The MacNaughton Bride

by Desconhecido(a)

  “Thank you, Sir – your Lord – “

  He stopped her from stumbling over her words by pressing his finger over her lips. “Try Kell. You’re my wife not my scullery maid.”

  Aislinn smiled, tentatively, for the first time that day – at least that Kell had the pleasure to see. It transformed her already beautiful face into something that Rembrandt or Boticelli should have painted, but even then he decided neither of them could have done her justices. She was radiant. Now if he could get her to do that more often. “Kell,” she said, as if trying the name on her tongue, like a vintage glass of wine. “What, exactly, is a scullery maid, anyway? I don’t know of any part of a house – or a castle like this – that’s called a scull, do you?”

  He knew he was grinning like a complete idiot, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He was enchanted by her, and it felt good to let himself go with someone, anyone, and since she was his wife it just seemed appropriate. He was the eldest, and with his brothers he’d always had to be just that – the one that made sure that the two of them didn’t kill themselves, putting a stop to their stupid stunts as a judicious older brother should. He was the Lord of his manor, and had to be staunch and confident and somewhat stern with his employees. Especially since he’d assume the title, Kell hadn’t had much chance to just be himself, to let his guard down. His most carefree time had been when he was in London as a youth, and that was a long time ago.

  If she was as fresh and innocent as she appeared to be, and as intelligent and inquisitive, he was going to like this being married thing. “Hmmmmm. Not that I know of, although I think I remember reading somewhere that there used to be a room of the kitchen that was called something like an ‘esculier’ several hundred years ago, or something like that. It’s probably been corrupted since then down to scullery maid.”

  Speaking of scullery maids, one of them had been pressed into serving in the Hall, and handed plates to both the bride and the groom. Aislinn accepted hers and thanked the girl, which made her color and walk away quite flustered. She wasn’t hungry in the least, probably partly since her husband kept looking at her like he was going to devour her any minute. “Did I do something wrong already?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

  He frowned, and she decided that that was a look she would endeavor to receive from him as little as possible. He looked positively scary when he scowled like that. “No, why?”

  “Because you’re looking at me as if you’re slightly amused at something I’ve done.”

  Kell, who was tucking into his own dinner with gusto, noticed that she was playing with hers, pushing the food around the plate but not eating anything. He took a bit of roasted chicken breast on the end of his fork and turned it towards her, feeding her from his own plate. Their audience thought this was incredibly precious, and “oohed” and “awed” at them until she took the chicken just to shut them up. Aislinn had never gotten applause just by taking a bite of dinner, and she wasn’t sure she liked the idea at all.

  “No, you haven’t done anything wrong, but I do like the way you are with the servants. Up here, they tend to be long standing members of the family – rather than in the South just treating them as chattel.”

  Aislinn nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “Jenny is the person I’m closest to in the world – she’s like my mother.”

  “Well, not everyone would bother to use courtesy with their servants.”

  “I don’t really think of myself as someone with servants – Jenny and her husband Arthur are more like friends. I’ve never had maids or butlers or anything like that.”

  “Now you do. It’s a big place, but if you’re organized, running it is relatively easy.”

  “I’ll do my best, my Lo – Kell.”

  The reception was loud and raucous, and that was just the meal. Afterwards, the tables were moved so that there was room for dancing and a lot of country dances – ceilidhs – that were extremely fervent and joyous, with everyone smiling and laughing. Aislinn hadn’t got to any dances so she didn’t know any of the steps, but her husband dragged her out onto the floor anyway, patiently showing her the steps, then catching her up in it and not saying a word when she stomped on his leather clad feet several times while he was whirling her around the floor.

  Kell was amazed to find that she didn’t know how to dance, but delighted in teaching her. She was a quick learner, and after the frenzy of the reels, a small group of country musicians who lent their services to their Lord as a gift on his wedding day settled things down by playing a waltz. The teaching process began again for Aislinn, but since the waltz was much less complicated than a lot of the ceilidhs, she was letting him guy her around the room in seconds, much to everyone’s satisfaction. Everyone else moved to the sidelines and left the bride and groom to dance alone.

  They were wonderfully matched – she came just to his shoulder, and her bright coloring complimented his darkness perfectly. Despite the Highlanders’ natural inclination to hate anything English, this little bit of a woman was warming their hearts. And the fact that she’d chosen to wear a bit of their plaid as a part of her wedding ensemble had cemented their favor towards her more surely than anything else they could do beyond producing a healthy air as expediently as possible.

  Full of food and more wine than she’d ever consumed in her young life, as well as unfamiliar feelings about her incredibly gorgeous and masculine new husband she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to explore. They left her with a slow ache in the pit of her stomach . . . but not quite her stomach. Lower, and in an area of her body she’d always been taught to staunchly ignore.

  Kell kept a lazy eye on his wife as he allowed various women to entice him into a dance or two. Despite the fact that he was a giant of a man, he was an excellent dancer – very light on his big feet. She didn’t seem particularly concerned that he was dancing with other women, and he liked that. Of course, she didn’t know that the current occupant of his arms was a woman he almost married.

  “Kell, darling, you’re still the best dancer in Scotland!” Charlotte Douglas rhapsodized as she fluttered her fan at him.

  Not for the first time, he wondered exactly what he’d seen in her – she was brassy and bold and wearing more makeup than an Edinburgh trollop. Charlotte certainly wouldn’t have put up with him dancing with other women at their wedding, but then that was probably because she was just as likely to proposition a married as a single man, and she considered that every other woman had her complete lack of scruples.

  He shuddered as he thought just how close he’d come to ending up with her. She was his first real love – crush really – and he thought the sun rose and set in those emerald green eyes. Thankfully, his brothers had sat him down before he’d asked her father for her hand, and set him straight about the fact that while she’d been dangling herself in front of him as the ultimate virginal prize, she’d been busily copulating her way through the Highland countryside – quite literally. Some picnickers had stumbled on one of her trysts near a stream on a picturesque hillside. There was no mistaking what had been going on.

  Charlotte’s blinding, full blown smile was meant to entice him, but he was looking past it and her to his wife, who, although it was only about four in the afternoon, was practically falling asleep in her chair. Not thinking what it would look like to anyone, Kell abruptly ended his dance with Charlotte even though the song was nowhere near over, and practically dragged her to her brother, who was her only living relative and entirely overwhelmed in every way by his sly sister.

  With a barely courteous bow, Kell headed single mindedly to his bride, picking her up and onto his lap as he reclaimed his own chair. “Tired, little one?” he whispered, trying to disturb her as little as possible.

  She could only nod against his chest. One of her small hands came up to clutch at his shirt front, and Kell felt such a surge of conflicting emotions that he wanted to scream with it. On one hand, she conjured deep within him a very feral, basic urge to protect. That small hand loo
ked so meek and defenseless against just about anything or anyone in the world. He wanted to wrap her up in cotton and carry her around, making sure nothing and no one ever had the chance to hurt her again – not her loutish Uncle or even the memories of her drunkard father. Her father’s brother was only too happy to unload all sorts of family secrets to the man who was going to take the burden of his niece off his hands.

  The only one he knew he couldn’t protect her against was himself, and his even baser urges. He adjusted himself – and her – in his seat, thankful for the forgiveness of a kilt, and the innocence of his bride, who might still be wondering just what it was that he was wearing that was poking insistently into her hip.

  Kell pressed his lips to that pale forehead with its damp tendrils of hair and stood up all at once. Aislinn barely stirred in his arms until everyone noticed that the guests of honor were leaving and they rushed to throw nuts and rice at them as they ascended the stairs. And even then she only awakened enough to peep sleepily over his shoulder. Her still somewhat fuzzy gaze fell of all people on Charlotte, who hung to the back of the crowd, eying the couple with malice in her eyes.

  Aislinn, who wasn’t trying very hard to wake up, did something in all innocence that could not have been more calculated to passively slap Charlotte across the face: she wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck and squeezed, burying her face against his neck.

  Charlotte had a hard time not being physically sick as the other guests insisted in indulging in wave after wave of congratulations and best wishes as the couple ascended the stairs. She was incensed at having lost Kell MacNaughton to another woman – and a Sassenach at that. She had never really given up hope that he would come to his senses and ask her to marry him. Charlotte knew that it was his brothers that had poisoned his mind against her with their foul lies and completely unfounded gossip about her.

  Well, mostly unfounded gossip, anyway. She did enjoy having a good time, and Kell was such a stick in the mud about most things. But he was a peer of the realm, and she had never been able to stomach the idea of anyone else being Lady MacNaughton.

  Somehow, some way, she would find a way to ingratiate herself with Kell, and get rid of that little interloper. She didn’t know how yet, but Charlotte knew from experience that a solution would present itself in good time, and she had infinite patience.

  Upstairs, Kell took her to the same room she’d spent last night in. He saw her puzzled look when he lay her carefully down on the bed. “This is my – our room,” he explained as he began to undo the buttons down her back, playing lady’s maid in a way that he’d never enjoyed so much before. Aislinn tried to pull away, but he gave her a gently sharp command to stand still, saying, “You don’t want to sleep in this gorgeous dress, do you, lassie?” He undressed her like a child, putting the dress on a hangar inside the wardrobe then removing the hoops so that she was standing before him in just her underwear and her hands – which were covering the already covered strategic areas, which put a small, indulgent smile on his face.

  Lifting her again at his whim, Kell pulled back the covers and tucked her expertly under them. “I want you to stay in bed and sleep until I come to you a little later. Don’t get up,” he warned, hoping his words were getting through to her. She looked like she was already asleep, “or you won’t like the consequences, little one.”

  Aislinn couldn’t respond. She was so tired from all the excitement, and the trip that she still hadn’t recovered from, and the wedding and the reception . . . and the fact that he kept feeding her morsels of his meal even though she didn’t touch her own. Her full stomach as well as all the other things that had been going on around her within the past couple of days conspired to make her want to sleep through the first day of her marriage, it seemed.

  Kell was wonderfully understanding, and put her to bed like a child. After he’d pulled the covers up and over her, there was a soft tap at the door and Kell went to see who it was. Aislinn was nearly asleep by that point and couldn’t have gotten out of bed to greet the Queen herself.

  “Yes, Jenny?” Kell only opened the door a small way, and stood in front of the opening as a subtle clue to the other woman that he wasn’t going to let her in.

  “I came to see if I can help with my – Ais – Lady MacNaughton, m’Lord.” She looked a little flustered, as if she might seriously consider trying to bluster her way past him.

  He tried to be as gentle as possible. This woman was used to doing everything for his wife, and had done an excellent job taking care of her. But now was not the time. “No, thank you, Jenny. I think I have things well in hand. You may go down and join the rest of the festivities, and, for your exceptional service to my Lady, you may have the rest of the week to do with as you please. I’ll see to Lady MacNaughton myself.”

  Jenny’s eyebrow rose. She’d never been given extra time off in her life. The holidays were about the only time she ever got off, and even then she had been responsible for taking care of the basic things around the house before she was allowed to leave. She didn’t want time off, though, and didn’t intend to take it. But she did want to let Aislinn know that there was a small bladder of chicken blood at the top of the headboard. She hoped the MacNaughton would leave her alone long enough that she could sneak back up here and explain to Aislinn why – and how – she should use it.

  Jenny thanked the giant profusely for his generosity, and made her way back to the festivities, mumbling to herself all the way.

  Kell returned to Aislinn’s side and found she was fast asleep. Chuckling softly to himself, he practically backed out of the room, trying to make sure that he didn’t do anything that woke her up. “Hey, what are you doing out of that room?” Grant practically yelled in amazement. “We had bets going that you wouldn’t come up for air until the turn of the year – you’re costing me money, man!”

  His older brother frowned at him. “You were betting on my wedding night?” Kell didn’t really know why he was surprised at that fact.

  “Of course! I took January fifteenth, myself, knowing how slow you are in all things . . .”

  Kell slapped his younger brother on the back in a way that, to someone who wasn’t paying much attention, would have looked like a brotherly gesture of affection. But he put enough of himself into it that he made sure that Grant felt it. Kind of like being patted by a brick.

  They made their way back to the reception, where the drinking and dancing had reached epic proportions. Since he was the richest man in the region, and the head of the clan, he was providing all the food and drink, as well as the hall for the celebration. If they had merely been a poor Scottish couple just beginning their lives together, the guests would have brought their own food and drink – with extras for others – as well as bringing substantial gifts to help the couple start out their lives well equipped with the necessities.

  But he was master of all he surveyed. Perhaps not quite as definitively as his father, or his father before him, but he was still the power in the region. The feuds and the raids that were common place in years gone by were much fewer and farther between – less likely to be well organized, well run raids conducted by feuding clans than by out and out robbers whose only interest was the money the sheep or cattle they stole would bring in – not in sparking or revenging a clan feud.

  He spent the next several hours dancing occasionally and eating, keeping a careful rein on his alcohol consumption. Kell didn’t intend to clumsily deflower his virgin bride. She was much too delicate for that. He wouldn’t hurt her for the world, and he knew that a bad experience this evening could lead to a lifetime of dissatisfaction for the both of them, when there was no need. Kell intended to make this one of the most wonderful experiences of their lives, and to do that he couldn’t be in his cups.

  Charlotte had been eying him eagerly from across the room – she was nearly salivating when they danced together. He had seen the look of triumph in her eyes when he arrived downstairs to be surrounded by curious well wishers
. Apparently he unintentionally managed to impress the women in the room when he announced that he knew Aislinn had had a hard few days, with travel and the wedding, and he wanted to give her time to rest.

  The one woman who was not impressed was Charlotte, and he could see that from across the room – she was rolling her eyes and shaking her head, deliberately catching his eye while she did so. When they danced again after he’d gotten a bite to eat – not at Kell’s behest - he wasn’t particularly surprised that she spent her time alternately sympathizing with the fact that his little wife had gone to sleep on him when she should have been seeing to his pleasure, and putting her hands in completely inappropriate places.

  Kell stopped dancing in the middle of the floor and held Charlotte’s jaw in his fingers hard enough that she would likely have faint bruises that no one would see under all that powder. “Charlotte,” he hisses, his face so close their noses could bump, “you never listened to me before when we were close, but you’d better damn well heed my words now: that woman upstairs is my wife, and you will show her respect in this house or I will toss you out on your more than ample buttocks and you will not be welcome at MacNaughton Castle again. Ever. Do you understand me?” Kell didn’t wait for her response. For the second time that day, he left her in the middle of a dance – only this time he didn’t bother with the courtesy of taking her back to her brother.

  Charlotte was nodding when he abandoned her, out of habit more so than any comprehension of his words – much less the feelings behind them. Someone of his caliber certainly couldn’t have any feeling for some nobody woman from England – just because she had an adequate dowry. She could feel pitying eyes on her as she found her way back to the wall where other wallflowers tittered at her from behind their hands. But she was made of sterner stuff. Charlotte stiffened her back against the ridicule of others.