The MacNaughton Bride
By Carolyn Faulkner
Copyright 2009 by Carolyn Faulkner and Blushing Books
Copyright © 2009 by Blushing Books ® and Carolyn Faulkner
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Carolyn Faulkner
The MacNaughton Bride
ISBN 978-1-935152-64-4
Cover Design: ABCD Graphics
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Chapter One
“You’re losing weight!” Jenny clucked disapprovingly as she moved about her charge, adjusting here, tugging there, until the young woman’s undergarments were in their correct positions, a dance she was just going to have to repeat once she tugged the laces of the corset as tightly together as possible.
“Don’t you know that men don’t like skin and bones in their beds? They like someone of substance who can generate some heat under the covers – in more ways than one!" She cackled at her own joke.
Trying to put her maid’s risqué comments out of her mind, Aislinn yawned for the thousandth time that morning, half out of exhaustion and half out of nervousness, and a fear she refused to confront. She was not afraid. Not. If she refused to acknowledge the unfamiliar emotion, then it didn’t exist. The almost undetectable trembling of her pale, slender hands was due to the fact that she wasn’t quite awake; it was certainly not attributable to the fact that the mere sight of her future husband was enough to make her whole body stiffen in trepidation.
Another loud, entirely unladylike, full body yawn made her lean slightly to the left, and she almost lost her footing and fell off the stool she’d mounted to make dressing her easier on the creaky old woman.
“Stand still, girl! That’d be just what you’d need – to fall and break your neck on your wedding day!”
Aislinn was a tiny woman – her father had always said she’d taken after her mother in her fine, aristocratic features and delicacy of stature. But despite her size, she had the heart of a lion. She – with precious little help from her father - had single handedly kept the Montgomery household running, a task she’d stepped into gradually as she grew up. Sarah Pierce Montgomery had died in childbirth, sending the normally good natured Albert into a self loathing spiral of drink that had ended a mere six months ago.
***
His brother, Aislinn’s Uncle Bertram, being her only living blood relative, had reluctantly come to her rescue and housed her, but only long enough to find her a husband, which he had announced on the first day they had met was long over due for her, in his opinion. She could still see him in that shadowy library where he conducted his business – whatever that was, chomping on an obscenely huge cigar and looking her up and down as if she was a slave on the block, and obviously finding her lacking. Or perhaps just finding her female and considering that the two were synonymous. Either way, he had very little to do with her for the few months she was there, for which Aislinn was truly grateful.
She had been of a mind to suggest that he find the richest, doddering old man that he could to marry her off with – the better to deal with her biggest challenge – but she managed to hold her tongue, which was no small feat in itself.
Instead, she had been unceremoniously summoned to that very same room in the middle of the night less than two weeks ago. He had again perused her as if she was some particularly odious insect, then announced without preamble that he had found her a husband and she was to prepare herself for a trip to Northern Scotland to be wed.
***
So here she stood, in one of the sparsely appointed guest bedrooms in MacNaughton Castle, although she’d been surprised to see that it had a triple mirror vanity in it and the biggest bed in Christendom, being dressed for her wedding by her long suffering maid. Aislinn couldn’t keep herself from asking the question she’d already annoyed Jenny with thoroughly several times this morning. “You’re sure that Adelle is okay?”
With a patience she rarely displayed, Jenny, her mouth full of pins, mumbled, “Yes, yes, yes. She’s fine. Resting quietly.”
Aislinn knew she wouldn’t be happy until she’d set eyes on Adelle herself, and as the thought entered her head, she stepped down and grabbed up her robe, heading for the door while Jenny sputtered behind , still leaning forwards, armed with the next pin for her bustle.
“Where are you going?” she asked, as if she didn’t know.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” the girl promised as Jenny sat back on her heels and shook her head.
***
The castle was a maze of rooms that were going to take a long while to map out in her mind, despite her usually good sense of direction. This was by far the largest and grandest place she’d ever been, let alone lived. As she walked hesitantly through the halls, Aislinn made mental notes about what she might want to change – first and foremost being that there was barely any decoration or style. The walls were almost entirely bare. But decorating was secondary to her current mission.
As she rounded a corner, close to her destination and completely intent on her goal, she rammed head on into the MacNaughton himself.
Her bridegroom.
Crashing into him sent her flying back several steps, but he reached out as fast as a snake and grabbed her upper arms to keep her from falling in a heap on the floor. Aislinn could feel the strength – just in his huge hands – as he steadied her, then dropped his hands to his sides. Her eyes fell to the floor. Why did this man have the ability to cow her, when none other ever had? Her bullying uncle hadn’t succeeded – she’d been just as happy to have him marry her off and get out from under his oppressive thumb. Her father - drunkard that he was – had had a mean, violent streak that she’d managed to fend off with few remaining scars. She’d always stood up for herself – and others. She’d had to. There was no one else to do it for her.
But this man . . . he towered her, and somehow she knew, just looking at him, that she’d more than met her match. The two men – the two primary men in her life – had been weak, or had just wanted to forget that she existed. There was nothing in Kell MacNaughton’s demeanor that let her think she might get away with anything with him, including trying to handle him to her own advantage. They had barely met last night when the coach he’d sent to collect her had arrived at the castle, and had never talked. Yet this evening she would be lying in the same bed with him, and as Jenny had already advised, letting him “do what he would” to her, supposedly without objection.
Aislinn wasn’t at all sure she could do that. Her father had been too involved in his own grief to want to
have much to do with her. Aislinn had grown up largely on her own – with gentle guidance from Jenny, but Jenny was no match for Aislinn’s headstrong tendencies. In large part, she’d done exactly as she pleased all her life, and there had been no one to tell her otherwise. No one who could say it and enforce it, that was. Her father’s occasional, inconsistent, downright violent attempts to discipline her had left her even more determined not to trust anyone else for her wellbeing, and the wellbeing of those she held dear.
“Are you all right?” That deep bass voice rumbled through her until her chill bumps made her toes curl.
Inhaling deeply, Aislinn straightened her back. Even if she felt one, she didn’t have to act the ninny around him. “I’m fine, thank you.”
He was considering her all too closely for her comfort, those black eyes piercing and peering into her very soul. “What are you doing about this morning? I would have thought you’d be getting ready.”
“I could say the same about you.”
His eyebrow went up at her impertinence. Few men would address him so, and yet here was little Sassenach baggage coming right back at him about why he wasn’t busy getting ready for their wedding – as if he didn’t have a thousand other more important things to do. In fact, he had a devil of a time trying to make sure that his younger brothers were convinced that he didn’t want to indulge in the usual traditions – even the ones that involved liquor. Traditionally, he should have started about a week ago, and made the rounds of all his friends, drinking all the way, only to end up at the ceremony, so hung he could barely open his eyes, and bedecked with all of the folderol they could come up with along the way – bows and bells and all manner of unnecessary and unmanly decorations. He was so tall he’d end up looking like a Christmas tree, and that was definitely not what the MacNaughton preferred. He knew he was already a big, hulking brute, not the refined type that ladies – most particularly English ladies, he imagined, preferred.
But she was exactly what he preferred. Her Uncle’s representative had described her to him, but the man himself had only met her once, briefly, so there wasn’t much for him to tell. What she looked like was considered to be completely unimportant, anyway, and there was no time for a portrait, and definitely not one of those newfangled stereoscopic photographs he would have loved. Kell had seen several stereoscopic images which showed images in three dimensions, and had become fascinated by it. He couldn’t think of a better way to see his future wife.
But the more important factor was her dowry, which was extremely generous, and would be put to good use to make badly needed improvements to the castle and its outbuildings, increasing his herds of both sheep and deer, and his smallish herd of black Highland cattle. His mouth twisted at the memory of the man’s spare description, which had lead him to thinking that he would end up having to do his duty by his wife, but he that he wasn’t going to enjoy it much.
****
“She’s plain and dull, and from what I could see.”
Kell had steeled himself, not really trusting what the man had said, but knowing he would have to take what he got. Aislinn had arrived while he was out training with his men, and he’d not had time to clean up before presenting himself to her. In fact, he’d come into the great hall not knowing she was there, freshly sweaty and almost bare chested. Not the way he would have chosen to greet her, but then better for her to face the realities of life in the Highlands. Sometimes, the proprieties were forsaken for the sake of the practicalities of life.
Despite his attire – or lack thereof – he came to stand before her and swept a formal bow. She was bundled against the chilly northwesterly wind, and he could barely make out anything but the outline of her body, which, he knew, would be distorted by the current fashionable mode of dress which accented a woman’s backside with an exaggerated bustle. Kell wasn’t in the least adverse to a woman’s natural backside, and disliked the idea of trying to improve on what God had made utterly perfect in a female.
What he saw shocked and delighted him, although he was not given to overt displays of emotion and none of it showed on his expression. His poker face had made him a tidy sum of money when his father had sent him to London, and he had frequented Whites – the exclusive mens’ club – and had spent many a night drinking, gambling, and whoring as a young man. All of that had come to an abrupt halt when his father – the old MacNaughton – had died suddenly of cholera and he was called back to assume the mantle of responsibility his father had so wisely worn.
Her well-fed maid was fluttering about, gently folding back the hood of her blue sapphire cloak, which was of much to light a material to have done her a lot of good during the ride. Kell made a mental note that she would need much better attire in order not to freeze to death during a Highland winter.
His breath caught as her long, red gold ringlets were revealed, clinging and framing that pale, delicate face. Clear, bright blue eyes peered out at him from above full pink lips that were curved into a small, distinctly apprehensive smile. Her dress was very much like her coat – clean, but well worn and much too thin for the temperature. Kell frowned. Her dowry was more than ample for his needs and he had expressly left funds for her trousseau, so that she would have the things she needed – had her Uncle not seen fit to outfit her for the weather?
Kell saw her flinch as he frowned, but then watched with interest as she deliberately stiffened her back, never lowering her eyes from his face. She was a tiny little thing, barely a handful, but apparently she had backbone. As long as she kept to her place, that would come in handy. Even nowadays, life in the Highlands wasn’t easy.
Peeling off cotton gloves that more closely resembled Swiss cheese, she walked up to him slowly, her hand outstretched towards him. He could feel the fine tremor in her fingers as he bent low over her hand and pressed his lips to the back of her hand, noting its iciness and the blue around her nails.
“Lord MacNaughton?”
Her voice was softer than any he’d heard before, melting over him slowly, like thick, hot honey. Not given to flights of fancy – ever – Kell’s frown deepened. “Yes, and you are Miss Aislinn Montgomery.”
“Yes.”
He tugged her gently but implacably over to the fire to warm up. Kell had been born and raised her. The cold rugged weather only served to invigorate him – there wasn’t a chill bump on him. “Why don’t you rest yourself here for a moment, and I’ll go upstairs and change into something more presentable.” It was as close to an apology for not being ready for her arrival that she was likely to get from him. He wasn’t given to apologizing to much of anyone, much less a woman.
Aislinn nodded. She wasn’t sure she was interpreting what he was saying correctly, but she sure did like how he said it. It was surprising to realize that they were both using the same language – generally. It was going to take her a while to get used to his brogue, but she had a pretty good ear for languages, thankfully.
Once he’d left, and Jenny had disappeared trying to find someone to bring her mistress a cup of hot tea, Aislinn rocked herself quietly before the fire for a moment, like the obedient betrothed she would probably never be. Well, most of her prayers about her future husband had gone ignored. She wasn’t at all surprised that her Uncle hadn’t heeded her wishes in the least, but she’d hoped that the Good Lord would listen to at least some of her requests.
But it wasn’t to be, apparently. The man who, tomorrow, would have the right to do as he pleased with her was taller and broader than any mountain she’d ever seen. She’d never seen a man’s naked chest before, and his was as close to that state as she’d ever encountered – just a slash of what she assumed was the clan plaid across it, his tanned flesh glistening with sweat even in the cold, muscles bugling and rippling with every movement. He was huge, and throbbingly male. His hand had completely engulfed hers, and, although he was obviously trying to be gentle about it, there was no denying him when he guided her over to the fire. She barely reached his shoulder, and he probabl
y outweighed her by more than ten stone.
What would it be like to spend the long, dark winter nights with a man like this, who was so obviously physically fit and more than capable of fulfilling his husbandly duties? Aislinn was glad she could blame her flaming cheeks on the fire.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“I believe my maid’s gone to get me some tea. I’m really not very hungry, but thank you, my Lord.”
He was of a mind that she could stand to be fattened up some, but he held his tongue. She was so tiny – he was going to dwarf her in bed. The thought made him flush, thankful for his forgiving kilt as he adjusted his position.
Her maid appeared with a try of tea, pouring him a cup automatically.
Jenny knew just how she took it – with plenty of milk and sugar. She watched her future husband closely, considering how absurd that tiny cup looked in that massive paw – she took heart that he hadn’t broken it outright. Perhaps he knew how to temper his strength. Aislinn could only hope.
Kell leaned back in the chair, putting his cup and saucer on a chair side table, and studied her. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. She was beautiful - and very obviously uncertain about him and her future, as one would expect. He watched her fiddle with one of the slightly ratty ribbons on her dress, and occasionally heard her cup rattle against its saucer, until she consciously stilled it. It appeared that his little bride had a not inconsiderable will of her own.
That was an element he hadn’t considered, and he’d have to see just how far she tried to push it – not that he was going to give her much leeway. “I imagine you’re tired after your long trip. Why don’t I show you to your room?”
Aislinn was amazed that he wasn’t having a servant do that. He was a peer of the realm, after all. Even if he was just Scottish. But he was up and offering her his arm before she had a chance to answer yes or no. He tucked her hand into his elbow and guided her up the huge staircase and down a sparsely furnished hall. When he threw opened the door, she walked into the largest bedroom she’d ever seen – to her limited experience, it should have been a ballroom rather than a bedroom, although, beyond the monumentally huge bed, there was precious little furniture in it. The mere sight of the bed colored Aislinn’s cheeks, although she did her best to ignore it.
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