“I wanted to disappear with you into the night and never return,” I whispered to him.
“If you had said one word to me, I would have done just that. I would have done anything you asked of me,” he said. After a long pause, he continued. “I went immediately to my brother, and I spoke to your father that very night. Your father was against it at first. Against me. It was Wilkie he wanted as his successor. But when Wilkie refused, he had no better alternative. He thought me the lesser choice. I’m too unpredictable, less proven, according to the venerable Laird Morrison. It seems I’ll have to prove him wrong.”
I looked up at him, understanding only now the complexity of the challenges he faced, as my new husband. We’d be wise to make the best of our situation, no matter how difficult it may be for either one of us.
He stroked my cheek with the light sweep of his thumb as he spoke. “And the utter terror written across your face on our wedding day...it seems I’ll have to prove you wrong, too.”
“Prove me wrong now, husband,” I said.
His half smile was enough to bring to life his complicated beauty, which seemed to be getting closer to the surface every time I looked at him. But his smile faded almost before it began. “I thought your fear was directed solely at me, but I think I understand it better now. And I’ll assure you again that I will fight any man who touches you. ’Tis even more important now for me to give you time to learn to trust me. The very last thing I want is for you to feel obliged or pressured into intimacy with a man you hardly know, and one that you were beaten into marrying. We’ll wait until the month has passed, wife. Only then. I’m promising this to you, and I’ll not break my vow. And if it takes longer than that before you are ready to give your consent, then so be it. I would not consider myself an honorable man if I felt you were unsure.”
Strangely, I had a fleeting urge to trample through his honorableness and find the scoundrel in him, the brute who had shredded my clothing with his hunting knife, or the reckless pursuer who had kissed me feverishly in a secluded garden because he hadn’t been able to stop himself. I wanted to find those facets of my husband, to entice them and draw them out now. Shamelessly, my mind began to rove in wicked directions, imagining how I might do just that. I thought of reaching under his shirt, to feel the heated skin of his chest, imagining what he might feel like.
But before I could, he disengaged. “Go to bed now, lass. We’ve a long day of travel tomorrow and the next day. You’ll be riding with your sisters in their carriage. I’ll be taking my own horse to ride alongside the guards. Tonight I need to write a letter to my brother.”
“Tonight?” I asked, feeling disappointed not only by his abrupt shift from tender and communicative to once again fierce and war-minded. But his manner had changed, as though he was wary of frightening me. Now that he knew of my less-than-idyllic upbringing, he had reason to tread more carefully. And I appreciated this sensitivity greatly, even if I had newfound reasons to challenge it.
“Aye. I have a bad feeling about this run-in with Campbell. That he has it in his mind to seek out commissions so deep into the territories of clans that are clearly against his cause is not only irritating, ’tis dangerous. He wouldn’t do such a thing if he didn’t have a lead of some kind, or an invitation. I can’t help wondering if your Morrison clan might be harboring a rebel.”
The thought was disturbing to me, aye, but I had very little exposure to the ways and means of my father’s army. If there were traitors within my father’s ranks, I would likely be one of the last to know about it. My husband seemed thoroughly aware of this, and didn’t ask me for information either way. “I wouldn’t know,” I said. “But there’s discontent in the clan, in general. My father’s illness has taken its toll.”
“More likely it’s his methods that have taken their toll,” Kade said. “He’s overly harsh in his approach, I’ve heard it said. Loyalty is not inspired by tyranny. No one wants to be dictated to without some degree of fairness.”
“Nay,” I agreed. It was true I’d attempted to flee my own clan myself—or more specifically, the dictates of my own father—and for that exact reason. And I was momentarily shaken by my husband’s words. I knew that the Mackenzies were known for their honor, the fairness with which their clan was ruled, their military prowess. Before, I had thought these traits, in a husband, would only serve to make my enslavement to such a man even more extreme. Honor might mean my wifely duties—whatever they might be—would be extensive and strictly enforced. Fairness in the training yards had never, I knew, translated to fairness in the bedchambers. And as for military prowess: that characteristic had been the most worrisome of all; a man who was skilled in war would likely be one who was so fueled by battle that he would bring all his rough, dirty, violent demands into his marriage bed.
But now, in the wake of his earlier confessions, I could consider my husband’s traits in a new light. To him, honor meant patience. I would not consider myself an honorable man if I felt you were unsure. His skills with his weapons, too, were now much less threatening to me than they had been only days ago. In fact, the very thought of his knife slashing through the thin veil of my shift, the feel of his fingers on my private skin, the dizzying contours of his war-hardened body as he kissed me as passionately as he had in our forbidden garden...I wanted to experience more of his military prowess right here and now.
But he was already sitting at his desk. He was preparing his quill and his parchment, and his attention was far away from me, focused on travel, tyranny and traitors. I wasn’t sure what to do, or how I might show him...whatever it was that I wanted to show him.
I ventured closer to him, standing next to the fire. He was absorbed in his writing, his head bent over his work. He wrote quickly, dipping his quill frequently and scribbling prolifically as though struggling to get all his ideas onto the page. I stood by the hearth, holding my hands closer to the flames to warm them, twirling a strand of my hair absentmindedly. My thoughts reverted to the kiss, the soft, demanding exploration of his tongue, the rigid planes of his body beneath his clothes.
“Go to bed, lass.”
I looked at him, and noticed that he’d put his quill down and had his arms folded across his chest, watching me.
“Are you...coming to bed?” I asked.
He contemplated me in a lazy inspection. “After I finish this letter.”
“All right,” I said quietly.
His gaze continued to follow me as I walked to the bed. I paused before untying the laces of my gown, the white one that my husband had insisted I wear once he’d known my preference. Now that he sat back in his chair, with his arms folded and his knees apart, he seemed to have returned to the churlish, staunch warrior I had first taken him for. His hand caressed his knife handle even now. This was a habit of his, I’d noticed. He held his weapons when he was deep in thought, maybe planning attacks in his mind or pondering mysterious man-thoughts of one kind or another, so utterly foreign to me.
Turning from him, but painfully aware of his cool scrutiny, I eased the loosened fabric over my shoulders, lowering it and stepping out of it. I draped it over the other gowns that lay on the near table. I didn’t dare look at him, knowing full well that my shift was sheer enough to see through. I still felt the warm effects of my inconceivable discovery: that the figment of my secret fantasies was, staggeringly, my own husband. I thought I might go mad with desire for you, lass. It took everything I had to walk away. The revelation danced across my skin like an invisible breeze, and swelled in intimate pinpoints across my body. Could he feel that way now, as he watched me in brooding silence?
I poured some water from the porcelain pitcher into the bowl, using a soft cloth to wash my face. I brushed my hair, all the while aware of his acute observation. It felt strange to be observed this way, as I carried out my bedtime rituals. The knowledge that he could see the shape of my body as I slid the comb through the end strands of my hair brought a flush to my cheeks and elsewhere. I wanted him t
o come to me, to touch his fingers to me as he had once done before. I thought of my sister Maisie, who would have had no compunction about using all of her feminine lures. I’d watched her with fascination upon more than one occasion. I considered enticing my husband now, going to him, touching his hair, kissing his lips. I knew what I might do; the instincts were there and I had no doubt I could be just as creative as Maisie if I put my mind to it. I thought of Kade’s vow to me, to give me time and gain his trust. Already, I could feel that his allowance was exactly what I needed. My ability to trust had been damaged by my background more than any of my sisters. What if my husband lashed out at me or refused me? In my heart I knew—almost—that he would do neither of these things. But I would wait, and heal, and learn to trust. I eased back the fur covers and climbed into bed. Only then could I turn again to meet his eyes.
I wondered why he’d stopped writing. Maybe he was thinking about what he wanted to say in his letter.
“Husband?” I whispered after a moment.
“Aye?”
Come to me. Protect me. Touch me. “Good night,” I said.
“Good night,” he said, and the rough edge to his low voice was more pronounced than usual, quiet yet raw with a tension I could not name.
It was a long time before I heard the scratch of his quill continue in the flickering candlelit night.
CHAPTER NINE
OUR TRIP ACROSS the Highlands was, in the end, entirely uneventful. Duncan Campbell and his men did not make an appearance, and there was no more word of Campbell’s intention to meet with my father regarding alliances, disputes, wars or any combination thereof. In fact, the only thing the news of Campbell had succeeded in doing, as far as I could see, was to send my husband into a cold, guarded stoicism. Throughout the two days of our journey, we did not so much as speak. I remained in the carriage with my sisters. Kade led the Kinloch soldiers who flanked our procession of carriages on all sides. My husband’s focus on getting us to Glenlochie without incident was absolute. I knew he suspected a traitor was among the Morrison army, and he eyed each of them with blatant suspicion. The Kinloch soldiers were dismissed once we reached our own gates, and their departure did nothing to soothe either his wariness or his mood.
Once we arrived at my home, Kade’s view of the Morrison clan only grew increasingly disenchanted. Used to the unparalleled standards of the Mackenzie clan, he was appalled by condition of our keep. In this I could hardly blame him. After the splendor of the refined, well-run and prosperous Kinloch, I saw our own living conditions in a new light.
Upon our return, Kade and I spent our first two nights in my old chambers, which were adjoined to my sisters’ rooms. This did not afford us as much privacy as my husband would have preferred. Once other more urgent matters had been attended to, I was told that I would give him a tour of all the empty upper rooms of the manor. We needed something more suitable for the future laird and lady of the clan, he said.
And he had not touched me again. In fact, he’d barely spoken to me. Both nights, he’d come in late from his time in meetings and in the training yards, and had worked until the small hours of the morning, writing in several leather-bound books he kept locked in one of his many trunks, which he showed no interest in unpacking. And then he’d risen early and was gone before I’d even awakened. No wonder he was ornery and therefore distant, I reasoned: he’d hardly had much sleep.
On the third morning, he left well before dawn, only to return a short time later. I heard him rummaging through one of his larger trunks, where he kept yet more knives and swords and other unusual instruments of war.
“Good morning, husband,” I ventured, rising from the bed.
He jammed a second sword into place, still holding a knife’s handle in his clenched fist. Then he paused, giving me an assessing, critical glance. “There’s work to be done, lass. You’ve recovered from your wedding and your journey. ’Tis time for you to begin.”
“Begin what?” I asked, slipping a gown over my head and tying the front laces.
“Work.”
Work. Something I’d never been allowed much less invited to do. “Work?”
“You spend far too much time cooped up with your gossiping sisters. This manor is dirty, disorganized and in no fit state to receive visitors, let alone house the nobles of its own clan. Several of my family members arrive in just over a month, and the place is an utter shambles. ’Tis an embarrassment. Much worse than I ever imagined. Why has your family let it get so run-down?”
It was true that Glenlochie was in need of some serious attention. I’d never noticed it quite so much as I had since our return from the wedding, but the manor was messy, shabby and with no real systems in place to improve the current state of our chaotic existence.
Why had we let it get so run-down? I’d considered the condition of our home in the past, and the general feeling of malaise among our workers. But I would no more instruct my father about how to run his manor and his keep than I would advise him about how to rule his army; my outspokenness, of course, would only have resulted in more punishment.
“Who is in charge of the manor?” he asked me.
“My father, of course.”
“Your father runs the army —and not particularly effectively. He’s too old and too ill. And too swilled a good portion of the time to do much of anything else. There must be someone who handles the day-to-day operations of the manor itself.”
“The staff run it,” I said.
“Who’s in charge of the staff?” he repeated.
“I—I’m not sure,” I stammered.
Irritated even further by my inarticulate reply, Kade issued my orders. “Well, from now on, you are in charge. Go and speak to the workers. Tell them to clean the grand hall by the end of the day. Oversee it yourself. And the kitchen staff can be told we’ll have fresh produce, meat and bread this evening. Why is there so little to show for the harvest? And the dried meat should only be used when there’s nothing else available, or the stores won’t get us through the winter.” He continued to jam his weapons into place. I almost asked him to be careful, lest he spear himself, but then thought better of it.
Despite his curt, business-minded tone, the lingering memories of our spare moments of intimacy and tenderness shone through my apprehension. Kade was temperamental, aye, and I could see that he had reason to be. But I felt little of the initial fear of our very first encounters. Instead, what I felt was a residual link to him, forged with his heartfelt words and his beguiling touch. His distance now only succeeded in rousing a budding curiosity in me: could I succeed in drawing out his softer side again? He was gruff and agitated by his many challenges, but I knew of his innermost desires. I knew how his lips felt on mine, and I had seen the look in his eyes when he’d seen me and touched me so very intimately. This connection gave me a small sense not only of power but of equality.
“’Tis not my place to organize the kitchen staff,” I said.
“Not your place?” he growled. “Then whose place is it? You’ll be lady of this keep soon. ’Tis time for you to learn how to lead.”
“But—”
My husband was not in the mood for my feeble protests. “I’ll be back this evening,” he interrupted. “I’m taking some of the men for a hunt. Tell the butcher to expect us by sundown.” And with that he strode from my chambers, slamming the door loudly behind him.
Once I would have cursed him for his rudeness, and thought him a boorish brute and all manner of other insults. Now, I forgave him. Almost. He didn’t need to rant nor fume at me to get me to obey him. I allowed that he wasn’t used to so many frustrations; his life, aside from the challenges of war—which were expected and embraced when one’s lifelong purpose was as a noble, educated soldier—had been free from the kind of challenges Glenlochie presented. His family had run Kinloch flawlessly for generations. He had been born into that privilege. This change would take some time to adjust to.
And his observations about the appalling
state of our keep were, after all, correct. I could, I supposed, try to help, as he requested. My father would learn of my new occupation; that he would react unfavorably to the news went without question. But my husband would defend me. The new landscape of my life was difficult to grasp. I would need courage, husband or no husband—such was the thoroughness of my conditioning. We both had much to adjust to.
Not more than a minute after he had stormed from our chambers, the door opened and Kade strode in.
“Oh, what luck,” I commented, almost under my breath. “My kindly, chivalrous husband has returned to me sooner than promised.”
Kade smiled in response to my sarcasm. He walked back over to where I stood. His hand lifted to cradle the side of my face with his palm. His thumb traced lightly along my cheekbone. “So it seems I have been the brutish husband you were expecting all along, and in no small measure. I was on guard against attack on our journey. And I had thought to be welcomed into a somewhat organized, accepting clan. I have found the opposite to be true. I am on edge for a thousand reasons. But I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I want to do the right thing, and most of all, to keep you safe. Forgive me.”
Aye, I knew that Kade’s nature was unpredictable. I had expected my husband, since I knew no other way of it, to act as all other men: rough and overbearing. That he felt the need to appease me after his frustrated outburst was no less than miraculous to me. No man had ever shown me such regard, nor such care. My husband’s apology seemed to seep into some unknowable fissure in my heart and widen it by several degrees. I found myself wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him.
Juliette Miller - [Clan MacKenzie 02] Page 12