by Lynsay Sands
Kade hesitated, a small frown plucking at his lips, then sighed and reluctantly admitted, "Aye."
Will knew him well enough that he narrowed his eyes, and said, "But?"
"She's almost too sweet," he admitted on a sigh. "There's no spark of passion in the lass. I'm no' a good patient. I get surly and cantankerous and more than once ha'e tried to prick her temper the last few days, but she doesna react at all except to grow sweeter still. 'Tis as if she has no temper at all."
Will raised his eyebrows. "And that's a bad thing?"
"'Tis unnatural," he said firmly.
Will shook his head. "Not in England. At least, my own mother was just as sweet all the days of her life. 'Tis a trait admired by most Englishmen."
Kade's lips turned down with disgust. "Then yer fools. A woman'd no survive long in Scotland like that." He scowled. "Were bandits to beset Averill, I fear she'd thank them for troubling themselves."
Will chuckled at the suggestion but didn't argue it either. Instead, he sighed. "Then I suppose I should not suggest that you marry her?"
Kade gave a start at the words. "What?"
"Well, you did mention while we were imprisoned that did we ever escape, you would have to find a bride to bear your bairns ere you ever did anything so foolish again as rushing off on Crusade," he pointed out solemnly.
"And yer thinking Averill and I...?" He didn't finish the question but sank back against the bed with a frown to consider the suggestion. But as much as he liked the girl, and while it would save him the trouble of hunting up a woman later, he could not imagine marrying and taking Averill home to Stewart.
Kade had a battle ahead of him when he reached his family's home. A few years before leaving on Crusade, he'd received a letter from his sister spelling out how matters went. Mother had died, and Merry had taken over the running of Stewart. Their father was still laird in name and threw his weight around when drunk, but mostly he was too sotted to run matters, or too hungover to do so. Little Merry was running Stewart and would do so until she wed as she'd promised their mother on her deathbed.
This news had immediately brought Kade home to Stewart, where he'd waited three days to find his father sober enough that he could broach the subject of taking over the task as laird himself rather than leaving it on Merry's shoulders. He had, obviously, broached the subject wrongly. His father had refused even to acknowledge that his wife had for years run Stewart and that Merry had now taken her place. He was the laird at Stewart. He made the decisions, he insisted. He ran the castle and all their people. He was the great Laird Stewart and had every intention of remaining so and Kade could go jump in a loch if he thought he would take the title from him ere he cocked up his toes.
His father had then, with Kade's two younger brothers backing him, suggested Kade get the hell off Stewart land.
Kade had left, and had someone asked him why at the time, his answer would have been the same as Will's for not interfering with his father's plans for his sister. Eachann Stewart was his father, his laird, and was of right mind. But while he'd believed that at the time, and while that might be true of Lord Mortagne, after thinking about it all these last years, Kade realized his father wasn't in his right mind at all. The drink had a hold of Eachann Stewart and was keeping him from being a proper laird, or even any kind of example for his two youngest sons.
That was what Kade was returning to, a possible battle to take over running Stewart, then no doubt a lot of hard work to set the place to rights if his sister's betrothed had claimed her and his drunken father and brothers had been running Stewart into the ground in a whiskey-induced haze these last years. As much as Kade liked Averill and had enjoyed his chats with her since waking, Stewart was no place for a sweet and gentle woman such as her. Dear God, she would not survive a month in such rough surroundings, he thought unhappily, and shook his head. Perhaps he would have risked it were there a little more fire under the sweetness, something to suggest she might thrive despite adversity, but...nay, he would not take her there just to see her grow weary and worn down by misery.
"Ah well," Will said on a sigh. "Then I suppose we shall have to hope Father's plan works."
When he grunted but didn't comment, Will turned the topic to other subjects. Kade listened, but his mind was on what might be happening below. Had the latest would-be husband arrived yet? How much whiskey had Lord Mortagne made Averill drink? Was it aiding her in not stammering? Would this would-be husband accept her to bride?
Chapter Five
"My lady, you have a bit of soot just here."
Had Averill not been concentrating so hard on not swaying in her seat as well as keeping down the meal now boiling around in the whiskey her father had made her drink, she would surely have tried to avoid the horrid little Lord Cyril Seawell as he reached out to brush at her cheek. She might even have turned to speak to his equally horrid mother, who sat on her other side. However, she was distracted with these other matters, was caught by surprise when he touched her, and instinctively scowled and knocked his hand away with irritation instead.
Really, the man kept touching her. Her hands, her face, her arm, even her leg. It was bad enough that he was sitting so close his thigh kept brushing against hers, but he also kept finding excuses to actually touch it with his fingers. A bit of fluff was on her gown, then a crumb of bread had needed brushing away...That one had been the excuse for running his hand up and down her outer thigh several times in a rather discomfiting manner.
Averill was having difficulty restraining a desire to punch the odious little man in the nose. And he was indeed both odious and little. He was actually about her own height of just over five feet, but that put him a head and shoulders shorter than both Kade and her brother.
Noting the way Lord Seawell's eyes narrowed at her rebuff, Averill forced a smile and murmured, "Is--It is all right, my lord. My maid shall tend it later."
She had to speak slowly to guard against slurring her words, but thought she'd made a good showing of it, so was surprised by the dreaded frown that returned to beetle between his eyebrows. The expression had been tugging at the man's face repeatedly since they'd sat down to the midday feast her father had arranged for Lord Seawell and his mother. It was really quite unattractive, she decided. But then the man himself was rather unattractive as well. Mousey brown hair fell in nasty, lank waves around a face sadly lacking in the fine features that made up Kade's handsome face.
However, Lord Seawell did have at least three times the mass Kade had. Unfortunately, most of it was in his belly. He definitely did not spend time in the lists as Will and her father did. Averill could only imagine that he depended on his soldiers' skills in swordplay, for she doubted he was any stronger than she, and she could not have wielded a broadsword with any competence.
Of course, Averill was not holding any of this against the man. She was sensible enough, even in her present inebriated state, to know that looks were not, and should not, be important. After all, she was ugly as sin with her red hair and marked face, and yet wished to be valued by someone, so was willing to overlook his form and consider the man beneath. Unfortunately, Lord Seawell was falling far short in that area as well. He wasn't nearly as intelligent or entertaining as Kade was. She had spent hours a day for a week talking to Kade about all and sundry, discussing their childhoods, his experiences while imprisoned and afterward in the monastery in Tunis. They had also discussed classic tales such as Beowulf, and even politics and religion. However, Lord Seawell appeared to be singularly lacking in opinion or knowledge on most of these subjects, and her efforts to talk to the man had fallen flat after only a few moments.
On the bright side, Averill reminded herself, her father's plan had worked. She hadn't stammered once...although she was showing a distressing tendency to want to slur instead.
"Most distressing," she decided.
"What was that?" Lord Seawell asked, leaning closer.
Averill was aware that it was just an excuse for him to try to
look down the top of her gown again. He had done so repeatedly since arriving. While the other suitors had barely looked at her after their first glance, it seemed Lord Seawell intended to examine her thoroughly before making up his mind. She wondered suddenly if she shouldn't open her mouth so he could inspect her teeth as her father did with horses.
As if thinking of him stirred him to speech, her father suddenly cleared his throat, and said bluffly, "Well, perhaps once we finish our meal, you would join me by the fire for a chat, eh, Lord Seawell?"
"Of course, my lord," Cyril said easily. He then leaned close to Averill, his eyes dipping down her gown again as he murmured, "He wishes to know if I shall accept you to bride."
Averill raised a hand to cover her decolletage and murmured in what she hoped was an adequately interested fashion.
Apparently, it was satisfactory because Cyril straightened and smiled at her, then said, "I believe I shall say yes."
Averill's heart sank.
"And you should be grateful for it, my dear. After all, you have obviously inherited your mother's unfortunate coloring. Though it shows your good sense that you cover it, let us hope you do a better job once we are married."
Averill reached up to her face with alarm, noting that some of the wild, red tendrils had escaped the cloth cap Bess had stuffed her hair into at her father's behest.
"And you have those very tiny, almost nonexistent breasts," he added, startling her into glancing down at her chest. This was a new complaint. While previous men had mentioned her ugly hair, her birthmark and her god-awful stammering as reasons to refuse marrying her, this was the first complaint she'd had about her breasts.
Averill admitted that hers were certainly not overly large, but she did not think they were that small either, and at least they were not so large that she looked unbalanced and likely to tip over, as his mother, Lady Seawell, did. She wondered if that was not why he'd kept trying to look down her top, because he was disgusted by their very lack and trying to find them. Were they so small? she wondered. No one had ever said so before.
"And you do have a tendency to twitter away about nonsensical things," he added with a frown.
Averill answered with a frown of her own. She'd hardly spoken at all after the first few moments, mostly because she'd received little or no response from him. But if he thought the bit of talking she'd done today was twittering away...Dear God.
"Now Cyril, do not be unkind," his mother chided, leaning in to join the conversation. "Lady Averill cannot help it if she is ugly and sadly lacking a bosom. Besides, 'tis said Lord and Lady Mortagne were very happy, and she was just as homely. No doubt Lady Mortagne was so grateful that he married her that she did all she could to make him happy, and I am sure 'twill be the same with Averill here. She will do whatever you wish out of gratitude. Besides, once you snuff the candle, it will not matter what she looks like, and you can always fill her mouth to keep her from talking. Just think of the dower as you do your husbandly duty," the woman suggested, then laughed gaily at her own cleverness
"Is she right? Will you be grateful?" he asked, his eyes once again seeming to try to climb down to get a better look at those breasts he found so wanting.
Averill stared at him, her mind still stuck on what Lady Seawell had said. Snuff the candle, fill her mouth to keep her quiet and think of the dower? All while she lay there with his tubby little body smothering her in the bed as he panted and heaved over her. Her stomach churned violently, and she bit her lip, breathing through her nose in an effort to settle it. However, when he reached out quite suddenly and actually squeezed one of her breasts as if it were a melon he was checking for ripeness, Averill snapped and plowed her fist into his nose.
The man squealed like a girl, eyes wide, as he grabbed his nose and leapt to his feet.
Despite her churning stomach, Averill smiled the first smile she had since turning to see Bess holding out her red gown.
"Why you ungrateful wretch!" Lady Seawell screeched, leaping to her feet to rush to her boy. "Cyril. Cyril darling, are you all right?" Grabbing his head, she clasped it to her massive bosom and turned on Averill. "You horrible, ungrateful girl! How dare a mealy-faced, red-haired creature like yourself touch my boy?"
He touched me first, Averill thought, but when she opened her mouth to say so, her rebellious stomach cast out her lunch on the floor at the woman's feet.
"And then what happened?" Will asked.
"Aye, finish it, lass," Kade growled. While he really wanted to go below and hammer Cyril, he also wished to know all that had happened, so he could give him the punishment he deserved. Kade wouldn't want to merely beat the man and find out he should have killed him.
Kade's gaze slid over the woman lying on his bed. He and Will had been talking quietly when Bess had burst into the room and told them that Averill had punched Lord Cyril and all hell had broken out below. He and Will had headed down at once, only to encounter Averill on the stairs. One look at her pallid face and the way she was swaying as she clutched at the rail had distracted him from the shouting below. Leaving her father to deal with Lord Seawell by himself, he and Will had each caught one of Averill's arms and ushered her up the last few steps. Since his room at the top of the stairs was closest, they'd taken her there.
Averill now lay flat on her back on the bed he'd occupied this last week, a cold compress over her eyes as she told them what had happened. Much to his fascination she'd done so not only in slurred words but also in most unsweet ones. Kade found himself unable to take his eyes away from the creature in his bed. She was a changeling. Certainly not the sweet, passionless creature who had hovered over him since his waking. It seemed the girl had a temper after all and had a rather varied and vulgar list of curse words rattling around in her head, for she'd used several to describe the loathsome Cyril Seawell.
"Oh." Averill waved one hand weakly, then released a gusty sigh. "The old cow was ranting on about how ungrateful I was and how I should be kissing her son's feet and bathing them with my tongue in gratitude for even considering me to bride, and I was trying to keep down luncheon and dared not open my mouth to respond. However, I was so exceedingly sick to death of the old bitch's rambling and completely ridiculous rantings--" She paused to sneer with disgust, and muttered, "As if I would lick any part of that addle-pated oaf of a son of hers, let alone his feet."
Will's eyes widened in horror at her words, but Kade found himself grinning as she continued. "And then the old battleaxe snapped, 'Well? Are you going to apologize for such heathen behavior?' and I opened my mouth to tell her to sod off. I got the words out, but before I could close my mouth, my lunch spewed out. I got the skirt of her gown." She sighed at the memory, the bottom of the damp cloth fluttering slightly, then her lips thinned out, and she added, "And I am not sorry. Can you imagine having that mean old harpy for a motherin-law? Dear God, even without the whiskey to shake my reserve, I could never hold my temper with her."
"But Averill, you do not have a temper," Will protested with dismay, then frowned at the ridiculousness of the claim considering what he'd just heard. "I mean you have never shown a temper before. You have always been sweet and most temperate."
"Because Mother insisted I must be and helped me learn to control it," she said quietly. "The day after I tried to run away and kicked the captain of the guard, she started to teach me to control it."
"Run away?" Will looked shocked. It was obvious he knew nothing about any of it.
"How did she teach you, Averill?" Kade asked quietly. For teaching a five-year-old anything was quite difficult, but trying to make one go against her own nature was nearly impossible.
"Every time I lost my temper, she made me take a bath in cold water." Her voice was almost absent as she said it, with no sign of rancor at the punishment...and punishment it would have been, Kade thought grimly. He couldn't imagine anyone forcing a child to sit in cold water. Aside from unpleasant, it was surely dangerous to risk her catching a chill like that.
Averill suddenly snatched the compress away and scowled up at her brother. "I suppose you hate me now."
"Nay, of course not," Will said at once, then grinned, and added, "Actually, I rather like you like this. Where did you learn to curse that way?"
"From you," she said dryly, dropping the compress back over her face. "And from the soldiers who man the wall. They are forever shouting curses back and forth, and I hear it all from my chamber when the shutters are open."
"Hmm, I shall have to take more care in the future and perhaps speak to the men on the wall," Will muttered, but he seemed more amused than anything. He then turned to Kade and arched an eyebrow. "Is she still too sweet?"
Kade turned to peer at the girl. She had pulled the compress away again, and her beautiful green eyes were shifting from one man to the other with suspicion. The bonnet she'd worn to meet Lord Seawell had been discarded, and her tresses now lay splayed over the bed on either side of her head, fiery locks he'd like to gather in his hands and press to his face. Her cheeks were flushed with color from her temper, her sweet, soft lips twisted with irritation, and he'd never seen her look more beautiful.
"Nay," he growled. "I'll have her."
Will grinned and slapped his shoulder happily. "Welcome to the family."
"What?" Averill sat up, confusion on her face. "Whatever are you--" She stopped abruptly, one hand going to her stomach, the other to her head. She closed her eyes with a moan, opened them again, and gasped, "Why will this accursed room not stay still?"
Kade stepped to the side of the bed, pushed her back to lie flat with one hand, then returned the cold compress to her face. "Rest. The room'll right itself do you do so."
She resisted him briefly, but then gave in and allowed herself to flop back on the bed with a miserable little sigh. "I shall never drink again."
Kade waited a moment, but when she stayed still and seemed to drift off to sleep, he glanced to Will. "I'll talk to yer father."
