* * *
When the meal was done, Athdar stood and held out his hand to her. Taking it, she walked with him to his chamber. It felt incredibly strange to be permitted to enter a bedchamber alone with him and a bubble of laughter escaped as she watched him close the door behind them.
‘After trying for so long not to be alone together, that seemed too easy,’ she said to explain her mirth. ‘Sinful somehow.’
Then she looked around the chamber. It was not as large as she thought it would be and rather sparse in its furnishings. A bed. Two trunks. A small table and chairs in the corner. A hearth. The other chamber seemed larger than this one.
‘I do not spend much time here, other than to sleep. Unlike Connor, I keep this private and use the clerk’s room for estate business.’
‘Why do you not have a clerk?’ she asked, as he paced around the chamber as though uncertain of what to do next. ‘Your lands and holdings are large enough to warrant one.’
‘I have just not tended to such things in the past. Sometimes ’tis just easier to handle matters myself,’ he explained. ‘So, we are avoiding the obvious, are we not?’
Did he expect her to undress before him? Did he sleep naked? She glanced at the bed. ‘You do not wish to discuss inviting a holy brother into your household?’
Isobel had the great ability to change the subject or, rather, to return to a previous one to avoid the current one if she so wished. A holy brother was the last thing he wished to talk about with her. But, from the way her hands trembled, the way she shifted from one foot to the other and the way she glanced at everything in the room but him, he knew she was nervous.
‘Ah. I forgot to give Broc instructions for the morn. Let me go back down to the hall before he retires.’
Puzzlement and a frown flitted over her lovely face.
‘Why not get settled for sleep and I will return shortly?’ he asked, walking to the door. He would give her time to undress and get in the bed.
She nodded as he left. He did go back to the hall, but not to speak to Broc. Retrieving the chessboard and pieces, he thought it could help ease the strain between them in his chambers. And give them a way to regain their footing with each other. He did not rush or dawdle for he did not want it reported among his kith and kin that he avoided his chamber on this night. When a few minutes had passed, and no sounds came from within, he lifted the latch and entered.
Isobel lay in his bed.
He swallowed and then again, taking in the sight of a woman he’d wanted, but never thought he could have. He had pushed her away and pushed away the thought of any woman in his bed and in his heart for so long, this did not feel real and true to him.
Yet, Isobel lay in his bed.
He did not know, could not tell from where he stood if she slept yet, so he placed the chess game on the table, having a care to be quiet, and then he walked slowly towards the bed. Halfway across the chamber, he could see that she watched him.
‘Ah, you are awake,’ he said.
‘I did not know where to settle. Do you sleep on one side or the other?’ she asked, touching each side of the bed.
‘I sleep all over it, I fear,’ he admitted. It had been so long since he’d shared a bed with a woman—for sleep—that he could not remember. ‘And you?’
‘I have shared a bed when cousins visit and they have said that I, like you, sleep all over it. So choose a side,’ she said.
‘I will take this side,’ he said, pointing to the one closer to the door.
She slid over and made room for him without hesitation. A good sign, that. He went around the room and blew out the candles that the servants had lit. Leaving only the one on the small table next to the bed, he turned his back and loosened his belt. He lifted the plaid from his shoulders and placed it over a chair. Then he dragged his trews off, leaving only his shirt on.
He listened to her breathing behind him. Each garment he removed was met with a slight pause, then she began anew. Athdar could feel her scrutiny as he undressed, but worried if she was simply being wary or if her curiosity was still strong. He hoped so. Turning, he walked to the empty side of the bed and climbed up on it. The ropes beneath the mattress groaned from his added weight.
Athdar found his body wanted to sleep as soon as he settled on the bed. Between the amount of whisky he’d consumed yesterday, the beating he’d taken this morn and everything else that had happened all day long, he was exhausted. Without a word to her, he sank into sleep’s grasp.
He woke when he felt her touch.
Startled at first, forgetting she lay at his side, he found her on her side facing him, tracing her finger along his shoulder and arm. The touch was light, not quite a caress and sometimes so gentle he thought he might be dreaming it. Then she slid it up to his neck and began gliding it along the edge of his jaw and cheeks. He did not move for fear she would stop her exploration.
Then, she dropped her hand and closed her eyes. He stared at her for a few minutes, deciding she was asleep and then slipped his hand around hers.
* * *
The second morning of waking with her at his side was much different than the first one.
His head did not hurt quite as much as the first time.
He was not met with a screeching servant and destroyed chamber.
Nay, on their second morning together, he woke alone to an empty chamber.
Chapter Fifteen
He slept like the dead. Far from taking over the whole of the bed as he’d threatened, he had not moved once he climbed on the bed and positioned himself there.
Laying on top of the bedcovers was his attempt to ease things between them and she accepted it. But some time in the night, he had slept so deeply that she did not think him breathing. Rather than shake him awake, she touched him, reaching over and sliding her finger along the muscles of his shoulder and arm. He shuddered so she knew he was alive.
Unfortunately, she wanted to touch more of him—so she did. Gently she slid just the tip of her finger along his neck and around the masculine curves, angles and planes of his face. She did what she had not been permitted to do before—touch him. He had drawn in a deep breath and she feared disturbing his much-needed rest.
Isobel lay quiet and unmoving then until his breath changed back into a slow, deep, easy pace. Deciding that she was much too awake to sleep, she slid from the bed, picked up his plaid and left the chamber. Her feet took her to her destination before her mind even knew it and she stood before the loom in the hall. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark and then sat before it, picking up the shuttle.
* * *
Her hands had moved more by practice than sight, adding several rows of new weaving before the sun’s light began to brighten the day. Realising she should not be seen here, Isobel climbed the stairs and went to her old chamber, seeking out her clothing and other belongings so she could dress. The scant choice of gowns and not many personal items there reminded her of her need for more—at least until she could send for her things.
The thought made her homesick for a moment. What must her mother think of her escapade? How would she react when news of this newest wrinkle in things arrived in Lairig Dubh? She tried not to think about her father’s reaction, but they would have to deal with that and the laird’s as well. She thought Jocelyn might be able to temper Connor’s opinion of this unsanctioned marriage, but her father?
Somehow, though her father could bluster and intimidate most everyone, her heart told her that he would be hurt by her actions more than angered by them. His anger he would no doubt aim at Athdar. After seeing her father take on Rob Mathieson when he came to claim her cousin Lilidh’s hand, she knew the damage he would rain down on Athdar.
Well, what would be, would be, and she doubted that anyone short of Connor, and possibly not even he, could stop her
father from seeking his own satisfaction for Athdar taking her in marriage without his consent.
Mayhap ’tis better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission?
Lady Jocelyn’s words repeated in her thoughts. She had little doubt that either action would have displeased her father in the matter of her marriage. So, they would face his wrath when next they met him.
In the meantime, she wanted to take the first steps to help Athdar and to begin their future. So, while weaving she’d sorted out her plan and decided to speak to Athdar for permission to make some changes here at the keep in anticipation of winter.
She was rolling her stockings up when the door flew open. Tossing down her gown, she turned to find Athdar standing in the doorway with a strange look in his eyes.
‘What is the matter?’ she asked, going to him.
‘I woke up and you were gone.’
‘Did you think I’d come to my senses finally?’ she asked, jesting, but speaking what she suspected was what he’d thought.
‘Aye.’
She smiled at him and shook her head. ‘I could not sleep so I went to the loom to avoid waking you.’
‘When?’ he asked, dragging his hands through his hair and rubbing his face.
‘An hour or so ago, I think.’ She shrugged.
‘More than that, I think,’ he replied.
‘It matters not,’ she said. ‘’Tis something I do when I cannot sleep. Do you mind?’ She stopped then, coming to a realisation that she’d not thought of before. ‘I supposed that now I must get your permission for my actions?’ He squinted at her. ‘As my husband, I suppose you can tell me what to do.’
He laughed then, a true and hearty laugh, and Isobel liked the look and sound of it. His face lost most of the haunted look and she could see the younger man who lived within him. His deep voice echoed in the laughter and she smiled.
‘Spoken by a woman who has never been married,’ he said.
‘As I am,’ she answered. ‘Mayhap I should seek out Nessa and Jean for counsel on such matters?’
He wiped his face then and shook his head. ‘Aye, as your husband I am entitled to tell you what to do or not do, but as a man who has done this before, I have learned it’s best not to try that.’ He stepped back as she walked out the door. ‘What plans do you have for this day?’
‘I thought of that while at the loom,’ she said. ‘There are a few things...’ She paused, not certain how he would respond to her desire to not only move things around in his home, but to bring in an outsider to see to some tasks he now did.
‘Are there some changes you wish made here in the keep? Or in the village?’ he asked. When she frowned, he shrugged. ‘Every woman I have ever known wants something moved or changed. So, have at it.’
‘You do not mind?’ she asked. ‘Should I tell you or rather ask you beforehand?’
‘Nay. Though we did not accomplish it the more traditional way, you are lady here now. It is your home. Do as you wish.’
Mayhap his past experiences being married had led him to this manner of thinking about his wife’s place? Her own mother exerted quite a bit of control over their household, though if you asked her father he would deny it. As would Connor about the amount of autonomy that Jocelyn had over Lairig Dubh. But, thinking about it, she realised that her mother and the lady always found a way to make their husbands believe that changes had been their ideas. It seemed to make changes more palatable.
‘My thanks, Athdar. I will not change anything significantly without your permission, of course.’ She faced him. ‘I am going to the kitchens to speak to Jean and Ceard. Will you be down to break your fast soon?’
‘Have a care if you think to suggest changes to anything in Ceard’s kitchens,’ he suggested. ‘He does not take well to changes in the way he runs his kitchens.’
She nodded and went on her way, pleased that he would give his support. Many greeted her as she walked through the hall and in the kitchen. Ceard even paused and called her ‘Lady MacCallum’ twice in their conversation. She noticed that Jean glared at him several times during their talk and suspected that the cook’s wife had more control of the cook’s kitchens than his laird realised.
A short time later, she sat at Athdar’s side as they broke their fast with steaming bowls of porridge, served up with brown bread and butter. Filled and refreshed, she bid Athdar farewell as he headed out to the village to work with the men there, repairing and readying several of the cottages and outbuildings where harvested crops were stored.
* * *
She spent her day much as the past days, part of the time with Laria and part working the loom. It would take her some time to learn all of her duties and to begin oversight of many tasks left to others in the years since there was a lady in place here. One thing she did see to, something she thought sorely missing, was the care of Athdar’s chambers. It took some time to do, but she hoped he would be pleased by it.
Soon, the men returned to the keep as the sun set and supper was ready to be served.
But all she could think about was the night that would follow.
* * *
Athdar thought that he might have accomplished something good in a very bad way. And all day long, as he worked along with his carpenters and masons to make repairs to some cottages damaged in recent storms and to enlarge two storage barns on the edge of the village near the fields, he thought about Isobel going about her own duties.
Mairi had been more than competent and a wonderful helpmate to him as he became laird on his father’s passing. Two years older than he, she had brought a certain quiet grace to the hall and they got along well as they learned to love each other. Everything seemed brighter then, coloured by their love no doubt, and many things were done the way she did them even now.
Seonag was, by the time he remarried, a younger lass, but her skills did not lie in running his household so much as managing the estate records. She had a keen mind for numbers and it was then that Athdar had stopped using a cleric to do that. She also taught him how to, so he continued after her death.
After that, various women among his older cousins and such took over some of the duties while Broc and even Padruig handled others. He would always hear Seonag admonishing him about keeping the numbers well, so he held on to that for more sentimental reasons than anything else.
And now? Isobel had a kind heart and he did not doubt that the changes she wanted involved helping some of those she deemed in need. Her visits to the village and to the weavers who worked in their own cottages were at the centre of it, he thought. She also had an extensive education and a sharp mind, so she could be an advantage to him in many, many ways...though right now, his body could think of one.
He’d been so wrapped up in his thoughts about Isobel, he never realised that all the other men had stopped working and now stared at him. Athdar shook off his reverie and looked at them.
‘What is it? What?’ He put down the mallet he used and wiped his hands on his trews, trying to remember what they were speaking about just a moment ago.
Broc nudged the man standing next to him. ‘Did I not tell you? In spite of all his arguments all these years, he has taken to marriage like a pig in shit!’ Athdar realised he must have looked like a moonstruck lad standing there, unmoving with his tool poised to strike...and not.
‘The lady will put an end to his drinking,’ another man said.
‘Already did, from the looks of him.’ Connal smacked his back and laughed. For a man recently entrapped by Isobel’s charm, Athdar suspected Connal understood her appeal.
And though he did not feel as though she controlled him as a wife to a husband yet, Athdar knew to a certainty that she could...very easily...very quickly.
So, being trapped for honour’s sake and in reparation for what he’d done to her was not a bad thing? Not
if she could forgive him? Mayhap by this marriage not being his choice, things would work out? If he did not pursue it, she might be safe from the curse that seemed to strike every woman he chose.
‘Enough!’ he said, waving them off. ‘There’s work to be done here.’ He tried to say it in a serious tone, to warn them off this teasing and taunting, but it came out on a laugh. ‘I have a new wife to get back to, so let’s finish this.’
Athdar knew that it was not like that between them, but he hoped that it could be. If he did not seek out a wife, if it happened without intention, then things might work out for them. This handfasting might be the answer to the curse he felt had followed him for his whole life.
* * *
The day passed slowly for him. Every time he glanced up at the sun to estimate how much more daylight they had, it seemed to be standing still in the sky. Each task completed was followed by another and another and yet another. He dared not complain or ask about the unending work or he would face more taunting.
Finally, the sun began to slide down the slope of the western sky and they gathered up their tools and supplies. There was more to be done on the morrow, so plans were made about where to meet and who would do what before they returned to their cottages or the keep. If Athdar’s steps were a bit rushed or if he reached the keep ahead of the others, no one said a word. Though many, many knowing glances were thrown in his direction!
He did not see her when he entered the keep, so he sought out his chambers to change from the filthy clothing he’d worn for working into something less so. He opened the door to find the room within transformed into something...comfortable.
Athdar walked in and discovered more surprises awaiting him.
A bucket of water, still steaming, a basin, a bowl of soap and a washing cloth sat on one of his trunks.
A clean pair of trews and a shirt lay on the bed waiting for him.
A pitcher of ale and some bread.
A fire, well set and well tended, warmed the room.
The Highlander's Dangerous Temptation Page 14