by Lynsay Sands
"I am happy," she said, but she was a poor liar.
Blake took her hands. "Seonaid--"
"And ye're happy too. I heard ye tell Amaury that ye thought I was perfect like this. So, we are both happy." She shrugged.
Blake was at a complete loss. He had no idea what she was talking about, when had he--My wife is perfect just the way she is. The words echoed through his head and he closed his eyes. That had been the last thing he'd said in his argument with Amaury, the one Seonaid had interrupted. And she--not having heard the rest of the discussion and having been rushing about in a dress for two days, doing her best to imitate a lady--had thought he'd meant he thought she was perfect as she was now.
"Seonaid, I meant I thought you were perfect the way you were prior to my waking up. As you were when I met you. As you really are underneath the silly wimple you are wearing and under all those skirts."
Her eyebrows flew up incredulously. "Ye did?"
"Aye."
"But I made ye chase me all over Scotland, Blake. I put my foot to yer groin. I--"
"Well, that part was not precisely what I meant, although it certainly made for an interesting courtship," he confessed. "Seonaid, I meant I liked the way things were between the wedding and the attack on the way to Sherwell. I admired and respected your strength and skill and intelligence 'ere that, and I appreciated your beauty. But once the wedding was done and you stopped running, we matched beautifully. We got along well in bed, we lay in each other's arms of a night talking, we could play and wrestle and tease and tickle ..." He shrugged. "I miss that. I miss the laughter and fun. You had relaxed with me and I miss that too."
He raised a hand to tug the wimple off her head, leaned forward, and kissed her gently on the lips, then whispered, "I like and miss you."
"I--Bloody hell!" She interrupted herself to roar.
Blake was just pulling back in surprise when she shoved him to the side and pulled her sgian dubh from the belt at her waist. It only took him a moment to see the problem. It seemed Greenweld's men had not given up after all. They were presently spilling into the glen.
"Bloody hell!" he echoed, leaping to his feet.
Chapter Seventeen
Seonaid moved instinctively to put her back to Blake's as the men moved to surround them, all the while wishing fervently that she'd brought her sword. Unfortunately, she hadn't worn one since donning a dress. That left her only with her sgian dubh. It wasn't much, but she assured herself it would be enough to at least guard Blake's back while he battled the men on his side. Besides, she reminded herself, these men were not likely to harm her; their orders had been to kill Blake. As long as she guarded his back, he only had to slay his way through nine men.
Brilliant! She had just had that thought when laughter drew her eye to the far side of the clearing as her father and his new wife came riding into the glen. Their merriment died the moment they spotted the trouble they had intruded on. But before either of them could react to what was taking place, Little George came riding into the clearing from another direction, Aeldra seated on the mount before him. Aeldra was sitting sideways in front of the man, pressing little kisses to his neck, but she stopped abruptly when the giant cursed and reined in his mount. Turning her head, she spied what was going on and stilled as well.
Seonaid's father and Aeldra acted at the same moment, Aeldra slipping from her seat in front of Little George even as Angus Dunbar dismounted. They both started to charge forward with Little George hard on their heels, but before chaos could erupt, Lady Margaret shouted, "Greenweld is dead!"
Seonaid's father, Aeldra, and Little George slowed in their approach but did not stop. Greenweld's men, who had noted their presence now and turned to face the threat they represented, stood hesitating. It seemed they didn't know whether to focus on Blake and Seonaid, the threesome now slowly approaching, or the woman still proudly sitting her mount.
"Greenweld is dead!" Lady Margaret repeated firmly. "He was trapped in the Dunbar passage while trying to invade the castle and fought to the death rather than surrender." She allowed a moment for that to sink in, then added, "On his death I became the soul mistress of Greenweld. You now owe your fealty to me."
Seonaid's father, Aeldra, and Little George had reached them but simply stood waiting, at the ready if necessary.
"I am aware you were only obeying Greenweld's orders in attacking Seonaid and Blake," she went on. "And I will not punish you if you lower your weapons and ride out now."
When the men hesitated, their gazes searching each other out, Lady Margaret snapped impatiently, "You have lost three of your men already. Would you really all rather die here this day than serve me?"
Greenweld's men finally lowered their weapons and stood as if uncertain what to do.
"You are free to ride back to Greenweld and join the rest of the men there. And so long as you serve me well and loyally, we will never mention this again."
The men hesitated one more moment, then moved as one into the woods. Blake waited a heartbeat, then followed, with Little George and her father on his heels. The trio was back within moments, looking more calm.
"Their horses were not far away. They have ridden out."
Seonaid felt herself relax.
"Well," her father muttered, glancing down at Seonaid's feet.
Following his gaze, she saw that she had stood on one end of the bread when she had taken her position at Blake's back. Other than that, nothing else was disturbed.
"How did ye come to be here?" Seonaid asked, moving her foot off the bread as she put away her sgian dubh.
The Dunbar shrugged. "I found this spot some years ago while your mother and I were visiting. I recalled it today and thought to show it to Lady Margaret."
Seonaid nodded slowly, then glanced to Aeldra and Little George. "And you? How did ye two come to be here?"
"One of the men on guard told me about this spot when I mentioned wanting a bit of time alone with Aeldra," Little George answered.
Seonaid turned and arched an eyebrow at her husband. "A secret spot, is it? I think your secret is out, my lord."
Grimacing, Blake faced the other two couples. "While I appreciate the help you have been in ridding me of Greenweld's men, I would appreciate it if you would leave us to our picnic."
"Oh, now, doona be so inhospitable there, lad." Angus Dunbar sheathed his sword and moved toward the picnic. "What have ye got there? Wine, strawberries, cheese, and--"
"Seonaid and I were discussing her sudden desire to wear gowns and shun her sword," Blake said meaningfully.
Much to her amusement, her father stopped his forward momentum. Nodding, he turned on his heel to head back to his mount. He called out to Aeldra and Little George as he went, "Come along, ye two. Ye'll have to find another spot fer yer shenanigans. Me daughter and son-in-law have some matters to sort."
Aeldra did not have to be told twice. Grabbing Little George's hand, she tugged him back toward their own mounts. Seonaid caught the relief on her cousin's face and knew she would be pleased did she return to her old self. While Aeldra had returned from visiting her new in-laws in a dress, it had only been a temporary change in behavior. She had apparently donned the more traditional clothing for the meeting with his family but had shed it again once comfortable at Sherwell. Seonaid knew she had been waiting for her to do the same thing, and would be happy for her old sparring partner's return.
The two couples left the clearing as quickly as they had entered it, and without so much as a by your leave.
Seonaid glanced toward her husband once they were gone, but he stood still for several moments, head cocked as he listened to the fading hoofbeats. Once assured they were definitely alone again, he relaxed, then seemed to become aware that he still held his sword. He tossed it on the ground next to the blanket she stood on, still within easy reach.
"Now," he said, turning to face her, "as I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted--"
Blake moved to stand in front of S
eonaid and clasped her face gently between his hands. "Seonaid, I like you just the way you are. There will be no changes. I want no simpering, sewing wife, for I will not wear lopsided tunics the rest of my life."
"Ye doona want me to sew and such for ye either?" She looked horrified. "But other wives do these things for their husbands and--"
"Then let them," Blake interrupted, "and they are welcome to it, but I have servants to tend to all of those things. I want you as my wife, not as a servant."
"But if I doona do those things, what can I do?"
"You can be yourself: strong, feisty, sleek as a cat, plain-speaking, smart, beautiful--" Blake stopped abruptly when he saw the tears welling in her eyes. "Are you crying?" he asked with alarm.
"Nay," Seonaid denied, even as she brushed the tears away, then she said helplessly, "yer complimenting me. And you have never complimented me before. I thought ..."
Blake smiled wryly and brushed the tears away. For a man who was supposed to have such a way with women, he had certainly botched this up from the beginning. Sighing, he shook his head. "Seonaid, what I just said, those were not compliments. They are the truth. I vow to you I will only ever tell you the truth."
She raised her eyebrows. "And compliments are not truth?"
"Nay. Not the way I have always used them," he admitted. "They are an exaggeration, deliberate flattery aimed at gaining some end. I often have to think them up, or create them, if you see what I mean. But with you, what I say comes naturally because it is true. I respect and love you too much to sit about plotting ways to get under your skirt or--in future--into your braies."
Seonaid stared at him in silence for so long he began to worry and asked, "What is it?"
"Ye said ye love me."
Blake blinked. He had. He did, but he hadn't meant to say so. Now that it was out, however, and she wasn't laughing her head off at him, he decided to let it be. "Aye."
"I love ye too," she admitted, and Blake felt himself begin to grin, until she added, "But I doona think I like it."
That killed his smile. "What do you mean, you do not think you like it?"
"It hurts. Here." Seonaid pointed at her chest, then blurted, "And 'tis scary, Blake. I doona like being scared. Nothing before has ever scared me like ye do. Should I lose ye, or should ye turn from me, I ..."
"That is a part of love, Seonaid," he said gently. "You only fear losing something when you have something of value to lose. And that fear shows that you know what we have has value. We love each other. We just have to work hard to be sure we never forget it and always act accordingly." He ran one finger along the side of her face. "I do love you. You are safe with me. You do not have to keep your defenses up, or be strong all the time while with me. And you do not have to change. I am pleased with you as you are."
Seonaid felt tears fill her eyes and glanced away with embarrassment, but Blake caught her by the chin and turned her face back. "I do not want you to fear being who you are with me. If you are afraid, or if you feel hurt by something, I want you to tell me, and between the two of us we shall do whatever it takes to see you are happy."
And between the two of us, we shall do whatever it takes to see you are happy.
Seonaid stared at him as those words echoed in her head. Between the two of them. Together they would see she was happy. As a couple, as husband and wife, as a team. They were two parts of one whole now, everything they did affecting the other. She had found her place, she realized. It seemed to Seonaid that she had spent the whole of her life trying to find a place for herself, trying to fit in, trying to earn the love of those around her. But Blake was saying that he wanted her as she was, softness and hardness. She did not have to change for him.
"Seonaid?" he asked with concern. "Are you well?"
Well? The question rattled in her brain and she almost laughed. Well? Aye, she was well. She was so full of joy it was almost bursting from her. Beaming a smile at him, Seonaid threw herself at his chest, hugging him so tightly she surprised a grunt from him. She then pressed a quick, hard kiss to his lips before pulling back and saying, "Aye, husband. I am verra well." She kissed him again, more gently this time, then pulled back solemnly. "I wish ye to ken, it goes for me too. If someone hurts ye, or ye feel afraid, or ye want somethin', ye must tell me, and together we two shall make sure yer also happy."
Blake grinned and hugged her to his chest, rocking her gently back and forth as he cupped the back of her head with one hand. After a moment the rocking slowed, and he pulled back to announce, "I want something."
"Already?" Seonaid exclaimed in surprise, then she nodded. "Tell me."
"I want to make love to you till neither of us can stand any more."
Seonaid blinked. "Ye ... ?"
"I want to make love to you till neither of us can stand any more."
"Ah." Seonaid bit her lip to keep from grinning; then she hooked one foot behind his ankle and gave him a push that sent him tumbling backward to the blanket. In the next moment, she had swung one leg over him and sunk to straddle him. "I think between the two o' us we can manage that."
"Do you?" Blake asked with amusement, catching several strands of her long hair and winding them around his hand to draw her down toward him.
"Aye," she answered, then she smiled and said, "Husband?"
"Aye?" he asked, his gaze focused on her lips.
"I think I am going to like this marriage business after all."
Blake's gaze shifted to her eyes with surprise; then he gave her a slow smile and said equally solemnly, "I think I will too, my love," before finally kissing her.
About the Author
LYNSAY SANDS is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Argeneau vampire series, as well as numerous historical novels and anthologies known for their humorous edge. Visit her official website at www.lynsaysands.net.
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Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE CHASE.
Copyright (c) 2004 by Lynsay Sands.
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EPub Edition JUNE 2010 ISBN: 9780062013262
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Sands, The Chase
(Series: Deed # 3)