by Lynsay Sands
"Wife?"
Annabel glanced around the room before turning back to him and saying with surprise, "Oh, you mean me."
For some reason that seemed funny to her and she found herself giggling again.
"How do you feel?" he asked, eyeing her closely.
"Like I have to pee," she answered, and then slapped a hand over her mouth with dismay, only to tear it away and mutter, "Damn, I said it," which was followed quickly by an alarmed, "Oh damn, I said damn." Swearing was definitely not allowed at the abbey.
For some reason her words seemed to amuse the man. She could tell by the way his lovely dark eyes crinkled and his terribly stern mouth turned up. He had lovely eyes.
"Thank ye," Ross rumbled. "So do you."
"So do I, what?" she asked with confusion.
"Have lovely eyes," he explained.
"I didn't tell you, you have lovely eyes. Did I?" she asked with a frown. Annabel was sure she'd only thought that.
Still smiling, he shook his head slightly, but apparently decided not to trouble himself answering, because he didn't and simply bent to tug the furs and linens away from her, saying, "Come, I'll walk ye to the garderobe."
"Oh no," she said at once, scrambling to get out of bed. "That is not necessary, my lord. I know where it is. I used to live--Oh," Annabel gasped with surprise when she stood up and the room swung wildly.
Ross immediately reached out to steady her, and she leaned against his chest and closed her eyes briefly in the hopes that the room would settle when she opened them again. After a moment, she cautiously eased them open and tipped her head back to peer up at the man holding her. He had a very nice face. She hadn't seen enough men to decide whether he was handsome compared to others, and so far his face seemed a touch stern most of the time. But filled with concern as it presently was, it was nice, she decided . . . and then had to wonder why it was growing in size. His lips were nearly touching hers before she was able to sort out that it was growing larger because it was drawing nearer.
The first touch of his lips on hers was petal soft and for some reason that surprised her. Annabel supposed that she had expected his kisses to be as rough and aggressive as his outward appearance suggested. When he applied more pressure, she smiled against his mouth, although she couldn't have said why. And when she felt his tongue slip out to run across her lips, she opened her mouth in surprise, intending to ask if that was a normal part of kissing and if she should do it in return, only to gasp in amazement when his tongue took advantage of the move and slid inside her mouth.
Truly, while she knew mouths weren't made to hold two tongues, it was quite nice to have his in there. The feel of it rubbing along hers and filling her mouth was surprisingly exciting and Annabel instinctively opened her mouth wider, her hands slipping up his arms to wrap themselves around his neck.
Ross responded by catching the back of her head in one large hand, and tilting it slightly to a better angle. He then dropped both hands to clasp her behind and raised her as he straightened. Annabel assumed it was so he wouldn't have to bend over, but the action made their bodies rub against each other in the most interesting way.
When she felt him catch her under the thighs and pull her legs around his hips, Annabel went with it willingly, even eagerly. But then he broke their kiss and let her slide down a bit as he turned toward the bed and an alien hardness rubbed against her core. The action sent an unaccustomed excitement rocketing through her that made Annabel clutch at his shoulders even as she threw her head back on a gasp for air she couldn't seem to find. The head tossing probably wasn't a good idea, it made her feel like she was falling, and Annabel opened her eyes to find the world melting around them into blackness.
ROSS CAUGHT ANNABEL to his chest when he realized she was falling backward, and then simply stared down with disbelief at her head lolling over his arm. She'd passed out he realized with consternation and scowled at her for it. But after a moment, he sighed and lowered her to the bed, acknowledging that she wasn't likely to awaken anytime soon . . . and that it was all his own fault. He was the one who had insisted she drink, and Annabel had obediently done so.
He'd intended to get her properly soused and then seduce her out of her chemise carouse. His hope had been that with enough liquor he would have been able to make her forget the church's ruling and relax enough to enjoy the bedding. And his plan had nearly worked. Certainly she had seemed to enjoy their kiss with uninhibited pleasure, and he suspected she would have enjoyed much more had she remained conscious. Unfortunately, it appeared he'd overdone it on the amount of liquor she could handle. In his own defense, she'd seemed to be handling it extremely well . . . right up until she'd passed out.
Ross bent and quickly slipped the chemise carouse off of her. Still holding her upright with one hand, he used the other to toss the offensive article across the room, assuring himself he'd burn the damn thing ere morning. He then turned back to his bride and paused as he noted the welts on her back. Ross recognized them as whip marks at once and it made him stiffen with rage at the thought of anyone touching her so in violence. He hadn't cared much for her parents; their demeanor was cool and uncaring toward their daughter. He hadn't seen a single sign of affection for her, but this pushed his feelings for them from indifferent to active dislike.
Mouth tight, Ross eased Annabel gently down into bed, taking the trouble to turn her on her side so that her welts didn't pain her in sleep. Then he tugged up the linens and furs over her. Straightening, he then stared down at her for a moment, his tight-lipped expression easing and twitching with amusement when she began to snore lightly. She was just so damned cute.
Shaking his head at himself, Ross glanced around to see where his sgian dubh had landed when the bedding party had stripped him. Unable to find it, he settled for his sword instead and moved around the bed to grab it up. Sitting on the side of the bed, Ross tugged the top linens and furs out of the way, then sliced his palm lightly and rubbed the blood that oozed out onto the bottom linen next to her hip. It would save explanations in the morning when her parents and the priest came to collect the linens as proof that the marriage had been consummated. Besides, the marriage would have been consummated had she not passed out, and he wouldn't see her humiliated for his own actions in pouring too much mead down her throat.
After setting his sword back on the floor, Ross removed the plaid he'd tied around his waist and dropped that on it. He then spotted the chemise carouse lying where he'd tossed it earlier and quickly retrieved and threw it in the fire before returning to the bed to settle in it next to his bride.
Ross closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but sleep wouldn't come and after a moment he opened them again and turned his head to peer at Annabel. He'd set her on her side facing him, and her mouth now hung open, a small string of drool slipping from it. For some reason the sight made warmth rattle through his chest and brought a smile to his lips. She was just so damned adorable to him.
The thought made him smile wryly. He'd been all set to order his men to the horses and ride out of here rather than marry the lass who was the Withram's second daughter, and then he'd spotted her and something about her had made him change his mind immediately. But he really couldn't say what that something was. She was bonnie enough, Ross supposed, but he'd seen bonnier. And she hadn't said more than a few words to him all night, so it wasn't that she had a shiny wit and charm, at least not that he yet knew of. Perhaps it had been the fear and anxiety in her eyes. Her expression had been calm and even pleasant, but her eyes had been awash with uncertainty and terror. He'd immediately wanted to reassure, soothe and protect her.
Following his instincts in this matter may have been an error, Ross acknowledged. After all, he didn't know the woman at all. But his instincts had never let him down before and he was content to trust in them now. However, he was also determined to get her away from Waverly first thing on the morrow. He didn't like Lord and Lady Waverly. He didn't like the sly way they'd passed off their second
daughter as their first without even mentioning the matter to him. Nor had he been pleased by their obvious relief once the ceremony was over and they thought they'd got away with the switch. But even more, he didn't like how they treated Annabel.
Her parents spoke to her with an offhand lack of concern or care. They had treated her with the polite indifference of strangers during the marriage feast. The mother had even sent her off alone with servants when it had come time to see her above stairs, stripped and put abed. In fact, the woman hadn't come up at all, but had sat at the table drinking as the men, led by Lord Waverly, had carted Ross upstairs to join his bride. It was as if, once she was married, the woman had washed her hands of the girl. However, the welts on her back had been the final straw.
Aye, they would leave for MacKay first thing tomorrow morning, Ross determined. He would take her home, where they could consummate their marriage in the bed where she would one day give birth to their children. Annabel's life here was done. She was his now. He just wished he could claim her as his physically.
Ross's eyes slid over her naked shoulders where they peeked out from under the furs. They were round and creamy white. As was the rest of her, he recalled from his earlier view of her. Soft, round white breasts with dusky rose-colored nipples; soft, round white hips . . .
This was his wedding night, Ross reminded himself, licking his lips. When he was supposed to be consummating their marriage . . . and really, it might be a kindness to get the breaching of her innocence over with while she was too sotted to suffer from it. It would clear the way for her to feel nothing but pleasure their first time together that she was conscious.
Realizing where his thoughts were leading, Ross turned his head to stare at the ceiling rather than the temptation lying beside him. Damn, he couldn't believe he was even considering mounting the woman while she was unconscious. But all he'd been thinking since she'd come below that afternoon was that in a matter of hours he'd be able to sink his hard prick into her warm, soft body and . . .
Sitting up abruptly, Ross nearly threw himself from the bed. Grabbing up his plaid as he went, he strode to the door, but then paused. He couldn't go below. He was supposed to be up here doing exactly what he wanted to be doing.
Grimacing, he turned reluctantly from the door and eyed the bed, and then his gaze caught on the pitcher of honeyed mead on the bedside table. He preferred ale or scotch to the sweet drink, but honeyed mead would do. And he could always go below and fetch some ale if he finished off the mead and was still thirsty. By then enough time should have passed that they would assume he'd bedded his bride and was just giving her a rest before going again, did he bring the ale back up with him.
Nodding, he strode around the bed to collect the pitcher and second goblet. As he carried them to one of the chairs by the fire, Ross couldn't help thinking that this was not how he'd expected to spend his wedding night.
Chapter 3
A loud hammering roused Ross from sleep. Rolling his head toward the door, he groaned at the pain the action sent shooting through his poor abused brain, and stared at the wooden panel through bleary eyes. A second knock was followed by a sleepy sigh and rustling on his other side, so he rolled his head that way to see how his poor wife fared that morning. He had no doubt her head would be as sore as his, if not worse, so was surprised when she popped up in bed and peered around with wide clear eyes.
"Oh! They'll be wanting the sheets!" she exclaimed and glanced to him with alarm.
"They can have them," he growled, forcing himself upright and tossing the top linen and furs away to reveal the bloodstain between them on the bottom linen.
"Oh." Annabel stared at the dried stain with wide eyes, peered down at her lap, then to his own and paused briefly, eyes widening even further if that were possible at the sight of his nakedness. "Oh," she repeated weakly, then dragged her eyes away from his morning erection, gave her head a shake, and tossed the bit of linen and furs still covering her aside to leap from bed.
"Well, that's fine," she said cheerfully, seeming suddenly wide awake and perky as hell as she hopped out of bed. She began to scramble into a chemise, chattering away the whole while. "Goodness, I did not even feel the breaching, or at least if I did, I do not recall it. And I do not appear to be suffering any soreness or ill effects." Finished with the chemise, Annabel cast him a pleased smile and bent to grab up her gown from the day before, adding, " 'Twas kind of you to spare me that way, my lord. I am a very fortunate woman to have a husband as considerate as you."
Ross watched her drag the gown over her head with a nonplussed expression. She thought they'd actually . . . that he'd . . . and she was bloody grateful for it! He could have . . . Damn, he thought, with dismay. He'd been the gentleman and drunk himself to a sore head to avoid touching her, and all for nothing. Bloody hell!
Another knock sounded, making Ross grimace. Did they have to pound so bloody loud? he wondered with disgust and stood up as his bride rushed around the bed. Tying her stays as she went, Annabel called out a happy, "Coming!" as she went, and Ross winced as the cheery sound hit his ears and stabbed into his brain. She obviously wasn't suffering any ill effects from the drink either, he decided with disgust. While his head was pounding something fierce, she was chipper as hell. Life was so unfair sometimes. Although, Ross supposed, to be fair, since he'd urged the drink on her, she shouldn't have to suffer a sore head. Still--
His thoughts died as his wife pulled the door open, beamed at the people in the hall and started to usher them in, only to freeze when she saw that he was simply standing there nude. Flushing, she turned abruptly back, blocking the entrance. "Just a moment, please. My husband is not yet--"
" 'Tis fine," Ross growled, stifling a groan as he bent to swipe up his linen shirt and plaid. He didn't care if all and sundry saw him nude, but his wife obviously did, so he left the shirt off for now and simply wrapped the plaid around his waist and then gave her a nod.
Smiling uncertainly, Annabel stepped aside to let the priest lead Lord and Lady Waverly into the room. The trio inspected the bedsheet with silent nods, and then as Lady Waverly began to strip it from the bed, Lord Waverly turned to Ross with a forced smile and said, "That's fine, fine. 'Tis all done and dusted then. When do you plan to leave?"
Ross stiffened. While he had already decided to leave first thing this morning, the man's making it so obvious that he would like to see the backs of them was more than a bit insulting. To both of them, he thought grimly and wondered what kind of life his poor bride had endured as the daughter of two such uncaring individuals. He himself had been gifted with loving and caring parents who had never made him feel unwelcome or unimportant. It seemed obvious Annabel had not enjoyed the same.
He would make that up to her. She would never feel unwelcome or uncared for again, he determined, and announced succinctly, "Now."
"Now?" Annabel turned to him with surprise.
"Aye." Ross removed his plaid to lay it out on the floor, quickly donned his shirt and then knelt to fold pleats into his plaid as he added, "So gather what ye can in the few minutes ye have ere I finish dressing and we'll be on our way."
"But--" Annabel began with dismay, only to fall silent as her mother spoke louder.
" 'Tis fine, Annabel. Come."
"But," Annabel began again. Ross didn't hear anymore and glanced up to see that her mother had dragged her from the room and was pulling her out of sight up the hall.
"Well," Lord Waverly said bluffly, clapping his hands and sidling toward the door, the priest following. "This all worked out nicely then. The two of you have fulfilled the contract and all is set. I guess I shall go see to hanging the linen so everyone can see 'tis done."
Ross simply turned back to his work without comment. He didn't like the sly man, and didn't much care what he did. He was now wholly focused on getting himself, his men and his new bride the hell out of there.
"NEVER COUNTERMAND YOUR husband's orders. You must be dutiful and obedient at all times."
Annabel bit her lip at her mother's sharp words as she was dragged away from the room where she and Ross had slept. But after a moment she simply couldn't keep from saying, "Aye, but surely we cannot leave right away? 'Tis a long journey to Scotland. Surely there is much to do to prepare for it?"
"What is there to do, Annabel?" her mother asked pointedly.
"Well . . . pack?" she suggested uncertainly. Never having traveled before other than the trip to the abbey and then the wagon journey back, Annabel had no idea what one did to prepare for a journey like this, but surely packing was--
"You have nothing to pack," Lady Waverly said in leaden tones. "So 'tis good he is not giving you time to pack. You can blame your lack on his rush to leave."
Annabel frowned. "Well, surely Kate did not take all of her gowns with her? Perhaps I could--"
"Your father was so furious he had all your sister's gowns burned when he disowned her," her mother interrupted, and then added, "And do not even suggest I give you some of mine. You are far too large to wear them."
Annabel stared at her blankly. She had always been on the heavy side compared to the other women at the abbey. The abbess was quite firm in stating that pleasures of the flesh were to be avoided, and food was one of those as far as she was concerned, and of course she was right, gluttony was a sin. Most women in the abbey ate little more than enough to keep a bird alive to please the abbess, but Annabel hadn't been able to do that. Working in the stables took energy and she had needed to eat to do the work properly. It had been an issue of conflict between she and the abbess and she had been punished for it repeatedly. However, her mother was not a thin, pallid woman like the nuns Annabel had grown up with. If anything, she was actually larger than Annabel, but she didn't point this out. It seemed obvious her mother didn't wish to give up even one of her gowns, so she would go without.
Which meant she had nothing. Annabel hadn't even been allowed to pack the few things from her room at the abbey before leaving there. Not that she'd had much; a dried and pressed flower from the day she and the other girls had been sent out to find rushes and had laughed and chatted more than worked. That had been a fine day and she'd plucked the flower and pressed it between the stone floor of her room and a large rock until it dried out so that she could preserve it. Other than that all she possessed was a well worn and frayed gown, an old brush, and a scrap of cloth left over from making the gown she'd put on to meet her mother . . . That thought made hope rise in her and she said, "I have the gown I came here in."