Lynsay Sands

by An English Bride in Scotland

  It was Ross who had lain awake each night, listening to her breathe and wishing he’d brought a tent for them to have some privacy. Idiot that he was, he’d lain there each night, imagining what he could have done had they a tent available to them. He’d imagined stripping her naked, rolling her on her back and finding all those secret places that made women such a joy to be with. He’d imagined making her moan and then weep with pleasure, and then sinking his body into hers and finding his own. These imaginings had not helped him sleep. Only the promise that when they reached MacKay he would get to do all those lovely things to her had eased the ache enough to allow him to eventually find sleep.

  However, it had been after midnight when they’d arrived at MacKay. He’d been exhausted, and Annabel even more so. She’d actually dozed off in the saddle hours before that and he’d taken her on his horse so she wouldn’t topple out of her own. By the time they’d arrived, it had been all Ross could do to carry his sleeping bride inside and upstairs to their room. There he’d stripped and set her abed, and then tugged off his plaid and dropped into bed beside her, falling immediately into an exhausted sleep.

  Despite that, Ross had woken before her this morning. Annabel had been burrowed under the furs, sleeping so peacefully he hadn’t had the heart to disturb her. So he’d gone in search of his second to get his report on events during his absence. However, he’d had one hell of a time concentrating on the man’s words. His mind had kept wandering upstairs to his sleeping bride until he’d finally excused himself to go up and find her … only to have her remind him that it was Wednesday.

  He should have known that a bride who wore a chemise carouse on her wedding night would definitely balk at consummating on a Wednesday. The church frowned on anyone, even married couples, indulging in carnal acts on Sundays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. In fact, he’d heard it had been made a law. That wouldn’t have stopped him. As far as he was concerned, such laws were ridiculous and made up by bitter men who were jealous of what others could have and they couldn’t. The rest of God’s creatures did not refrain from procreating on certain days. He doubted God cared when people did either. However, if his bride was upset and anxious about the church decrees and breaking them, he wouldn’t force her. That would hardly encourage her to enjoy the bedding and he did want her to enjoy it.

  “So with such a sweet wife, why are ye so miserable?” Gilly asked, drawing him from his thoughts.

  Ross sighed. “ ’Tis Wednesday.”

  Gilly looked briefly mystified and then his eyes widened. “Ohhhh.”

  “Aye,” Ross said dryly.

  Gilly nodded sympathetically. “That’s a damned shame. Especially after ye could no’ indulge these last three nights on the journey.”

  “Aye,” Ross agreed miserably.

  “Hmmm.” Gilly shook his head and then brightened and pointed out, “Well, as I recall our priest always calls it bedding when he’s going on about that decree.”

  “So?” Ross asked with bewilderment.

  “The priest at Waverly probably calls it the same thing,” he pointed out.

  “So?” Ross repeated.

  “Well, is it still bedding if yer no’ in a bed?” Gilly asked.

  Ross blinked at the question and then considered it, a slow smile claiming his lips.

  “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 brigh
t 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 howled and moaned throughout the exercise. Even so, he didn’t stop holding the man until Annabel finally straightened from her chore, her hand going to the small of her back as if it pained her.

  “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 cou
ld 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.