by Lynsay Sands
Annabel gazed up at him wide-eyed as his face descended toward hers and then blurted, " 'Tis a fine Wednesday morning, is it not?"
"Aye," he agreed, his mouth aiming for hers. She was quite sure he would have kissed her had she not turned her head away.
When his lips instead sought her neck and began to nibble there, doing the oddest things to her equilibrium, Annabel clasped his upper arms to keep her balance and said desperately, "Aye, a fine Wednesday morning." When he still didn't seem to grasp the significance of that, but allowed his lips to trail down to her collarbone, she added desperately, "I wonder why the church deems Wednesdays an unsuitable day for couples to indulge in the bedding?"
Ross stiffened at her words, and stood completely still for a moment, but then he straightened slowly. His expression was not happy as he eyed her. "It does, doesn't it?"
Annabel nodded apologetically and was almost sorry she had mentioned it to him. Part of her regretted having to remind him and prevent his gaining what he wished. However, another part was rather relieved. While she appreciated his consideration in getting her sotted for the consummation of their marriage so she hadn't had to suffer through it . . . well, really, since she couldn't recall it, she was as ignorant and nervous of the act as she had been on her wedding night. And it was her opinion that it was always better to get unpleasant matters done and out of the way.
Darn Father Gerder for harping on the matter of marital relations and when they were and weren't acceptable, Annabel thought with irritation. Had he not done that, in five minutes or so she would probably be crawling out of bed a wiser woman, because surely it didn't take long?
Truthfully, Annabel had no idea why the priest had bothered lecturing on it to a bunch of nuns, but then there were many things he'd lectured on that had not seemed relevant for the inhabitants of an abbey. The man just seemed to get in these moods where he would rant and rave about the evils of the world. It was usually about such things as the marital bed and sins of the flesh. Really, the man was as obsessed with the subject as the abbess.
Sighing, Ross straightened and released her. He then gave her a solemn nod and turned to leave the room without another word.
Annabel stared at the closed door and bit her lip. She knew she had done the right thing. The church had outlawed the bedding on Sundays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Still, she felt like she had failed her husband somehow. Annabel suspected that was a sensation she should get used to. She had no doubt at all that she was going to disappoint him often as she proved how ignorant and untrained a bride he had gained himself.
Grimacing, Annabel pushed that thought away and glanced around the room until she spotted her gown lying over a nearby chair where Seonag had apparently laid it after helping her to undress. Walking over, she picked it up and immediately grimaced at the stench of it. Annabel had worn it for four days straight, which was not unusual, but three of those days had been during the journey here and it now smelled of horse, grass and sweat. Funny how she hadn't noticed before bathing, and it did seem a shame to pull that on after having a bath.
Turning, Annabel considered the gowns Seonag had left scattered around the chest. They had been the rejects, set aside because of some fault or other, but there might be one in good-enough shape to wear, or at least to make it preferable to her sullied gown.
After a quick examination, Annabel settled on a pale pink gown with a small stain on the decolletage. The stain was really quite small, barely noticeable she was sure, so she donned the dress and then peered down at herself. It seemed Seonag had been wrong; she and Ross's mother were not exactly of a size after all. At least not in the bustline. The rest of the gown fit perfectly, but Lady MacKay definitely had not been quite as well endowed as she.
Annabel pushed at her breasts, trying to tuck them inside the gown as much as possible, but they still appeared to be trying to crawl out. Sighing, she dug through the chest until she found a bit of fine white cloth. She placed that in the neckline to make it more decent, and then thinking she had done the best she could, she headed for the door, intending to go in search of Seonag. However, she had just reached for the door when a clatter and shriek from the window behind her made her pause.
Frowning, she turned and moved back across the room. There were shutters that were presently wide open. She supposed Ross had opened them on rising that morning to allow light in to help him dress. That or they had been open all night. Whatever the case, they were wide open now and Annabel leaned out the window to peer down into the bailey. At first, she couldn't tell what had happened, but then she saw a small group of people gathered around an overturned wagon. When one of the people shifted, she caught a glimpse of a man on the ground and blood and it was enough to have her straightening and rushing for the door.
"Oh, m'lady, I was just coming to--" Seonag began when Annabel passed her as she rushed down the stairs from the upper floor. If the maid finished what she was saying, Annabel didn't hear it. She hadn't even slowed for the woman, but flew past to race down the rest of the stairs, across the busy great hall, and out into the bailey on feet that seemed almost winged, she was moving so swiftly.
Annabel had to pause on the stairs once she pushed through the doors and out into the bailey so that she could orient herself, but it was the briefest of pauses before she spotted the growing crowd around the overturned wagon and hurried that way. Murmuring apologies and "Excuse mes," she made her way through the crowd to the center and the injured man, and immediately dropped to kneel beside him, her eyes taking in the situation.
"What happened?" Annabel asked as she shifted her attention and hands to the man's bloodied leg and began to feel along its length, checking for broken bones. Silence met her question and Annabel glanced up with a frown to see that everyone, including the man she knelt over was staring at her with wide-eyed amazement and uncertainty.
"Well answer yer lady, ye dolts!"
Recognizing Seonag's voice, Annabel glanced over her shoulder to see that the maid had followed her out of the keep and now stood at her back. She offered the servant a grateful smile and turned back to the injured man as several people began to speak at once in a confusing cacophony of voices.
"One at a time," Seonag barked as Annabel ran her hands down the man's leg again. She hadn't felt anything that suggested a break, but it was best to be sure before moving him too much.
"That damned dog startled my horse. The beast reared and took off and his halter snapped, but not before my cart overturned, throwing myself and my goods to the ground," the injured man explained through gritted teeth. His accent was English rather than Scottish and had Annabel not already guessed he was a visiting merchant, his mention of goods would have. However, she had no idea what he meant by "that damned dog," but that didn't matter at the moment anyway.
"I need a knife," she announced, glancing around at the faces in the crowd.
"What do ye need a knife for? You don't need a knife," the injured man assured her, his voice suddenly several octaves higher.
"Here. Will me sgian dubh do, m'lady?"
"Thank you." Annabel smiled absently at the man who offered her a small knife and then turned back to the merchant, who was staring wide-eyed at the small sharp blade.
"What the devil do you think you'll be doing with that?" he asked with alarm.
"Hush. I shall not hurt you," Annabel said reassuringly and quickly slit a line up the length of his braies from the bottom to several inches above the wound on his thigh just above his knee. The action sent an immediate rush of whispers through the crowd, but Annabel ignored it and tugged the cloth aside to get a better look at his wound.
"You've ruined my drawers!" the tradesman squawked with dismay.
"Yer drawers were ruined by the accident," Seonag pointed out dryly. "If ye were a Scot and wearing a plaid, her ladyship would no' ha'e had to cut that away."
There were several murmurs of agreement to that, but Annabel ignored them all as she examined his wound. She had no idea
what he'd cut his leg on. It was deep, straight and clean, almost like a sword wound. Not what she would expect from an accident involving an overturned wagon, and then she noted the tip of a bloody blade sticking out under his other leg and she reached over to tug it free. She examined the blood on the blade and then glanced at him in question.
"I was eating an apple," he admitted reluctantly. "I had the blade in my hand. Must have cut myself when I went ass over heel off the wagon. Begging your pardon," he added quickly as he realized what he'd said.
Annabel's lips twitched with amusement at his apology. She didn't hold his words against him. The man was no doubt in shock. He was also losing a lot of blood, she noted, and was about to rip a strip off the hem of the gown she was wearing to bind it up, but then recalled the cloth at her throat, and tugged that off instead to wrap around his leg.
The merchant sucked in a sharp breath as she tightened the makeshift bandage and Annabel glanced up to offer him an apologetic smile, only to pause when she saw that his wide eyes were fixed on her bosom. Glancing down at the expanse of creamy flesh trying to work its way out of the gown, Annabel sighed and straightened.
"He shall have to be brought into the keep. I need to sew him up," she announced.
Seonag nodded and opened her mouth, no doubt to order a couple of men to cart him inside, but she didn't have to. Several men were already lifting the fellow off the ground. More men than were really necessary, truth be told . . . and every one of them seemed to be staring at Annabel's bosom rather than the man they were lifting.
"I'm thinkin' we'll be havin' to let out the bosom o' Lady Magaidh's gowns," Seonag commented, falling into step next to Annabel as she led the way to the keep doors.
"Aye," she agreed quietly, resisting the urge to try to push her breasts back down again. It would just draw more attention to them. Besides, it didn't really do much anyway. They just bounced back up. Driving that issue from her mind for now, she said, "I'll need a needle and thread."
"I shall fetch it fer ye as soon as we're inside," Seonag assured her.
"And salve and whiskey," Annabel added.
"Whiskey?" Seonag asked with interest.
"To clean the needle and thread as well as the wound," she explained. Annabel was more used to working with animals than people, but there had been the occasional injury among the women at the abbey and Sister Clara was the most knowledgeable of the nuns when it came to injuries and illness whether it was animals or people. Annabel had always helped her in such cases. However, she'd rarely had to actually tend the wound herself. She'd usually just assisted; handing her what she needed when she needed it and soothing the animal or person being tended. This would be her first time doing the actual sewing of the wound. Oddly enough, she was nervous.
"Where do ye want him? On the table?" Seonag suggested as they entered the keep.
Annabel glanced at the trestle tables, and then back to the crowd following them . . . and it was a crowd. It wasn't just the men carrying the merchant who had trailed her and Seonag into the keep--every single person who had gathered around the accident appeared to be following them inside.
Apparently, she would have an audience while she tended the man. Brilliant, Annabel thought, but nodded in response to Seonag's question. "The table will do."
Chapter 5
Ross drove Gilly to his knees with the last blow to his shield, and then lowered his sword and stepped back. This was obviously not a good time to practice warfare, he acknowledged with a grimace. He was likely to kill one of his men if he continued in this mood.
"Is everything all right?" Gilly asked, eyeing him warily as he lowered his shield and got to his feet.
"Aye," Ross muttered, but shook his head when Gilly reluctantly raised his sword and shield again. "Enough for now."
Gilly didn't bother hiding his relief as he relaxed. When Ross turned and started to cross the bailey, Gilly fell into step beside him and commented, "Yer in a fou' mood for someone newly married to the sweet young lass ye've just brought home."
The words startled a wry laugh from Ross. "Sweet young lass? I thought her being English convinced ye she was Devil's spawn," he pointed out dryly and reminded him, "Ye were the one saying I should no' marry her because she was the second daughter."
"Aye, well I did no' ken her then, did I?" Gilly said with a faint smile. "But by the second day o' the journey home I kenned I was wrong about all that. She's a good lass. Smart, and curious and . . ."
"Sweet?" Ross suggested dryly.
"Aye." He nodded.
Ross sighed. It had not gone without his notice that his wee bride had quickly wrapped his tough-as-rocks, battle-hardened warriors around her little finger during the journey home. Annabel had chattered away like a magpie for the majority of the journey, asking what this or that was, and telling this or that tale. Most of her stories, he'd noted, had to do with animals or women . . . to the point that he'd actually wondered at one point if her father had not kept her completely segregated from his soldiers and male villagers. Even her father did not feature in any of her stories. Nor had her mother. Though she'd mentioned her sister often enough. "Sister did this" and "sister did that."
Ross shook his head as he recalled it, and how every tale had held his men enthralled. She had a way of telling a story that made even the most boring event seem an adventure and his men had sat astride their horses or around the fire, watching her with an incredulous fascination that would have made most think these men had never seen a female before.
But he supposed the truth was none of them had ever encountered a female quite like Annabel before. There was an innocence and naivety to her that seemed to ooze from her skin and she was always so bloody cheerful. Even after a day trudging through rain on horseback, and with an undoubtedly sore backside from bouncing about in the saddle, she could still see the bright side of things and manage a smile and story that cheered them. And Annabel hadn't once acted the lady of the manor on their journey, demanding special treatment. Instead she'd insisted on helping out when they'd made camp each night. The truth was, she'd got in the way more than anything else. If he hadn't guessed it from her atrocious riding skills, her lack of knowledge when it came to camping would have told them that she'd never been on a proper journey in her life. But she'd tried and that was worth more than gold to his mind, and obviously it had impressed his men as well.
Truthfully, while Ross could claim no responsibility for her disposition, he'd been proud as hell at how she'd conducted herself during the journey. She hadn't once complained at the discomfort, or the fact that she hadn't been allowed to pack and bring even one extra gown let alone her lady's maid and such. She'd simply made the best of everything. She hadn't even commented on the lack of a tent and the fact that they'd had to bed down around the fire each night with his men. She'd simply snuggled up to him when he'd spooned up behind her and she'd instantly dropped off to sleep as only the innocent and just could.
It was Ross who had lain awake each night, listening to her breathe and wishing he'd brought a tent for them to have some privacy. Idiot that he was, he'd lain there each night, imagining what he could have done had they a tent available to them. He'd imagined stripping her naked, rolling her on her back and finding all those secret places that made women such a joy to be with. He'd imagined making her moan and then weep with pleasure, and then sinking his body into hers and finding his own. These imaginings had not helped him sleep. Only the promise that when they reached MacKay he would get to do all those lovely things to her had eased the ache enough to allow him to eventually find sleep.
However, it had been after midnight when they'd arrived at MacKay. He'd been exhausted, and Annabel even more so. She'd actually dozed off in the saddle hours before that and he'd taken her on his horse so she wouldn't topple out of her own. By the time they'd arrived, it had been all Ross could do to carry his sleeping bride inside and upstairs to their room. There he'd stripped and set her abed, and then tugged off his plaid
and dropped into bed beside her, falling immediately into an exhausted sleep.
Despite that, Ross had woken before her this morning. Annabel had been burrowed under the furs, sleeping so peacefully he hadn't had the heart to disturb her. So he'd gone in search of his second to get his report on events during his absence. However, he'd had one hell of a time concentrating on the man's words. His mind had kept wandering upstairs to his sleeping bride until he'd finally excused himself to go up and find her . . . only to have her remind him that it was Wednesday.
He should have known that a bride who wore a chemise carouse on her wedding night would definitely balk at consummating on a Wednesday. The church frowned on anyone, even married couples, indulging in carnal acts on Sundays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. In fact, he'd heard it had been made a law. That wouldn't have stopped him. As far as he was concerned, such laws were ridiculous and made up by bitter men who were jealous of what others could have and they couldn't. The rest of God's creatures did not refrain from procreating on certain days. He doubted God cared when people did either. However, if his bride was upset and anxious about the church decrees and breaking them, he wouldn't force her. That would hardly encourage her to enjoy the bedding and he did want her to enjoy it.
"So with such a sweet wife, why are ye so miserable?" Gilly asked, drawing him from his thoughts.
Ross sighed. " 'Tis Wednesday."
Gilly looked briefly mystified and then his eyes widened. "Ohhhh."
"Aye," Ross said dryly.
Gilly nodded sympathetically. "That's a damned shame. Especially after ye could no' indulge these last three nights on the journey."
"Aye," Ross agreed miserably.
"Hmmm." Gilly shook his head and then brightened and pointed out, "Well, as I recall our priest always calls it bedding when he's going on about that decree."
"So?" Ross asked with bewilderment.
"The priest at Waverly probably calls it the same thing," he pointed out.
"So?" Ross repeated.
"Well, is it still bedding if yer no' in a bed?" Gilly asked.
Ross blinked at the question and then considered it, a slow smile claiming his lips.