by Jaid Black
Cainnech could feel Lucia’s body tense. ’Twas the first bit of guilt he experienced for his wife obviously had not been aware ’twas the way of it in this world.
She delicately cleared her throat. Cainnech took her hand and squeezed it a wee bit.
“I do not understand,” Lucia said.
The great hall was so quiet that her voice echoed. Niall’s teeth threatened to gnaw his bedamned lip off. Cainnech’s muscles tensed.
“Milady?” the priest inquired. His countenance was that of a mon facing impending doom. “What do ye no’ ken?”
Cainnech could feel her trembling, but ’twas not so much as to be visible to any but himself. He gave her hand another wee squeeze.
“Forgive me,” Lucia stated, “for my ignorance of your ways, but I am half Roman and half Viking—neither of which kneels to any man.”
The male villagers laughed and the female villagers hooted and hollered. Cainnech released a breath. They were not insulted. The men were amused and the wenches pleased.
Lucia held her ground, impressing him even if she thought to vex him. “I will pledge to my husband only what he pledges to me and I will kneel to my husband only after he kneels to me.”
The villagers cheered. They carried on so loudly Cainnech half expected the bluidy roof to cave in. Bedamned Niall appeared ready to faint. The priest ’twas mayhap fretting o’er whether Cainnech would kill him where he stood.
Cainnech surprised everyone, including Lucia, when he dropped to one knee before her. The applause grew deafening. He saw a wench or two dabble at her eyes to wipe away tears. Even his brother was grinning. “Give me the vows I’m tae speak, Father.”
When the laird finished his vows—words typically only pledged by a wench to a mon—he stood up and looked down at Lucia. He raised one eyebrow inquiringly. Again the great hall went silent.
She hesitated. Cainnech could see her visibly swallow.
Lucia went to her knees. The great hall exploded in the most boisterous show of jubilation yet. As she pledged her vows to him before all, that hot rush coursed through Cainnech’s blood again. Lucia had told him love was not like laying siege to a castle, yet his body kenned no difference a’tween the deuce.
Lucia finished. Cainnech helped her to her feet.
“I present tae ye,” the priest said, looking very relieved, “Laird and Lady MacKenzie, Baron and Baroness tae Eilean Donnain.”
Cainnech couldn’t hear the booming applause and congratulatory shouts o’er the sound of his heart beating in his ears. He had captured many a mon, yet ’twas the wife he now held all dominion o’er whose conquering was the most exhilarating of all.
’Twas done. Lucia belonged to him.
Chapter Seven
Lucia was too relieved she was finally able to eat to worry about the man sitting beside her whom she would likely murder in his sleep. A husband! She had never wanted one and now she was medievally married to one. It was a lot to absorb on low blood sugar, she thought acerbically.
“Have ye no’ eaten this day?” Cainnech asked.
“If you cared about the answer to that question you would have asked before that long ceremony instead of after.”
He grunted. “We will discuss this alone in our bedchamber this eve.”
Lucia almost choked on the pheasant she was eating. In her desperation to cibare, she had forgotten about that. “My bed will never hold us both,” she said dumbly.
“’Tis a fortunate bride ye are that Niall, Gabhran, and tae more of my men are putting a new, bigger one in yon bedchamber as we speak.”
She frowned at the gigantic warlord, unsure as to whether she should feel demoralized or impressed. Literally nothing escaped his notice. “Oh I’ll count my lucky stars,” Lucia seethed, latching onto the state of demoralization. “And they better not touch any of my belongings!”
“Yer possessions belong tae ye and will no’ be removed,” Cainnech stated. “Except for one, which was seized afore the meal.”
Lucia’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “You took my book,” she hissed.
“Aye.”
“Why?!”
“Ye canna have it back until all thoughts of tryin’ tae leave me are gone from yer cunning head.”
Damn he was good. Lucia didn’t want to be impressed, but she suspected Cainnech was the only person in any time who would be a formidable opponent against her in a game of chess. Aggravated she was, but she gave credit where credit was due. “Very clever move,” she said, albeit begrudgingly.
His arrogant grunt made her teeth click together. Still, there was no denying his worthiness as an opponent—a fact that caused her to feel an admiration she’d rather not have felt.
A commotion broke out two tables over, drawing Lucia’s attention. A boy of no more than ten had fallen to the floor, his entire body convulsing. The poor little guy was experiencing a seizure.
“Please, Father,” a woman begged the priest, “canna ye rid me son of the demons?”
“I’ve tried afore,” the priest snapped, “’tis woefully apparent the devil has claimed his body and will no’ leave it.”
Lucia gasped. Why was everything these people didn’t understand blamed on possession?
“The best thing ye can do fer the boy is save his soul by fire.” The priest nodded. “Burn him alive and the devil will flee.”
“Get the priest out of here before I burn him alive!” Lucia whispered fiercely to Cainnech. She shot to her feet. “He is not possessed,” she said loudly, fighting to retain a calm appearance, “and nobody will touch a single hair on his head, let alone set him on fire.”
Lucia scurried to where the boy lay and came down on her knees beside him. She was an engineer, not a physician, so she was way out of her element. One of her best friends while growing up had been an epileptic, which was the only experience she could draw on.
“You’ll be fine, sweetheart,” she murmured to the boy who she knew had heard the priest’s words even if he hadn’t been able to respond to them. “I’ll get you through this one,” Lucia promised him as she removed the braided rope from around her waist, “and then I’ll concoct a…brew…to help you.”
Lucia smiled down into his dirt-smudged little face. “I’m putting this rope in your mouth so you have something to bite on,” she told him in a soothing tone. She didn’t want to scare him. “I can see from the marks on your tongue,” she continued as she put the rope in his mouth, “you’ve bitten down on it before because you had nothing else to bite on.”
She managed to gently work the rope in just in time. The little boy bit down hard—so hard he probably would have bit his tongue off—as the seizure hit its peak. She could feel the villagers gathering closer.
“I know it feels scary, but this part never lasts long.” Lucia was careful to keep her tone calm and her expression serene. “Feel honored that God has made you different from other boys,” she told him. She could hear the onlookers muttering to each other so she pounced. “How else could your clansmen know you are destined for greatness if God hadn’t created you to stand apart from them?”
The silence in the massive room told Lucia all she needed to know. The boy would never be feared or mocked again. The little guy’s mother fell to her knees on the other side of her son.
“You see how I’m holding the rope?” Lucia softly inquired.
“Aye, milady.”
“I’ll get you a thick, leather strap so you don’t have to apply this much force. You just want to make sure his teeth never touch his tongue until it passes, but be careful not to hold it so tight as to gag him.”
His mother tearfully nodded. “Ye have me thanks.”
“I am honored to help the boy whom God has destined for greatness.” Norman Vincent Peale Lucia was not, but the basic principle behind The Power of Positive Thinking had just been planted in the minds of all present—it’s what mattered most. “The seizure is already coming to an end.”
Five minutes later, the boy wh
ose name she’d been told was Leith was the center of attention amongst his similarly aged peers. Lucia had the feeling this was the first time he’d been in the spotlight for a good reason instead of out of fear.
“I thank ye again, milady,” Leith’s mother Iona said shyly.
Lucia would never grow accustomed to people treating her as special because of her imaginary “noble” birth so she was grateful to have been able to do something, however small, to earn Iona’s praise.
“I can make no promises,” Lucia said honestly, “but I will try to concoct a…” This lie was growing old, but she conceded Cainnech understood this world far better than her. “Potion.” She cleared her throat. “Hopefully one that can at least make the seizures less severe.”
“Ye have done so much already,” Iona demurred. “I dinna wish tae burden ye.” She smiled. “It has been difficult tae survive with Leith’s sire laid tae rest, but mayhap now I can find work in the village as a cook.”
Nobody had hired her because they thought her little boy was possessed. Lucia’s stomach lurched at the knowledge.
“We need a cook here,” Lucia told Iona. “Or is that too far to travel every day?”
Iona’s blue eyes widened. “Nay, milady, ’tis no’ a burden at all. We dinna have a home tae call our own so me and me son can sleep outside yon castle gates if’n ye dinna mind.”
If her stomach was lurching before, it was threatening to empty all contents now. Lucia tried not to feel angry with the villagers who’d shunned the young boy and his mother—they’d done it out of ignorance at the priest’s prodding no doubt—and focused instead on remedying the situation.
“Gabhran,” Lucia called out. When he appeared at her side, Cainnech and Niall were with him. She supposed she should have consulted on this with the laird before announcing her decision, but he’d have to get over it. After this emotionally tumultuous day he owed her one—at minimum. “Gabhran, this is Iona. She will be in charge of the kitchen so please help her move her belongings into the castle. Iona and her son Leith will be living here with us.”
Iona gasped. “Milady…”
“Give Iona and Leith the room nearest the kitchen,” Lucia continued. Her gaze focused on Gabhran. “Thank you.”
“Milady,” Gabhran said quietly, “the chamber nearest tae the kitchen is where four of Laird MacKenzie’s soldiers are—”
“Were,” Lucia corrected. She glanced over to Cainnech and plastered on her serene smile. “Surely you agree, my laird?”
His gray eyes flickered, but whether from amusement or aggravation she couldn’t say. She supposed she’d find out soon enough.
“Aye, wife. ’Tis the most sensible solution.” Cainnech nodded at Gabhran. “Niall will remove my soldiers from yon chamber whilst ye aid Iona and Leith intae settlin’ in.” He glanced at his brother. “Niall, ye and Gabhran will take the chamber aside them tae keep them safe from men tae long removed from the sight of a wench.” If he saw Iona blush, he convincingly pretended he hadn’t. “Move the four across from the kitchens and intae the chamber above it.”
“Me laird,” Iona breathed out. “Milady. I dinna—”
Lucia held up a palm. “It is you who are helping us.” She smiled at Iona. “I’ll find a leather strap and send Gabhran to—”
“No need,” Cainnech interrupted. He inclined his head at Niall who handed the strap to Iona. “’Tis done.”
Lucia’s jaw dropped. Her pulse picked up. She’d known this man a grand total of twelve hours—including the ones she’d slept through!—and already he was continually throwing her off guard. No man had ever paid attention to every detail she spoke and every minute thing she did like Cainnech MacKenzie. It was worrisome, but undeniably flattering as well.
“Yes, well…” Lucia cleared her throat before smiling at Iona. “Hire as much help as you need to. The kitchen is yours to run.”
Iona’s back straightened. “I will make ye proud, milady.”
“You already do.” Lucia meant her words. The young mother couldn’t have been more than twenty-four or twenty-five max, yet had managed to care for Leith and herself despite the villagers rather than because of them. “I admire your strength and your loyalty to your son.”
Iona blushed. “Thank ye,” she whispered.
Lucia watched as Gabhran and Niall led Iona to Leith and then onward toward the kitchen. “Thank you,” she said without looking away. “I appreciate you not gainsaying me in front of others just as you don’t want me to gainsay you.”
Cainnech grunted. “’Tis time tae see tae yer wifely duty.”
Lucia stilled. Her heartbeat picked up. “I-I…I’m still hungry.”
“Then ye will be happy tae ken I had food sent tae our bedchamber for ye.”
His eyebrows rose. She gritted her teeth.
Checkmate.
Chapter Eight
Lucia blew out a breath as she entered the doors to her bedroom with the hulking, medieval version of Bobby Fischer in tow. He hadn’t exaggerated a single thing, she thought as she visually scanned the room.
A huge bed was placed where her futon had been, the futon now in its seated position across the room and behind her desk. She noted with downturned lips that her desk still had everything on it except for the book. (Gahh! The man was nobody’s fool.) A scaled-down version of the great hall’s table had been placed where her desk once was. It was overflowing with food and drink. She hoped at least one of those drinks was of the fermented variety because she was feeling as nervous as a virgin during a prison riot.
“Are ye in need of a bath?” Cainnech inquired.
“No.”
“Good. For I am.”
Lucia’s pulse sped as her gaze landed on the huge barrel near the hearth. It was filled with what had once been boiling water. She could see the steam still rising from it.
Cainnech kicked off his boots as he faced the bathing barrel. Lucia swallowed. He removed his kilt next, his back to her. She could only gape.
If Laird Cainnech MacKenzie was formidable while clothed, he was as close to godlike as a man could be when naked. It was as if he’d been sculpted by hand using flesh and muscle instead of clay and stone. His long legs were heavily muscled, his buttocks firm and perfect. His braids somehow furthered the impression he was a breathing piece of artwork. And his wide, honed back…
As Cainnech stepped into the hot water and his braids fell to the side, Lucia noticed for the first time that his entire back was tattooed. She hadn’t even known tattooing had been invented yet, but then she’d never exactly read up on its history either.
“Are ye goin’ tae eat or just stare at me, wife?”
Lucia’s pulse picked up. Her mouth worked up and down, but nothing came out.
Cainnech grunted. She was beginning to understand the nuances of his various grunts, but even that one eluded her.
“I ken a mon from yer time is handsome only if he needs never tae wield a sword. ’Tis ever the way of it.”
Lucia blinked. Women in this time found skinny men attractive? She plopped down onto the bench at the table and grabbed the nearest chalice. She downed its contents in one long guzzle, relieved to taste definite fermentation in the doing.
“Answer me, Lucia.”
She banged the cup down onto the table. “No, but don’t let it go to your head. It’s big enough as it is.”
“Eh?”
She sighed, exasperated. “You have the look every woman in my time wishes for a man to have, though he rarely does.”
Cainnech’s muscles visibly tensed, though all she could see was his back and one huge arm. “Dinna,” he gritted out, “lie tae me.”
Lucia stilled. She hadn’t realized until this moment the gruff dictator possessed any vulnerability. She’d found his Achilles’ heel. So why wasn’t she using it?
“Do you honestly believe I would tell you anything just to make you feel even better about yourself than you already do?” She hiccupped. Whatever was in the chalice f
elt as good as it had tasted. “In one day you have kidnapped Gabhran, threatened to kill him, obligated me to surrender this castle to you, caused me to faint, turned Gabhran to your side, forced me to marry you, starved me while the longest wedding ceremony ever took place, and demanded that I ‘do yer wifely duty’ on the heels of saving some poor little kid from being burned alive by a priest.” She splayed her hands, though he couldn’t see it. “I’m going with a great, big, fat NO.”
Cainnech grunted. Lucia recognized that grunt at least. It was equal parts arrogance and pleasure.
“Are ye drinkin’?” he asked, his tone amused.
“May—” She hiccupped again as she picked up a second chalice. “Maybe. What is this anyway? It tastes like heaven.”
“Mead. Bring me a goblet tae enjoy.” When she said nothing, he barked, “Please.”
This time it was Lucia who grunted. She picked up the pitcher and refilled the first chalice before walking it over to him. “Here,” she said, extending her hand. “Don’t say that I never—” She sucked in a breath. “Gave you anything,” she said on an exhale.
Cainnech craned his neck to look upon his wife. He frowned at her frozen stance, not certain what had happened. Her extended arm held out the goblet he’d asked for, but her eyes were as etched into his back as the markings he sported. He snatched the goblet afore she could drop it. “What in the saints is wrong with ye?”
Her jaw, once lax, clicked shut. She blinked. “Your back,” she whispered.
He had known such a refined, comely wench would like as naught find him physically lacking, yet it smarted his pride more than he wished it did. “What is wrong with it?” he ground out.
Her hand traced the outline of one of his markings. His cock instantly stiffened.
“Ex Nihilo Nihil Fit,” Lucia murmured. “Nothing comes from nothing.”
Cainnech’s eyes widened. “Ye ken Latin tae?”