Belonging to a Highlander

by K. M. Patterson

  There was a bottomless, empty pause.

  "Consummating our marriage," he answered, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. "Och, I do'na ken how this is done."

  Catriona's body went stiff for a moment. "What?" But she had seen him with the woman in Jamie's hall, seducing her. He had certainly looked like he knew what he was doing then. She had heard his men talking about women coming into their camp. For that matter, she had heard the men and the women in the camp … together. She had thought Hugh would have taken advantage of their presence as his men had.

  Her cheeks heated a degree more. Could it be that she had been wrong about Hugh's philandering ways? "You mean … you've never been with a woman?" She breathed a pent up sigh of relief for only a half-second before laughter spilled through the chamber at her back.

  When the laughter only grew deeper, the husky chuckle turned her head in a sharp look over her shoulder. She was not amused in the least considering the subject at hand and the now imposing bed at Hugh's back, which her eyes widened on. "What then?" she snapped.

  "I mean I do'na ken how a mon takes his wife to bed." He looked down her as though she were something odd. "His virgin wife."

  Her eyes rounded in fear, her brief hope crushed, the heat drained from her face. "You’ve never…" She gaped at him. "You'll no be taking me anywhere, especially no to bed." The words rushed from her lips so fast they all ran together in an inarticulate way. She steeled herself. "If this is to be my bedchamber, then get oot."

  "Get oot?" Hugh repeated.

  Catriona flounced around to face him fully. She planted her hands on her hips, hoping one bold stand might buy her some time. "'Tis a Saturday," she said.

  Hugh's brows furrowed together, and he placed his hands on his hips, too. His shirt balled into a fist at one side. The ripple of muscles at his abdomen bunched with the way he stood. "Aye. What has the day of the week to do with this?" He flicked a finger toward the bed, and Catriona's gaze followed before quickly snapping back to meet his. Flames danced on her cheeks.

  "Intercourse is forbidden on Saturdays," she blurted, her voice constrained and unnaturally tight.

  Hugh snorted. "Is it now?"

  "Aye. 'Tis forbidden when one's wife is menstruating, pregnant, or nursing." Catriona began holding up her fingers as she enumerated the many days. "There should be no intercourse during Lent, Advent, Whitsun Week, or Easter week. 'Tis forbidden on feast days, fast days, Sunday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. During daylight. If you are naked." She stopped and looked down his bare chest, her arms dropping to her sides as she had quickly ran out of fingers. She swallowed hard. "If you are in a church. 'Tis forbidden unless one is trying to produce a child. There shall be no fondling, no lewd kisses, no oral…" Flustered, Catriona fluttered her fingers in the air and searched the ceiling, her neck and cheeks flaming with embarrassment anew. "No strange positions," her voice began to waver. "It shall be done only once, and we must try no to enjoy it. Wash afterwards." Catriona wiped her hands against the back of her gown, as her palms had gone rather clammy as she recited Sister Helen's dictation on intercourse.

  "Is that all?" Hugh asked when she was silent for several long minutes.

  Though she had not thought it possible, her face flushed even hotter, so hot she felt dizzy and as though she might faint. "Aye," she said on a wavering whisper.

  It was to her horror then that Hugh casually tossed his shirt over his naked shoulder and slowly began to close the gap between them.

  She should have run across the room and put something large between them. But then, she thought of the sparse amount of furniture in the chamber at her back and nothing useful came to mind. Her feet wouldn’t move anyway.

  And it was now too late.

  Hugh's warm hands slid around her sides, melting through the fabric of her gown above her hips, and she felt his fingertips press against her as though there was nothing between them, just skin to skin, right above her backside. Her eyes fluttered shut of their own accord, and she was afraid for a moment he would touch her as he had before. Afraid what she might do in reaction if he did. His touch was the most intimate she had ever experienced.

  This time he did not move further. His hands stayed where they were, searing the skin beneath, teasing her flesh, setting her ablaze.

  She swallowed hard, timidly glancing up at him then. Her eyes shut tight again when the front of his body pressed into hers and a sigh escaped her.

  For all the sensation he caused he might as well have entered her, she imagined. A sharp stab in her groin shortened her breath and quickened her pulse.

  Her chest squeezed tightly, and she couldn’t breathe. Lord! She hoped her breath was not so ragged to Hugh as it was to her own ears. Her heart pounded against her breast, so loud she wondered if he could hear the beating, too.

  "Who told you such things, lass?" he asked quietly.

  "Um, Sister Helen." Catriona risked opening her eyes.

  "Ah. And this Sister Helen, did she ever have a red-blooded highlander for her husband?"

  Catriona's eyes shot wide. "Hugh!" she began to admonish, but he caught her chin in his fingers and his thumb ran over her bottom lip, his eyes transfixed there.

  "Weel, you do," he said.

  "I do," she repeated, her lips moving against his finger.

  Hugh growled at her then, a sound mixed between a growl and a low moan. "I'll give you time to adjust, but once you do, be warned that I shall no wait for Lent, Advent, Whitsun Week, or Easter week to pass—though I've nary a clue what three of those are. I'll have you on every bloody day of the week if I please, most especially feast days. I may even have you more than once."

  "Have me," Catriona croaked. "More." The one word was a rushed breath as she tried to take a step back, but he matched it, moving instantaneously with her and only came closer, his hard body firmly pressed against hers, the part of him that was undeniably all male pressed against the flat of her belly, hard as granite. She surely thought she would faint then.

  Fire burned in Hugh's eyes. "I'll have you during the day as weel as the night. Mayhap right under the sun, our bodies sprawled at the edge of the loch in warm heather during the summer, my plaid under your back." He paused, the corner of his lips lifting, a hint of devilishness playing there. "I'll surely have you naked. I'll make sure you do'na wish for clothes to be present for your body shall burn with wanting, lass. We shall no doubt produce many wee bairns. A dozen or so I should think. I'll fondle you, kiss you as any self-respecting Scotsman kisses his woman—most lewdly."

  He backed away just far enough to hold her at arm's length and his eyes fell down her body until they stilled on the area of her gown just above the juncture of her legs. "Oral," his voice went ragged, and then he looked up to her. A growl formed in his throat. "I wonder how sweet you taste, lass. Trust me, I'll find oot eventually. As to the strange positions? What does that even mean?"

  Catriona opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She struggled to take a breath, but nothing came in.

  "And, lass—" Hugh held up a finger. "You'll enjoy it. All of it."

  Catriona fainted then.

  Chapter Eleven

  Catriona strolled the castle grounds in surreal melancholy, Bess bobbing along at her side. She could not say the welcome she received was a warm one, nor had it been filled with chilled, rude stares.

  No.

  Indifference, maybe surprise. A hint of awkwardness.

  Hugh's people didn’t know how to treat her presence yet. She got the impression that they had not expected a lady of the keep, perhaps not ever.

  Had they thought their laird would never take a wife?

  She had awoken to an unfamiliar chamber, alone, somehow in bed though she couldn’t remember getting there. The clothes she had traveled in were still on her and someone had tucked her under the covers. Hugh possibly?

  She blushed at the thought of Hugh scooping her limp body off the floor and placing her in bed after she fainted.

  A
nd then she remembered.

  Catriona gave a mental groan at the night before.

  When she had risen this morn to dress in fresh clothing, she found the cold, forgotten bathwater and quickly regretted not getting to use it. He had completely discombobulated her with his nonsense.

  She had the distinct feeling he had been teasing her with his obviously feigned desire, and she was ashamed she had allowed him to affect her so once again. That wouldn’t happen a third time. No. He had said it himself; he didn’t want her. Or did he? Maybe in that one physical way. Regardless, what had happened the night before would not be happening again. Not yet.

  She and Bess meandered the grounds of the keep, not straying far and surely keeping well within the walls. They had explored all facets of the inside, and now, decked in simple cloaks for warmth, they rounded the last corner of the keep and Catriona paused at a rounded stone archway leading into a dead garden.

  Bess's endless stream of chatter turned in reflection of the garden, but Catriona didn’t respond. She walked under the dead vines hanging from the archway, her fingertips brushing down, over an old piece of metal. Perhaps a gate had been there at one time.

  "'Tis so sad, milady. All the pretty things have been killed off by winter."

  Catriona paused and glanced down at the brown leaves of the herb garden. "Nay, winter did no kill these pretties. Neglect held the sword that blighted them." The stalks had grown tall and had gone to seed before frost ever touched their leaves. "They should have been properly tended. If they had, some might yet live even in winter."

  "Shall you fix this garden come the spring?" Bess asked. "I remember when you were young the affection you had for the gardens at McBruiey Keep." When Catriona turned a look over her shoulder, her maidservant looked forlorn. "I'm sorry, milady."

  "'Tis all right."

  "I ken your memories were no so fond there. Even as a child myself I could tell that."

  Catriona's heart gave a lurch, and a momentary shock of emotion stabbed at her. "Aye, but I made happy memories, too."

  "Lady McBruiey should no have been so hard on you. ‘Twasn't your fault."

  Catriona looked over the garden with a sad smile. Jamie's mother had never liked her presence, even as a child. Her father had allowed her to roam the grounds of the keep freely as she pleased, especially the garden. But every time the lady of the keep caught her there, most times playing with Gillie, and her father was nowhere in sight, she would shoo her away and tell her to go back where she belonged.

  She had borne the lady's spite with great sadness as a young child, but by the time she reached her seventh year Lady McBruiey passed away, God rest her.

  Catriona crossed herself and started through the garden.

  Her thoughts turned to her parents and the short time they had together after. Absently, her thumb circled the small, round area of raised and smooth skin stretched tight above her wrist.

  Her mother perished when the cottage they shared burned to the ground. She would have died then, too, if it were not for her father. He had pulled her out just in time, but before he could reach her mother, it was too late.

  She didn’t have her father long afterward. His grief and remorse took him only three years later. In those three years, he suffered every moment. He told her many times how he regretted not moving them into the keep. Deep were the wounds left by her mother's death. For her father they were purely of the heart and soul, but the burn mark she had received on the underside of her wrist, just above the wrist-bone, served as a daily reminder.

  Alas, for all the pain their memory brought happiness undoubtedly surfaced, too.

  A slow smile spread, and Catriona bent back her head and closed her eyes, relishing a deep breath of chilled Scottish air. "Aye, I think I shall fix this wee spot."

  After all, why not? Part of her duties at the abbey had been to tend the garden. She loved flowers and all manner of plants with a passion. There was no place else she liked being better than in a garden.

  When she reopened her eyes, she looked over the barren little place at the back of the keep with a half stone wall surrounding the beds. She could make this garden lovely again with a little effort.

  "We won't wait until spring though. We shall start tomorrow, Bess."

  "Tomorrow, milady?" Bess looked around at her feet. "But 'tis winter yet. The end, aye, but snows yet cling to the ground and a chill is in the air. 'Twould kill wee plants I should think." She sighed and Catriona could hear the swooshing of her skirts as though the girl were turning round and round. "But what do I ken? I am only a simpleton."

  Catriona turned to her with an admonishing look. "Has someone here said such to you?"

  "The lady in the kitchens did. She's really no verra nice."

  Catriona frowned. "What did she look like?"

  "She has long dark hair, and she's verra bonny."

  Catriona was not sure who might have said such a thing, but she would be finding out. She would not stand for anyone mistreating Bess, either physically or by words. The first thing she would do when she returned to the keep would be to find out who had said this.

  "Never mind them. You are a bright lass, and you are the best maid I could hope for. 'Tis too bad people have to be so cruel and unjust." She gave her a reassuring smile and stifled a laugh at Bess as the girl beamed with newfound pride. "You are right aboot the cold though. Still, there is much to be done here. Look at all these weeds and vines. They must be cleared away." She sighed, stooping to pluck one from the earth and toss the dead stem aside.

  As she started to venture further into the garden, a light flapping caught her ear and she paused. There it was again, causing her to turn, mildly curious.

  A light, pitiful wonk caught her ear.

  That was when she saw the poor thing, a fat white gander caught in bramble in the corner near the garden's entrance.

  "Och, the poor wee gander," Bess said. "Milady, what are you doing? You'll get yourself pecked by that beastie."

  "Oh, nonsense." Catriona hurried to the large, white bird and pulled the bramble away carefully as to not harm the wee gander. The fat, long necked waterbird was not so wee as Bess had called it. Rather, the gander was overlarge. "Calm down now," she chided the animal as it did indeed try to nibble at her fingers as she removed the vines trapping its dirt-stained orange, webbed feet. "There you are!" she exclaimed when at last the gander pulled free and flapped at her with a loud wonk.

  Catriona made a sound of surprise, falling back on her bottom in the dirt as the gander made a wild dash about the garden, honking madly.

  Catriona couldn’t help but laugh, and her laughter doubled when the gander took off to chase after Bess. Her maidservant's squeals filled the garden, mingling with Catriona's laughter.

  When the bird at last spread its wings wide and waddled from the gate, its wonking trailing away, Catriona wiped tears from her eyes.

  She had not laughed like that in a long time.

  Still chuckling, she pulled herself from the ground and dusted off the skirt of her gown.

  "I've never seen such a violent beastie," Bess exclaimed.

  "Oh, Bess," Catriona chided with another chuckle. "'Twasn't so bad a creature. He was merely frightened."

  Catriona turned in a circle. This garden already possessed character.

  She liked that.

  Maybe something here could give her pleasure. This could be her secret little place to escape the husband who did not want her—except for in his bed.

  She flushed hot at the thought and wanted to wither down to the ground with the dead plants. Hugh had made a complete turnabout in that regard, if he could be believed. She had been almost certain he would not care for her in any way.

  She looked about her and shook herself.

  What he had said to her, his words stirred her in a way she had not been before. A bothering way. She might have woken in the chamber alone, laid on the soft bed and covered up, Hugh having not otherwise touched her as far as sh
e could tell—but his words, they haunted her still. He had made her desire something she had not known existed.

  "Dia," she breathed, turning a circle, unsure what to do with herself.

  ****

  She hadn't seen her husband all day. Not once. Not to escort her around the grounds, not to introduce the lady of the keep to the clan, not to welcome her, not to see that she found sustenance, not so much as to even say good morning or how fare thee.

  Until now.

  Catriona chewed the succulent lamb, her displeasure with her husband once again piqued. She carefully kept her expressions in check as she dined beside Hugh while he, ignoring her completely, spoke in boisterous tones to the man at his right. A man she surmised, by their talk, to be the steward who had seen to Hugh's keep in his long absence. However, Hugh had not introduced her as he should have. She, for the most part, had not so much as been acknowledged by either of them. Only when she raised her cup to drink did she steal little glances of Hugh beneath lowered lashes.

  He had done as she bid and shaved his face for their wedding, but now dusky stubble grew anew along his strong jaw—and she could no longer say she did not find him appealing in the least.

  She did have a fine looking husband, one she was quite sure many a lass would desire.

  Lasses including servants.

  She would not be so insecure as to be the wife who complained every time another woman looked in Hugh's direction. It was a simple fact that he was a handsome, virile man and would draw the lingering gazes of women.

  But just how many of these women here had shared his bed? she wondered.

  Her concern came when she noted the reoccurrence of lingering stares between Hugh and a certain serving woman.

  There were lines to be drawn between them yet.

  Lines she would not tolerate being crossed.

  Even by a husband who did not want her.

  Adultery was a sin, and the more the dark-haired lass across the room stared with large inciting eyes at Catriona's husband, the more Catriona wanted to stalk from the table that moment—but not before tossing the contents of her goblet in Hugh's face.