"My father rode these lands, and I will ride them." She raised her voice defensively. "And I willnae be kept home tied to a spinning wheel. Ye wanted me as your wife. Now you have me, but ye must take me as I am."
He stood in front of her, his hands planted on his hips. "Are ye done?"
She paused. "What?"
"Are ye done with your wee temper tantrum?" He crouched in front of her and grabbed the heel of one of her wet, muddy deer-hide boots.
She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "I am nae having a temper tantrum. Adult women nae have temper tantrums. Children have temper tantrums. Rosalyn has temper tantrums."
He yanked off one of her boots. "Ye sound like her."
She swung her foot to kick him, but he feinted left and she missed. He grabbed her other boot and tugged none too gently.
"I was just wondering," he said calmly, "if we were going to argue like this every night before we make love."
"We are nae making—" she bit off her words. "I amnae doing that with ye tonight, so ye might as well get it out of your wee brain."
"Aye, ye are going to do that with me and, worse, ye are going to like it. We both are." He grasped her stockinged foot and massaged the ball.
It felt so good that Elen could have lain back on the bed. She had to fight to maintain her anger, and pointedly reversed the conversation. "Ye cannae brush this matter under the bed, Munro. I mean what I say. I willnae be controlled by ye! By any mon. I care not what the king says. Dunblane is mine, and I will run her as I see fit."
He rubbed the arch of her foot and she had to stifle a moan of pleasure.
"I have nae desire to control ye, Elen. Who said anything about control? I merely said I was concerned for ye. For your welfare. For your health. A tired wife isnae nearly as entertaining between the sheets as a well-rested one." He grinned devilishly.
She pushed his shoulder with her other foot, furious he should reduce her to the level of a bedmate and nothing more. Was that all he saw in her—a warm body, quickly brought to fire? Then she realized he was kidding her, trying to get a rise out of her. "Oh, ye have the wit tonight, m'lord."
He laughed, but then his angled face sobered. "Ye are going to have to learn to trust me, Elen. We are going to have to learn to trust each other. I am a mon who speaks his mind. I mean what I say and I say what I mean. Ye need not fear what underlying meaning my words hold." He peeled off one of her stockings and then the other.
She watched him carefully in the flickering light of the fire and the candles that burned in the bedchamber. Once again, he sounded sincere. Begrudgingly, she acknowledged she needed to take his words into account for the good of the keep, if not for her own good.
"'Tis just that this will be difficult for me," she said, her tone softer.
He continued to rub her feet, seeming to rub the anger and tension from every muscle in her body as his fingers manipulated her flesh.
"I am nae used to answering to anyone, to anything but my duty," she continued. "Even when my father was alive, even in my aunt's house when my father was away, I had my own duties. To answer to a husband..." She let her words drift in the chamber.
"I think it is not so much that a husband and wife should answer to each other as that each should be concerned for the other. Protective of each other." He spoke slowly, softly, sounding like a man much older than his years. And much wiser. "Do ye nae see, Elen? I watched the time today nae because I wanted ye here where I could keep an eye on ye, but because I wanted to be with ye."
She met his gaze and was surprised that moisture had gathered in the corners of her eyes. "No one has ever said they wanted to be with me before," she murmured.
Munro released her foot and rose to sit beside her on the bed. He wrapped one arm around her shoulder, his warmth radiating to her bones.
"If only ye could lean on me just a wee bit," he said quietly. "Yield as I will have to yield to be a good husband. I could make ye a happy woman."
She rested her head on his shoulder. As much as she hated to admit it, what he said made sense. Her father had always said that relationships meant give and take, that selfishness served no one.
"I can make no promises," she said, turning her face to his. "I cannae tell ye I can change who I am inside." She brushed her fingertips over her breast. "But I can tell ye I can try to make this marriage work, to make the best of it."
He smiled tenderly and brushed a wisp of hair off her temple. "I can ask no more of ye... at least for now." He kissed her temple. "Now, something to eat for ye and then to sleep. We have had a great deal of excitement these days, and my bones ache for that feather tick."
She ran one hand over his thigh, feeling the corded muscle beneath the wool of his plaid. "If ye wished to exercise your husbandly duty, I wouldnae be opposed."
He chuckled as he got up to retrieve the bread and cheese and hot drink Alexi had left for her. "No, thank ye. I have changed my mind. I like my wives well rested. 'Twill be plenty of time for that. A lifetime."
A short time later, Elen lay nestled in her bed beneath the wool blankets in the crook of Munro's arm. As she drifted off to sleep, she listened to the sound of his quiet breathing and thought about his words. He said if she could just learn to trust him, depend on him, yield to him on some level, he could make her happy. Elen wanted to be happy. The only question was, could she yield to him?
Chapter 22
"May I ask ye about the headaches?" Munro lay crosswise on the bed, his head resting on Elen's lap. He wasn't certain what kinds of questions he wanted to ask her. Was the pain always the same? Did the headaches always last the same number of hours? He wanted to talk to her about it not just because he was curious, but so she realized he cared. He wanted to be part of her life in every way he could.
She brushed his hair from his forehead in a caress that touched him deep inside in a way physical contact with other women never had. Elen had not yet actually said she loved him, but he had a feeling it was a matter of pride and that it would come in time.
"Ye may not," she said sweetly.
They were still lying drowsily in bed, though the sun had long been up. Her headache had lasted almost two and a half days this time, and she had not risen from her bed until early last evening. They had shared a meal of soup and bread, and then she had turned in again.
Munro was relieved that the headache had once again passed and that she seemed none the worse for it. But he was still concerned about her well-being, and he was frustrated because there seemed to be nothing she could do about her ailment but endure, nothing he could do but sit by and wait for the pain to pass.
In the two weeks and some odd days since their sudden marriage, Munro and Elen had settled into some semblance of a routine. Most days they separated after breaking the fast. He rode to Rancoff to see to his duties, while she remained at Dunblane and saw to hers. They met in the evening for a meal in the hall with her clansmen, or ate alone in their chamber.
Most nights they made love. Some nights she came to him with inviting arms as she had the night they were wed. Other nights she had to be coaxed. But no matter what disagreement they had met with during the day, she seemed to welcome his attentions once they were alone in their chamber again.
Munro and Elen were still treading lightly in this new territory called marriage, but she seemed to be reasonably content. And he... he was optimistically delighted. With each day that passed, he learned more about this woman with whom he shared his bed and became more convinced he had done the right thing in wedding her. He and Elen were, indeed, compatible, and though she could be stubborn, she was also insightful, thoughtful, and truly helpful to him in running his lands. She had far more energy than his brother and possessed an interest in his life and in Rancoff that Cerdic had never expressed.
Munro took a deep breath, planning his strategy with Elen. He never knew for certain what would be the best way to deal with her. Sometimes when he asked her questions or made requests, he w
as forced to retreat. Other times he could push her. The woman was indeed a test of his patience... and perhaps of his love.
"Why can I nae ask?"
"Well, ye may ask, but I'll not answer." She smiled, looking down at him. "Do ye prefer that response?"
He groaned. "Ye are obstinate."
She slid away from him and climbed out of bed to dress. "I simply nae wish to go over and over what ye already know. Rosalyn said she gave ye the sad tale. There is naught else to know, and I would prefer ye nae dwell upon it. 'Tis naught to be concerned with."
He rolled onto his stomach to prop himself on his elbows, and the woolen blanket fell away. The chilly morning air was cold on his naked body. "Naught to be concerned with! I watched ye lie in bed for more than two days too ill to lift your head."
The moment the words were out of his mouth, he knew he should not have spoken them. She did not like to be reminded of how debilitating the headaches were.
Elen turned away from him, the warmth of their earlier intimacy washing away like an icy rainfall.
He considered letting the matter drop as he had several times in the past. But she was his wife, and he felt the better they knew each other, the better chance their marriage had of being a happy one. "Ye know, I nae see your illness as a weakness in your character."
She narrowed her eyes until they were two green slits. "'Tis good to know," she said sarcastically as she yanked on a saffron shirt.
He watched her wrap a Dunblane plaid around her waist and up over her shoulder. "If I suffered those headaches, would ye think me any less a man?"
She grabbed a pair of wool short hose off the clothing chest, where he had placed them two days previously. Becoming a wife had not made her suddenly tidy, but Munro had discovered that he didn't mind picking up after her nearly as much as he thought he might. And she did seem to be making an attempt to keep the great hall and the bedchamber they shared cleaner.
"'Tis nae the same thing and ye know it," she snapped, stuffing a bare foot into her short hose.
He frowned. "Why not?"
"Ye know well why. I am a woman and ye are a mon. Men nae bleed." She yanked on the other stocking. "The headache is as much a curse as the bleeding."
"'Tis nae a curse," he argued. "That is nonsense."
She lifted a brow. "So now ye argue with the Holy Bible? The words are plain in the book of Genesis."
He scowled and climbed out of bed to dress, cold without her wrapped in the blankets, beside her. "Ye twist my words."
"I nae wish to discuss this, Munro. The headache has passed for another month and I've work to do. Don't ye?"
He stood a moment in indecision and then chose to let the subject drop. "I nae know if ye recall my telling ye, but those damned reavers hit Rancoff land two nights ago whilst ye were ill. A tenant's home was partially burned. His barn is a pile of cinders, his livestock gone." He picked up his shirt and dropped it over his head. Elen relaxed visibly before his eyes, apparently relieved he had let the headache subject drop. "I intend to ride west with my men. When Donald and I talked last night, we came up with some possibilities as to where they might be hiding, for they must surely be near."
"Take some of my men with ye if ye like." She stepped into her boots. "If I nae had that portion of the wall to deal with today, I'd go with ye."
If any other woman had made such a suggestion, he would have laughed. But not at this woman, not at his wife. He knew damned well she could stand up to any reavers, and if she met with them, it was the reavers who would be in trouble.
"Ye said the wall might need repair."
"Repair?" She gave a grunt as she walked to the window and took her hairbrush from the window seat. "An entire section must be replaced where the mortar has grown soft and mealy. If the winter is bad and the snow is heavy, part of it could come down. Someone could be injured."
He watched her brush out her golden red hair that reached to her waist and wished they could linger longer in the peacefulness of their bedchamber. But they had two keeps to run and hundreds of men, women, and children depending on them. "I can help later in the week if ye need me."
She nodded. "Perhaps."
She was still hesitant to let him participate in the workings of Dunblane, but he had a feeling he simply needed to give her time. Though he and Finley avoided each other as much as possible, he and gruff old Donald were fast becoming friends.
"I still wait for word from Robert on his daughter. I may have to ride to meet her retinue." Munro sighed in both frustration and impatience. He had not felt he could refuse Robert after what he'd done for him.
Having a king in debt to them was no poor trade for dealing with an unwanted lass. And he liked the idea of having another lady here with Elen. Even better was the notion of someone to care for the children he hoped he and his wife would be blessed with. Elen was not as enthusiastic about the girl coming, but had agreed that they were stuck with her. Those who deny the requests of a king soon find themselves his enemy.
Elen tied back her hair with a bit of leather, looping the long tail up so that it would not get in her way. "Or I can go for her, if ye haven't the time. He said she lives beyond the Grampians. He'll have to hurry if he's to get her here ere winter truly hits."
Munro wrapped a plaid around his waist, then stood before her. She set down her brush on the window seat and met his gaze.
"I am glad ye are feeling better," he said quietly.
"I'm glad ye were here," she said even more softly, letting her gaze fall. "It nae seemed so long this time, I think because ye were beside me." She lifted her gaze again. "As ye were last month."
He raised a brow. "I nae know what ye speak of," he said innocently.
She gave him a look that spoke of disbelief. "Ye are a poor liar, Munro Forrest, and ye ought to count yourself lucky one of my men didnae run you through on the stairway."
He leaned forward to kiss her. "I am a lucky man, I will give ye that." He kissed her again. "Have a good day. Build that wall tall and strong."
"Build." She walked toward the door. "There will be nae building today. It will take days to get the stone down before we can begin to mortar again." She waved. "Be careful today."
He watched her go through the door. "Always am, my love. Always am."
* * *
Munro and a group of five men rode through the underbrush along a mountain ridge on the southwestern edge of the Rancoff border. Three men had accompanied him from his keep, including his steward's boy, Robert. The two brothers, Banoff and John, came from Dunblane.
For nearly a week, they had been riding Rancoff and Dunblane land looking for signs of the reavers. This morning they had gotten lucky. Munro and the men had spoken to tenants here in the foothills, who said they had heard drunken laughter the previous night and had suspected the reavers were camped nearby.
Munro and his men followed a deer trail that had been traveled upon by men on horseback since the last snow four days ago. They rode cautiously, keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. The going had been slow on the narrow, snow-laden path, but now they wove upward into the mountains.
Munro glanced at young Robert, who was riding his pony in line behind him. The lad was obviously thrilled to have been asked to accompany his laird, and anxious to actually set eyes upon the reavers. Munro had warned Robert that should they come upon the reavers, he was to fall back, riding for help if it became necessary. Though the boy carried a bow and arrow and a long-bladed knife, he was not to engage, should there be any fighting. In Munro's eyes, at this age boys needed to observe rather than participate. He realized there was risk for the boy, of course, but he wanted to minimize that risk until the lad had a little more experience.
Robert grinned at Munro. "'Tis their tracks, aye, m'lord?" he asked excitedly. "We'll catch them for certain and hang them by their black necks."
Munro had the king's authority to deal with the reavers when they were caught, but he did not relish that duty. He had se
en too many men die on the battlefield, in accidents, and in the name of justice served. He understood the need to punish criminals, to make an example of them. He understood his duty to protect his people and now Dunblane's, but that made his duty no easier to fulfill. Rightfully dead was still dead, and Munro wondered if the souls of the men he had killed and seen killed would not be hanging around his neck on the day he met St. Peter. It was a serious question he tried not to contemplate too often.
"Chances are we will not come upon them today," Munro patiently explained to Robert. "Right now, we try to figure out where they are hiding, what paths they are using regularly. We can bring more men and set up a trap. That is the safest way to deal with thieves like these."
"But how fast can they ride with all them sheep and goats and sech?" Robert asked.
"I warrant ye they're keeping them somewhere nearby, selling them off to other thieves as quickly as possible—probably in Aberdeen, where no one asks where men get their livestock."
Munro, who was taking his turn at riding point, ducked beneath a branch laden heavily with snow. He held it back for Robert, and the lad caught it and urged his mount forward so his pony's shoulder was at Munro's pony's rump.
Robert gave a startled cry of pain just as Munro turned his head to release the branch into the boy's hand. The boy's spotted pony shied and slid on the icy path. The men behind Robert called out in alarm as they halted their mounts.
Munro urged his pony backward, pushing past the snowy branch. Snow dumped onto his lap, onto his pony, and onto the lad. "Robert!" he called.
"My lord," the young man whimpered.
"What has-—" Munro cut his sentence short.
The boy had remained mounted and managed to pull his frightened pony to a halt. He gripped his upper right arm, where an arrow protruded from it. Blood ran down the sleeve of his tunic and pooled on the snow that had fallen on his mantle.
"Quickly," Munro shouted to the others. "Find where that arrow came from. It must be from the right." He regarded the dense brush in frustration. "Leave your mounts if ye must."
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