Ada had had enough. “Your wife will behave as such when my husband does so as well.”
JAMIE STARED AT THE vacant doorway, from which Ada had just disappeared.
Stubborn lass.
Quickly deciding that she was irrational, and certainly too hopeful for her own damn good, he returned to undressing, removing his tunic and breeches and hose. Eventually, he slid into the empty bed, stretching out on his back, one forearm bent under his head. His hands were still fisted.
Let her stew, he decided. She’d be back come the morrow. He would nobly listen to her possibly stilted apology—he couldn’t quite imagine Ada cajoling—and perhaps he would offer some conciliatory gesture of his own. Or like as not, he’d end up making love to her, and the entire ridiculous circumstance would be forgotten.
Save that he would remain resolute on those two points: he would not suffer her being friendly with his soldiers, no matter how innocent she believed it to be; and he would not at all disillusion her with hopes of having love between them.
He was bound to die, he often believed. Loving Ada would only bring heartache, to both her and him. And, too, he’d witnessed what loving your wife—any woman—did to a man. Bloody hell, Gregor Kincaid was kicking down doors to get to Anice, when the key was only minutes away. Never mind that he had, more than once, wondered if what he felt when Ada smiled at him was anything at all like what Gregor must surely feel when Anice smiled at him—he’d dismissed the very possibility outright.
He had neither the interest nor the time to suffer such a distraction as that, being in love with his own wife.
Jamie chewed the inside of his cheek, replaying the entire conversation in his head once more. All would be well tomorrow, he was confident.
You are an idiot, Jamie MacKenna.
Chapter Nineteen
All was not well the next day, nor even the next several days.
Jamie had discovered, with a bit of nosing around, that Ada had taken up in some unused chambers in the south wing. But that was all he knew of his wife in the days that followed their confrontation. To her credit, he did not see her at all keeping company with any of his soldiers. Twice he’d spied her heading into the kitchens, seeming wholly unaffected by their fractured state, laughing with Agnes as they’d left the hall. She’d sat next to him at dinner, smiling at this one and that, but never said a word to him, having some earnest conversation with Callum on her other side throughout most of the meal.
He’d been atop the battlements one day, only surveying a crumbling section of the wall that needed attention when he’d noticed her down at the loch. His teeth clenched immediately, about to march down there and reprimand her for going outside the gate by herself. But then Henry showed himself, moving away from the trees that had blocked him from view. And then, to Jamie’s surprise, his aunt also appeared, chirping about something that had her clapping her hands together excitedly while Ada tossed her head back and laughed with Henry.
From within the shadows of the stables one day, he watched her cross the bailey, from dovecote to keep, with Aviemore’s new cook, Joanna. He witnessed again the scraping and groveling of persons not yet friendly with her, as a serf from a nearby cottage came barreling through the gate, babe in arms, and all but fell at Ada’s feet. The woman held the infant up toward Ada even as she kept her own head bent. Ada gasped and covered her heart with her hand, looking anxiously from the woman to the babe to Joanna. Finally, her shoulders slumped, and she took the babe in her arms, pulling back the swaddling to coo and fuss over the child. While the woman watched with keen adoration, Ada pressed a kiss onto the child’s forehead. Jamie almost found himself laughing then, at the face she made when the babe began to bawl. With a near comically guilty expression, Ada pushed the infant out to arm’s length and beseeched his mother to claim him. But yes, he could clearly see how that occurrence, repeated again and again, would make Ada extremely uncomfortable.
Three nights after their unfortunate clash, Jamie had exhausted all his patience, waiting for Ada to come to him, begging his forgiveness. He’d just come from the garder robe and a lengthy bath, to his empty chambers and bed, and decided enough was enough. She’d certainly made her point that she could pretend better than he that she wasn’t bothered at all by their present situation. Wearing only the breeches he’d donned to see him from the bath to his bed, he left their room and strode with purpose toward her temporary quarters.
He found himself standing outside the door, debating which might serve him better: knocking first, and waiting admittance, or barging in as laird of the keep, asserting his dominance to set the tone for what would come next.
“Did you need something?” Came Ada’s voice.
From behind him.
Jamie rolled his eyes at his own dumb luck, and for tarrying too long with indecision. He turned to find Ada anticipating a response, her slim brow lifted, while her arms were filled with a stack of freshly folded linens.
Jamie cleared his throat. “Aye, we should talk, lass.”
With no hesitation at all, and with an exasperatingly unreadable tone, she suggested, “It’s late. Maybe tomorrow?”
“Aye,” he heard himself agreeing, his eyes on her lips. With a mental shake, he caught himself. “Nae.” He moved to block the door completely, just as she’d moved to be through it. Away from him. “Nae,” he said again. “We’ll talk now.”
He half turned and opened the door, and then took her arm and pulled her into the room. He’d already closed the door behind him when it occurred to him that he should have marched her back where she belonged, to their chambers.
She faced him, her expression inscrutable, which only allowed Jamie to be thankful he’d not read anger. She did that thing that he’d noticed previously, when she was on edge, where she rolled her lips inward, while she watched him warily.
“Ada,” he began, not truly knowing where he was going with this, except to say, “that’s enough of this now. Come back with me.”
She did not move. Her expression did not change. She did not even blink.
For the love of all that was holy, he would like to know how, between Stonehaven and here and now, she’d learned to hide her emotions. There was a time, he happily recalled, that every sentiment she felt played across her face like ripples waving across the surface of the loch.
“Your teeth are clenched,” she noted in an even tone, “much as they were during our last conversation. This has me thinking that you cling still to your ideas of how and what our marriage should be, with no care at all for my preferences. That being the case, my position has not changed.”
His jaw only tightened. “Just like that? With no discussion?”
She laughed and stepped around him, toward the bed in this room. “You didn’t come here for discussion. You came and barked out an order.” She dropped the stack of linens onto a chair beside the bed and pulled one from the top, shaking out the folds.
There was not any part of him—not even the very large part of him that quite often found so much pride in her bravery—that appreciated her very aloof, seemingly unbothered manner. As he would never believe that she’d managed to hide her true self from him for so long, he had to imagine that her coolness now was all for show, a façade she’d created to...what? Befuddle him? Vex him?
It didn’t matter, the why. It mattered only that he break through the wall she’d erected.
He knew of only one way to do that.
Jamie strode to where she stood. And just as he reached for her arm, to turn her toward him, he saw that she swallowed hard when he entered her peripheral. A near predatorial grin crested; she was not unaffected. If she had stiffened when he touched her arm, he might have thought twice about his next move. But she only closed her eyes and held herself very still, either willing further courage from within or praying he didn’t seduce her into acquiescence, because she knew he could.
She turned and he kissed her, but only partly to deconstruct her wall, and mostly becaus
e he’d missed her. That notion rather slammed into him just as his lips touched hers. He should never be too long gone from her kiss. His own stubbornness over the last few days did not extend to rejecting his desire for her kiss. He wasn’t that strong, and frankly, he did not particularly mind being tortured by thoughts of kissing Ada.
He let his lips and tongue demonstrate his desire. Her resistance was small, half-hearted even. While she didn’t seek more, she did respond to his kiss. She didn’t wrap her arms around his shoulders and stretch her fingers into his hair the way he liked, but she did have her hands on his chest between them. When he slanted his head, she adjusted accordingly, and her tongue met his with equal enthusiasm. Nae, she was not so stoic as she’d have him believe.
Many days without her in his arms had created a powerful need and he pressed this against her belly. He kissed her lips and her neck and her cheek...and tasted a saltiness.
Ah, but why did she have to cry?
He wanted to ignore the tears, pretend he hadn’t tasted them. “God damn it,” he cursed against her lips. “I know you want this.” This, breathed raggedly.
“I don’t want to want this,” she said in an incredibly small voice.
Jamie chuckled without humor. "'Tis a curse, and don't I know it, lass.”
“What’s the point of desire, if there’s nothing more?”
He did not let her go but lifted his head to better see her face. “Desire is the point.” Desire is the by-product, something whispered inside him. He ignored it.
“You won’t force me.” There was only hope, not any surety, in her voice.
“I will no have to.”
Jamie watched her face fall at this pronouncement, so very thankful that she had abandoned the pretense of indifference, and he was able to read her again. She knew it to be true. Had known it well before he put it to words.
He wouldn’t, of course, damn his own honor. Releasing her now was not an easy thing to do, not when what he wanted was within his grasp. Heaving a tortured sigh, he dropped his hands from her arms and stepped away. He did not give up the room, only took the chair near the hearth, watching her.
With stiff, almost trancelike movements, she regained the discarded bed sheet and began to lay it out over the linen covered mattress. He revisited their conversation of the other night, reassessed his own inner debate about their marriage and his part in it.
And he considered her and his desire for her. He couldn’t say he’d ever felt this degree of desire for another. His first wife had been naught but a thorn to Ada’s rose.
He watched her stretch across the bed, smoothing out the soft linen, her arms lean within the sleeves of her kirtle, slim fingers brushing against the fabric. She moved around the bed, obviously intent on ignoring his presence, even as she must feel the very heat of his gaze. She flattened and fitted the linen on the far side, leaning across to offer him a fine view of her collarbone and the swell of her breast as it pressed against the bodice of her gown.
Ada was...so very desirable. Every damn inch.
And he was no fool.
The desire was comprised not only of the need to feel her, to have his hands on her, his lips touching hers, but much, much more. He leaned forward, putting his elbows onto his knees and threading his fingers together. No fool, indeed. He knew well the effect she had on him, almost from the start. Seeking her out in the middle of the day when he'd have been better served by distance between them. Awaiting her entrance in the dining hall with near teeth-gritting anticipation. Rising from his bed and having thoughts of Ada be his first of the day. Salting his dreams with images best saved for people who believed that happily-ever-afters really existed.
Jamie was intimately acquainted with what havoc she wreaked upon him, upon his entire life. But he was ever practical, and there remained the fact that he would leave soon, and for the life of him, he could not dispel the notion that he would return no more to Aviemore. He was pleased that she had so quickly acclimated to Aviemore, and to those that mattered. If he’d managed to get her with child already, a boy would one day be laird of Aviemore. If there was no bairn—he guessed this more likely, certainly considering their present circumstance—Uncle Malcolm, and then his son by Agnes, would rule the MacKennas. He’d already spoken to Malcolm, had made known that his sole objective in marrying Ada had been to see her cared for all her days. Unquestionably, he rested easier having this settled.
That was all he’d wanted, right? That had been his only objective.
It had been, at one time.
He sat back again. She had just finished with the coverlet and could no more ignore him. She faced him, managing to look all at once unnerved and resolved. The hazel eyes blinked and regarded him warily, even as she straightened her shoulders, surely about to request his departure.
“What is it you want, Ada?” He asked before she might have spoken.
One brow arched. “We’ve already discussed—"
“Tell me again,” he insisted.
She sat on the side of the bed, rather fell back upon it as if the motion were only an exasperated sigh. “Jamie, it doesn’t matter. And truth be told, it’s an uncomfortable conversation to have again. When last we spoke, I—I misunderstood what you were trying to say. I see that now. And—well, never mind. Please, just give me a few more days and I’ll return to our chambers. We can...carry on.”
She was not looking at his eyes. Her gaze had settled on his chest. He couldn’t say for sure that it did so with desire, as it had previously, or if now it was only an evasion, to avoid his eyes.
“What did you misunderstand?”
Still, the hazel eyes stayed on his naked chest. She did not answer his question. Instead, she offered, “You have done a very honorable thing, to have married me, given me this life, and Aviemore. Everything will be fine.” She tried to smile.
“Ada, you are the bravest person I ken. Why can you no answer the question?”
Now her eyes met his. He raised a brow. The look that crossed her face was all at once weary and cross and completely disenchanted.
“Because it does not matter.” Pointedly, she added, “Hills to die on, and all that.”
They were talking about the state of their marriage, what was expected and needed and hoped for, and she’d just told him that it wasn’t important enough to engage her. While his hackles rose at this, he acknowledged that his stoniness of the other night might have something to do with such a bare statement.
“Just give me a few more days,” she pleaded again.
He nodded and stood. A fantastic inner debate waged just then, to go to her, to kiss her senseless, to kiss her into admitting she lied, that indeed, it did matter. But to do so would require him also to examine why he was so bothered by her suddenly dismissive attitude. He wouldn’t love her, would rather she didn’t love him, why was he so angry now that she’d given him what he said he wanted just three nights ago?
The other side of the debate won out, and Jamie left, closing the door behind him, his mind whirring with how unrealistic his expectations had been, about everything. Her. Marriage. Tonight. His need of her. Hills worth dying on.
Jesus bloody Christ.
ADA WAITED UNTIL THE door had closed before releasing her breath. It burst forth with a cry. She slapped both hands over her mouth, stifling any further noise, whimpering silently while a shudder racked her whole body.
Dear Lord, but that man had just tried and challenged every fiber of her being!
She understood why he’d come tonight. In truth, she’d expected him sooner. But why did he feel the need to dredge it all up again? How had he imagined his coming here tonight, using the same cool attitude of the other night, might have seen her returned to his bed? He’d said his part three nights ago; she’d figured out, a day later, what he’d meant. There was no reason to put her through it again.
When he’d reminded her the other night that they had not married for love, and then had said, basically, he would not al
low himself to love, she had mistakenly thought he’d meant that he wasn’t interested in becoming a victim of love again, didn’t want to be hurt by it—perhaps as he had in his first marriage. She’d believed that he truly was being stubborn, choosing not to even entertain the possibility of love between them.
What a fool I was!
She understood very little about love, but she knew this: you did not choose who you loved, or who you did not.
You just...loved. Or you didn’t.
Upon reflection, it was clear the drivel he’d offered had been given in an attempt to soften the rejection, when in fact the truth was, he had no feeling for her, outside of the desire for her body. He couldn’t force it any more than she could make him love her, nor any more than she could not love him.
How unsettling. And embarrassing. And so incredibly heartbreaking.
She’d had now several days to come to terms with it. She hadn’t been in love with him when she married him, she didn’t think, so she couldn’t even claim that she wouldn’t have married him if she’d known this aforehand. All it had done, truly, was dash any hope of true happiness. Resolutely, she’d determined that with hope out of the way, and with her having a firm grip of her own reality, life would actually be easier. She would define and embrace her role as Lady MacKenna and never give him cause to regret affording her a life she’d likely never have known if not for him. And damn it, in another day or two, she was sure she could smile while doing it.
Chapter Twenty
Two mornings later, in which Ada had seen little of her husband but knew she hadn’t much more time before she must oblige him and returned to their chambers at night, she stood in the kitchen, discussing the day’s menu with Joanna and Agnes. The daily task of feeding so many people was more involved than she’d ever supposed, and Agnes had harrumphed while explaining the process, telling her with a fair amount of gloom, “Just wait, lass, until the winter comes, and your choices are so few.”
The Shadow 0f Her Smile (Highlander Heroes Book 3) Page 23