. "If ye think a little blood is going to make me soften to yer high-handed ways, think again!"
"Where might I go to properly cleanse myself?" He ignored her and turned to the monks.
"We have a well in the orchard," Brother Octavius replied.
"A well?" He glowered at Elyne then turned to Brother Octavius. "Will ye stand guard so my future bride doesna spy on me again? She'll likely follow. She is known for her fondness of watching men bathe at wells."
Elyne's face flamed so hot she wanted to grab the cold cloth, blood and all, to cool it down. The nasty man was blaming her for his own predicament. If he'd been polite and apologized to her while she was still in the tree, this never would have happened. But no! He had to put on a show fit for only a whore to watch then pulled her down on top of him. And he blamed her?
"Bleh! I hope ye use as much soap and water as I did washing the stench of yer body from mine! May I be excused, Mother Cecelia?"
On getting a nod of the head in reply, she turned on her heels and strode to the door, keeping her back straight and haughty. At the door, she skidded to a stop, remembering Squat. His tongue was half in, half out the side of his mouth, and his straggly, bent tail beat the floor. 'Twas obvious he wanted the loathsome man's attention.
"Come, Squat!"
When he looked at her and then back at Graemme, she slapped her leg and whistled, loud enough to make Mother Cecelia wince.
He came.
The frisky little dog followed her to the kitchens, where the sisters there made over him and found a bone left over from the soup last eve. She sat and talked to them while Squat happily chewed on it until his few teeth grew tired. She thanked the women and led him out of the back door leading to the gardens and the cleared area where a small chapel stood.
Brother Octavius had made paths winding around in no certain way other than to give the walker beautiful plants and flowers to observe. She stopped to listen to the wind blowing through the trees and birds talking and singing. Closing her eyes, she took it all
in, at peace for the first time since she'd been at the convent.
Finally, she opened her eyes and found Squat inspecting the flowers. Some must be flavorful, for he'd nip one off then swallow it. But then, he was as likely to eat dead, shriveled worms so she doubted he had much taste in food. She sighed, wondering if the flowers would upset his stomach. She didn't look forward to cleaning up the aftereffects.
"Ye should be ashamed of yerself, little mister, falling for a scratch on the head," she grumbled as she started walking again. "He might pet ye now and mayhap kick yer arse this next morn. I'm telling ye, Squat, everyone knows ye canna trust a wily Highlander."
She followed another path, mumbling to the one listener not likely to disagree with her. "Why, Magnus must have put a spell on Muriele for her to fall in love with him. I willna believe it until I see them together."
She kept mumbling and grousing to herself hoping Graemme took overlong in cleaning himself. It was such a lovely day. With him around, he would spoil it. A few footsteps later, she jumped. Someone followed behind her.
"Should I add talking to yerself as one of yer virtues or is it another of the crazed things ye do?"
Bleh! When in Hades did Graemme get there? She turned and raised her brows at him.
He snorted like a horse with a fly bedeviling his nostrils.
"Ye don't even have to mumble for me to know yer thoughts. I've been in back of ye since ye left the kitchens. Did ye not notice Squat looking behind ye and sweeping his crooked tail on the stones?"
"Ye should have made a noise!"
"Why? Are ye hard of hearing, too?"
"Listening in on someone's thoughts is nay an admirable trait in a man."
She really didn't care if he'd heard her or not. Mayhap her opinions of his brother and him would cause him to think twice about wedding her.
"And watching a nekid man is nay an admirable trait in a maiden."
She stopped walking and turned to stand near toe to toe with him. With hands on her hips, she scowled up at him. The man was so thickheaded! Why would he keep insisting he'd marry her when they both knew they hated the sight of each other?
"Aye. Mayhap ye should tell my father the betrothal is nay to yer liking? If ye tell him I am not the right wife for ye, he will listen. Ye can even tell him I'm knotty-pated, if ye like. Even he would understand a man not wanting to marry a daft woman."
"Yer right. And the next breath he took would be to order Domnall to sharpen his sword!" He shook his head and looked at her in amazement. "Can ye be so bug-brained ye believe yer father wouldn't do what he's threatened?"
"He would not. He just said it knowing ye were a coward and wouldna dare to thwart him."
By Lucifer's saggy man-breasts! She truly believed it. After what the man had done to his son, she should know Broccin wouldn't think twice at gelding him!
"Nay. Ye are wrong. He'd do so and laugh whilst he did. Believe me, if I even had the slightest thought he didna mean it, I would have gladly stayed in the Highlands, honor or not."
He shook his head and glared down at her. 'Twas not a good idea. Blood again began to trickle from his left nostril. He grabbed the bottom of his kilt and, without thinking, held it to his nose.
If her eyes had not strayed immediately downward, he wouldn't have thought anything of it. But her face turned pink. It didn't stop her from staring, though, when his cock became interested in her scrutiny.
"Take yer eyes away, woman, else the good Mother will find ye indulging in yer favorite sport!"
Her gaze snapped up to his. When he dropped his kilt, a look of disappointment came over her face. Did her father even suspect she went around giving men a cockstand whenever she wanted?
He grabbed her arm. She tried to pull away.
"Walk. The good Mother suggested we get to know each other better afore we leave."
"Humph!"
She turned her nose in the air and called to Squat, who had decided to dig in the middle of a flower bed. What did Graemme want to talk about? She had one thing she wanted to find out. His women in the Highlands.
"Do ye keep a leman at Clibrick Castle?"
She worried her lower lip with her teeth. Oh, pish! She shouldn't have asked. He might think she cared. Perchance he'd even think she wanted his attention or some such rot. Now why did he stop so abruptly his boots kicked up a dust storm?
"What did ye say?"
Why, he looked dumbfounded. Did he think women didn't know what men did all the time? She really didn't care if he had one or not.
"Ye are the one hard of hearing! Do ye have someone ye beckon to when ye feel like tupping?"
"Are ye witless? I canna believe ye would ask a man such a thing. It has naught to do with ye whether I have a leman or not."
"Naught to do with me? And ye think I'm witless? It has everything to do with me. If ye have a leman, then I will feel free to have one myself."
Now why was his mouth dropping like he'd seen a horse with ears long as a hare's?
"Ye would take a leman? Women dinna take lemans!"
"Little ye know about it. I know several knights wives who are tupping other than their husbands."
She shook her head wondering why he hadn't noticed it in his own keep. He stopped shaking his head. Finally. If he'd done it any harder, his nose would spray blood all over her clothes. What was making him snort like a horse?
"Women dinna take lemans. They take lovers."
"Isn't a leman a man's lover?"
"Aye, but if a woman is interested in another man for bed sport, he isna called a leman. He is considered her lover."
"Means the same, doesn't it?"
"Aye. Take my word for it. And nay, ye will not have a lover."
"Then ye'd best get rid of yer leman!"
Elyne started tapping her right foot in irritation. She might not want a husband, but if her father forced her to marry and give up her freedom, then the man was going to have to give up something equally as important to him!
Graemme ran his fingers through his hair acting like she was making him crazy or something. No, wait. Maybe it was the wrong thing to demand from him. If he had a leman, she could just refuse to share his bed when they wed. She would have to suggest that he occupy himself with his leman. He shouldn't mind that. After all, he certainly didn't want her and had made no effort to deny it. All he wanted was to save those impressive ballocks of his.
She thought he was going to shake the leaves out of her hair when his fingers dug into her shoulders. Why did he stare so hard at her? Was he thinking whether she was worth losing his leman over?
"Do not ever think on demanding anything from me, Elyne. Ye will be deeply sorry for it. I think I know what ye are doing. Ye think to make me so angry that I will be a gowk and defy yer father." He shook his head and scowled down at her. "Ye can forget that idea."
When she started to reply, he squeezed her shoulders again. Hard.
"I am neither afraid of yer father nor his threats. I am wedding ye because I vowed I would. Ye are soiled goods and no other man in Scotland will offer for ye. Everyone saw ye atop me. Even yer brother says we should marry. But had he disapproved, we would still wed. A vow from my family is never broken. It is our honor ye ask me to defile and I willna do it. Marry me ye will, and dinna doubt it!"
He gave her another little shake. Did he think she hadn't been listening? Why did he have to have such piercing dark eyes? And smell so good. He had bathed before he met her on the path. A lock of his black hair fell over his left eye when he shook her. She reached up and lifted it out of the way. He had lovely brows, too. As dark as his hair. She was tall for a woman, but she didn't quite reach his chin. She cleared her throat and couldn't think of any more objections at the moment.
Drats! His scent did funny things to her stomach. And her nose. She kept taking deep breaths. She stared at his neck and remembered when they made bed sport the hollow of his neck smelled of warm sandalwood and pine. When she felt her muscles tense to lean clos
er, she stopped herself and pulled back.
"Well, dinna expect me to like it," she muttered.
"Judging from the last time we were nekid together, I think ye will like it verra much." His voice was husky as he stared at her lips.
By instinct, she started to wet them but stopped herself in time. She didn't want him to think she craved his kisses—or anything else, for that matter.
He lowered his head to kiss her. She lowered hers to deny him.
He softly kissed her forehead pretending it was all he intended in the first place.
"I thought we were supposed to be talking. Only talking!"
He dropped his hands and took her elbow to guide her.
"Do ye think I'm some brainless, scrawny lass who canna stay on a path?"
"By yer habit of falling all the time, ye need help of some kind."
He lurched as he walked and he complained about her? Before she could respond to his dig, he spoke again. "Tell me how ye came to have such an ugsome dog as Squat? And does he always do this?"
She looked down to see Squat was on his hind legs, his teeth locked onto the hem of Graemme's kilt in back. He was worrying it as he would a rat or hare. If he kept it up, Graemme's kilt would be on the ground. He'd likely blame her for his being bare arsed again.
"Squat. Leave it!"
Squat stopped shaking the cloth but didn't let it go. He questioned her, looking up at her with his beady little eyes, why she didn't want him to play. "Leave it. Now."
The dog opened his mouth wide and emptied it of a wad of soggy cloth.
Graemme leaned down and ruffled the hair on the dog's sides. Squat plopped down on the grass and turned his belly upward, begging for him to rub his chest. Graemme complied, telling him he was a beastly looking little devil but was one of a kind.
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