“Did you expect a gluttonous bride? One used to gorging herself during feasts at the royal court?”
“I didn’t expect aught. I hadn’t had time to. I learned of our betrothal a fortnight ago.”
Cairren’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “And in that fortnight, I’m certain you were far too preoccupied to wonder who you might be marrying.” Her gaze shifted to where Myrna sat glaring at her. Cairren sat back and looked away from their food. “And you wonder why I don’t feel much like eating.”
Cairren and Padraig reached for their shared chalice at the same moment, their fingers brushing together before Padraig’s hand covered Cairren’s. Padraig felt Cairren’s sharp inhale before she released the stem, but her hand was still beneath Padraig’s. He pulled them away and tucked them beneath the table, out of anyone’s sight, particularly the glowering blonde at the end of the table.
“Let us get through this feast and tonight, then perhaps we can talk properly.”
Cairren canted her head to glance at Padraig as his fingers entwined with hers beneath the tablecloth. His hand was warm, and she could feel his callouses rub against her knuckles. It was the hand of a man accustomed to work, and she found the feel arousing. “Aboot what?”
“Aboot how we will go forth. We are both healthy and young. We can expect to be married for many years. I would like us to start out with a truce.”
Cairren yanked her hand away. “Then the first term of our agreement is that she leaves. I can’t, so she must.”
“Be reasonable, Cairren. She is our guest, and a lifelong friend to our clan.”
“‘Our?’ She isn’t our anything. She is yours. Yours to deal with. Take her home and stay there if you’d rather, or ride back and forth. Balnagown is less than a morning’s ride. You can see her every day if you want, but I wouldn’t have to share my new home with a woman who looks like she’d murder me in my sleep.”
Padraig was prepared to disagree, even tell Cairren she was overreacting, but he spared a glance at Myrna, and the hatred that oozed from her turned her normally serene face ugly. When he returned his eyes to Cairren, she’d already turned back to her parents. He always ruined things by failing to keep his attention away from Myrna. He’d done it several times in the day he’d known Cairren, and he wondered how many more times she’d endure the unintended slight before something had to give.
The meal progressed with Padraig sitting in silence, avoiding Myrna’s doleful expressions, while listening to Cairren cheerfully talking to her parents. He’d learned French and could speak it, but he hadn’t used it often. He rarely visited court, and that was the only time he needed it. When he tuned out the sounds around him and focused on Cairren and her parents, he could follow along as they discussed the border and England. It surprised him how deeply Cairren understood the politics of her home region. He could tell she took an interest, and he realized she was more intelligent than he’d given her credit. When their talk turned to her time at court, she became more guarded. But she told her parents stories about Blair and Arabella, and Padraig found it relieved him to learn she had two friends at Stirling Castle. He wondered if he could arrange for Blair to visit Foulis the next time she traveled to Sutherland.
When the music began, Padraig held out his hand to Cairren, who looked at it as though it were mottled with warts. Her incredulous expression made him think twice about offering to dance. But they were the bride and groom, and even if this irregular marriage meant no one expected them to act like a married couple, he found he wanted to dance with her. His body ached to feel her pressed against him, and he was curious to learn if she danced as gracefully as she did everything else.
“I’d like to dance with you,” Padraig confessed.
“Why? No one expects it. I don’t expect it,” Cairren responded.
“Because I want to.”
Cairren narrowed her eyes, and Padraig could tell she gritted her teeth, but she relented with a condition. “I will not dance any that require me to partner with someone else. I haven’t a death wish.” There was no humor but deadly seriousness in her last sentence. Padraig nodded, wishing he didn’t have to agree. He helped her from her seat, then led her to the floor. Other couples had already gathered for the first dance, but when they noticed the groom and particularly the bride, they gave them a wide berth, as though breathing near Cairren would endanger them. Cairren pretended not to notice. At court, no one paid attention when she took to the dance floor. It was always too crowded to spot her, and courtiers used dancing for seduction and politics. She’d learned early on that while refusing to dance shielded her from the innuendos and propositions, not dancing was only fodder for more gossip. She’d chosen the lesser of the two evils. As she moved among the Munros, it was clear the lesser evil would have been to remain seated.
Padraig drew Cairren into the circle of his arms as they picked up the rhythm of the dance, and Cairren discovered he was light on his feet and skilled. Inevitably, her mind wondered how many dances he’d shared with Myrna to have become so at ease. She closed her eyes for a long blink, trying to clear the picture of them together.
“Cairren? Don’t think aboot her. I’m not,” Padraig murmured.
“Stop lying. It doesn’t make me feel better, and it does you no service.”
“Must you always believe the worst in me? Have I treated you like the others?”
Cairren’s eyes met his, and the earnestness she found made her question her assumption that he just hid his disgust better than the others. She whispered, “No.”
“I meant what I said earlier. I’d like to call a truce.”
Cairren studied him again before nodding. “I haven’t the strength to fight you too. I meant what I said earlier. I don’t want her here, but that’s not my decision to make. I will find things to occupy my days, and I won’t question how you occupy yours.”
Padraig didn’t like that at all. The resignation in her voice hurt him in a way he couldn’t describe. It wasn’t quite guilt, shame, or pity. Perhaps it was a combination of them all. While he wanted to spend his days with Myrna and even intended to when he wasn’t training, her acceptance reflected how downtrodden she’d already become. She’d given up, and they’d only married a few hours ago. But why would she put up a fight? What is there to fight for? I dinna want to be married to her any more than she wants to be married to me. She kens I love another woman. I’ve told her I can never love her. We spent more than half of today believing we would be free of one another in a year. And I willna commit to sending Myrna away. I dinna want to send her away, yet I want to be bedding Cairren as we dance. I’m a hypocrite, and what’s worse is that I suspect I willna hide it from anyone for long. Ma clan and Myrna already witnessed how I kissed her, ma lust was on display for everyone. I desire her too much to pretend tonight in ma bed that I dinna. I want to enjoy coupling with her. I want her to enjoy it as much as I do. Bluidy bleeding hell.
The music changed to a country reel, and Cairren pulled away as though she’d been burned. She turned to the dais before Padraig could lead her. He was only two steps behind her when an elbow flew toward her face. There was nothing about the current dance that warranted such a move. Cairren ducked in time that it struck Padraig mid-chest. He knew that meant it would have struck Cairren in the face. Padraig grabbed the offending man by his leine and ripped him away from his partner.
“I would be within ma rights to kill ye for that. Ye tried to strike ma bride, a noblewoman, daughter-by-marriage to yer laird,” Padraig seethed as he looked at those within earshot. He was so furious he didn’t realize he’d lapsed into his burr. “I will make this clear to ye, and ye may tell everyone else. Any harm done to Lady Cairren is harm done to me. It willna be punishment I’m after. It’ll be vengeance, clansman or nae. It wasnae her idea to be here. She never asked for this marriage. But she is, and ye will treat her with the respect due ma wife. If she can follow the king’s decree with honor, ye bluidy well can too.”
C
airren watched in horror as Padraig appeared ready to murder the man in the Munros’ Great Hall. A small—miniscule, really—part of her appreciated Padraig coming to her defense. But fear of retribution consumed her. Padraig was naïve to think his warning carried weight. He was an imposing figure when he was calm, and positively terrifying when he was angry, but his people vastly outnumbered him. Even if no one attempted such an obvious attack again, she would pay for him lashing out. When she stepped toward Padraig, people lurched out of her way as though she were a leper. She put her hands on the arm that held the man, and she looked up at him. She wouldn’t speak aloud her plea, but she knew he understood because he released the offender immediately. She turned back toward the dais, and just as she always did, she walked with her head held high and her shoulders back.
Padraig stepped beside her and wrapped her arm through his as he walked with her back to the dais. He took in the scene at the laird’s table, and his stomach sank knowing Cairren saw the same thing. Innes was on his feet, Collette and Wynda looked aghast, tears even streamed down his sister-by-marriage’s cheeks. Duncan and Micheil were laughing, and Mary and Myrna had smug satisfaction written across their faces. Padraig was struck by a thought that chilled him to his core. Did Myrna arrange for that to happen? Nay. She may nae feel sorry for Cairren that it happened, but she would never be so unkind as to do such a thing. The idea couldnae have crossed her mind. Padraig was about to take the first step up to the dais when his mother rose.
“Let’s get this over with,” Mary called out. “There is a celebration to enjoy once it’s done.”
Padraig glanced down at Cairren, both understanding what Mary meant. It was time for the bedding ceremony. His mother’s comment once again embarrassed him. There was no misconstruing that she meant the feast wouldn’t start in earnest until they’d enjoyed Cairren’s inevitable humiliation. Without a sound, Cairren released his arm and turned around. Those on the dais followed the couple toward the stairs, but before they ascended, Padraig turned back to the crowd that jockeyed for positions that would grant them access to his chamber.
“My wife and I will only entertain our family. No one else is permitted in my chamber.”
“Son,” Mary protested.
“My bride should be for my eyes only. There will already be too many of you there, and this will already take too long for my taste.” Padraig’s penetrating gaze swept over everyone gathered, even settling on Myrna for a moment. He couldn’t prevent the bedding ceremony, but he could be sure everyone understood he didn’t dread coupling with his wife. Mayhap if I show that I accept her, then others will begin to, too. Mayhap I can convince maself of that while I’m at it.
Padraig led Cairren to his bedchamber and opened the door. Before she could step forward, he scooped her into his arms and carried her over the threshold. When he placed her on her feet, he kissed her cheek.
Chapter Ten
Cairren tried not to tremble as her mother lifted the gold circlet from her hair and unwound her braid. Once her hair hung loose, Collette arranged it over her shoulders and unlaced her gown. Cairren nodded to her mother and peeled the kirtle off her shoulders and down to her breasts. Padraig realized the chemise was sheer, even more transparent than the one she’d worn when she swam. His eyes darted to the other men in the chamber. Innes appeared uncomfortable in the presence of his daughter as she undressed, and Padraig sympathized. But it was Micheil and Duncan’s lecherous gaze—followed by Duncan’s elbowing Micheil—that pushed Padraig too far.
“The men will turn away,” Padraig commanded.
“That’s not the custom,” Micheil disagreed as he shook his head.
“If you won’t turn around, then you will leave. No mon sees my wife but me.” Padraig rested his hand on the handle of one of his dirks. He cocked an eyebrow in challenge as he looked at Duncan.
“Chan fhiach a ’ghalla an trioblaid. Ma tha thu air fear fhaicinn, tha thu air am faicinn uile,” Duncan spoke clearly, and Mary and Myrna snickered. Padraig was certain his family was aware Cairren knew enough Gaelic to understand “the bitch isn’t worth the trouble. If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.” He looked at Cairren, who in turn looked at Duncan and Micheil, but rather than appear shocked or even hurt, her expression was defiant. It was as though she knew something they didn’t.
"Qu’ont ils dit?” Collette murmured.
“La garce n’en vaut pas la peine. Si vous en avez vu un, vous les avez tous vus,” Cairren responded, and Padraig knew she’d translated for her parents before Innes growled.
“Out!” Innes bellowed. “Both of you out before I kill you.”
“You can’t kick me out of a chamber in my own home,” Micheil sneered.
Innes brandished a dirk in both hands, pulled from hidden folds of his plaid. He lunged at Duncan, pressing the tip just below the man’s throat. “Leave or I will kill him,” Innes spoke to Micheil, but he never took his eyes off Duncan. When Micheil didn’t respond immediately, Innes pricked Duncan’s skin. “I’ll die before I allow you to talk aboot my daughter like that.”
“Father, Duncan, out. Now. This is my chamber and my wife. Leave.” Padraig opened the door and glared at the men of his family. Micheil muttered, “not worth it,” before he and Duncan exited the chamber.
Innes walked to Cairren and kissed her cheek. “I don’t trust them. Get yourself to the Sutherlands if ever you feel in danger. I will come for you,” Innes whispered in French. He walked through the door, and Padraig closed it behind his father-by-marriage.
Padraig stepped back to where he’d stood at the foot of the bed, watching Cairren. They stood no more than three feet apart, and Cairren was certain she could feel the heat coming from Padraig. His nod encouraged her to push her gown down her arms and over her hips until it pooled at her feet. Padraig’s body reacted immediately when he caught sight of her dark nipples beneath the sheer fabric. He’d already been partially aroused as they entered the chamber, his mind and body knowing he would finally feel Cairren beneath him. Once the gown slipped to her shoulders and a hint of her cleavage showed through the chemise, his cock had grown hard and uncomfortable with the weight of his sporran pressing against it. When Cairren stepped out of her gown, Wynda gathered it for her with a sympathetic smile before hanging it over the screen that kept the chamber pot out of sight.
Cairren reached under her chemise to roll down her stockings after she slipped out of her slippers. As she removed them, she watched Padraig unpin the brooch from his shoulder and drop it into his sporran, then he unfastened his belt, letting it fall to the floor. Once he pushed the extra length of wool from his shoulder, his plaid unraveled. The hem of his leine rested at his knees, but with no plaid wrapped around his waist, there was no disguising the length that rested against his belly. As Cairren watched Padraig undress, she understood what she saw. Lowlanders preferred leggings, which made an aroused shaft harder to disguise. She’d seen the outline many times at court, but none drew her attention like Padraig’s did. Her eyes met his and locked until they were blocked for a moment as he lifted his leine over his head.
It was Myrna who gasped, but Padraig didn’t look away from Cairren. It wasn’t even his conscience that warned him not to. Cairren solely captivated his attention. As his eyes traveled over her body, he noticed that there was no shadow at the apex of her thighs. His gaze met hers again, and the defiant look had returned. She eased her chemise up her legs, watching him as she teased him. When the hem hung just below her mons, she gathered the material, inch by tantalizingly slow inch. In one sweep, Cairren pulled the chemise over her head and let it drop. Padraig’s heart raced as he took in the unblemished skin that ran the entire length of her. He’d never seen a woman with a smooth mons, and his cock jerked for one and all to see.
“Slut teas-meadhain,” Myrna hissed. Cairren glanced at Myrna and smirked; Padraig was shocked to realize that Cairren knew Myrna called her a heathenous slut. He never imagined those words would be part of her vocab
ulary.
“Salope païenne,” Cairren translated for her mother.
Collette glared at Myrna. She muttered, “une vache,” but neither Highland woman seemed to know Collette called Myrna a bitch, but Padraig did. It took him a moment to realize that he didn’t intend to rush to Myrna’s defense. He even believed she warranted the comment.
“Let us move this along,” Padraig commanded. The venomous glare Myrna shot him made him remember this couldn’t be easy for her, and his sympathy returned as he considered how she must have been suffering to see another woman had aroused him and to know he would bed Cairren, and not her, on his wedding night.
Mary tutted as she stepped forward to walk around Cairren, inspecting her for any defect, even lifting her breasts and jiggling them. Then she pointed to Cairren’s hairless mound. “Cha dèanadh ach brathaidh, feòladair Frangach, seo.”
“Seule une pute, une pute française, ferait ça.” Once again Cairren translated, telling her mother that Mary believed only a whore, a French whore, would do this.
“Tu es fine. You are done,” Collette stepped between Cairren and Myrna, who blocked Collette from reaching Mary. “You can see that not only is there naught wrong, she’s flawless.”
“Flawless?” Mary narrowed her eyes, and Padraig feared what she would do next. He couldn’t believe his eyes when Mary’s hand shot out and pressed between Cairren’s legs, her fingers curled. Before she touched Cairren’ sheath, Padraig lifted his mother away from his wife.
“Mother!”
“No woman who comes to her wedding bed clean as a newborn bairn is a virgin,” Mary insisted.
“I told you she would try to seduce you! I told you!” Myrna wailed. “She’s a whore!”
“Get out!” Padraig roared.
Myrna froze as she looked at Padraig with disbelief before she pointed to herself. “Me? You’re telling me to leave? What, so you can hurry up and swive your slut?”
An Enemy at the Highland Court: An Enemies to Lovers Highlander Romance (The Highland Ladies Book 5) Page 8