by Lynsay Sands
Ross grunted at the suggestion. Lord Waverly had visited MacKay twice, both times within the first five years after saving his father's life. His father also had stopped in at Waverly for a visit or two in that time as well. However, the distance between the two homes, along with the responsibilities of family and their positions had prevented further visits. Not surprisingly, their friendship had cooled and died a natural death over time.
"The last time Lord Waverly was in Scotland was more than fifteen years ago, Giorsal," Ross pointed out now. "And while I don't doubt the man makes enemies everywhere he goes, fifteen years is a long time to hold a grudge."
Bean raised an eyebrow. "Ye did no' like her father?"
"I did no' like her father or her mother," Ross admitted grimly.
"Why?" Giorsal asked at once.
Ross frowned, considering everything and then said, "They were cold and uncaring toward her, and insultingly eager to see us gone once they had the linen, and . . ."
"And?" Giorsal prompted when he paused.
He hesitated but then admitted, "On our wedding night there were welts on her back from a recent whipping, and scars from previous ones."
Giorsal sat back, displeasure on her face.
"But," Ross added, "I can't see anyone holding a grudge against him this long and then taking it out on his daughter."
"Then we are back to these attacks having to do with her time here," Bean said reasonably.
"Aye." Ross scowled, not liking that his wife was getting hurt because of him. It seemed ironic that while he wished nothing but to protect her and show her caring, he was the one causing her the hurts she was suffering, if only indirectly. Certainly, if he hadn't taken her to the clearing to consummate their wedding, she never would have been chased into a tree.
His thoughts were distracted by the appearance of Seonag hurrying down the stairs and across the great hall into the kitchens. Ross watched her go, and then glanced toward the stairs. When there was no sign of his wife, he excused himself and stood to stride to the kitchens.
Seonag was at a cauldron of boiling water over the fire, scooping the steaming liquid into a goblet when he entered. Moving to her side, he peered curiously at the drink she was preparing as she set the scoop back in the water and began to stir what looked like bits of bark into the liquid in the goblet.
"What is that?"
"Willow-bark tea fer Annabel's head," Seonag answered, and then added solemnly, "I was going to tell ye on me way back, but she sends her apologies. She'll no' be joining ye at table tonight."
"Why?" Ross asked, and then glanced to the beverage she was making and asked, "Is her head paining her?"
"Aye, but that's not why," the woman said with a sigh, and then shook her head. " 'Tis all my fault. Had I ordered one o' the girls to wash her dress, or worked faster and fixed two dresses to fit her properly instead o' just the one . . ." She shook her head again. "I'd best get this up to her. 'Twill ease the pain. At least I can fix that for now."
Ross took the drink from her and headed for the door. "I'll take it to her."
Chapter 9
Annabel accidentally poked herself with the sewing needle, yowled in pain and felt the tears that had been threatening for the last few minutes begin to slide down her cheeks. Even as she popped the abused digit into her mouth, she acknowledged that the tears were owing more to self-pity than the pain from the needle poke.
Really, this was not a good day in her books . . . and the worst part about it was that it was all her own bloody fault. First there had been the issue of Jasper's smelling up the great hall because she'd fed him cheese. That had been followed by the attack in the woods, which wouldn't have happened, she was sure, if she'd taken someone along on the excursion with her, and now she could not join the party below because her bosom was too bloody big for the gowns available.
She peered unhappily down at the dark blue gown in her lap. It had looked beautiful once she'd got it on . . . except for the fact that it was so tight it forced her breasts up far enough that her nipples showed. Seonag had selected another gown for her to try after that, a green one that needed a bit of repair in the hem, but it had been just as bad. When the woman had rushed back to select another gown from the collection in the basket, Annabel had told her not to bother. They would all be indecently small in the bosom. She would have to add panels to them all before she wore them in public. She simply could not go below until she did so.
Seonag had reluctantly admitted that she too feared that would be the case. The woman had then announced that she was going below to fetch her some tea for her aching head and would help with the task when she got back. Perhaps with the two of them working, they could manage it quickly, she'd added encouragingly.
Annabel had nodded in agreement, but knew that even with the two of them working it would take them hours to accomplish. The hem had to be cut off, the dress rehemmed all the way around, and then the removed material had to be sewn into panels and inserted in the gown. Seonag was a fast seamstress, but Annabel was not. She was quite sure Giorsal and her husband would be well on their way back home ere they finished the task.
She sniffled miserably at the thought. While Annabel had been nervous of meeting Ross's sister, she'd quickly come to like Giorsal during the short time in the clearing when she'd explained everything to her and Bean, the MacDonald lord. That liking had only grown during the short ride with their party before they'd come upon her husband and his men.
Annabel had never met anyone like Giorsal. The girl was like sunshine, full of happy chatter and loud laughter. The abbess would have hated her for both, Annabel was sure. She was also sure Giorsal would have spent as much time in penance as she had, but that just made her like her all the more. And she really would have enjoyed visiting with the couple below stairs, but instead was stuck upstairs sewing side panels into the blue gown to make it more presentable.
On top of all that, her head was beginning to pound something fierce. She hoped Seonag did not take long with the willow tea.
Annabel barely had the thought when she heard the door opening. Relieved, she glanced around, expecting to see the old woman crossing the room toward her--but instead it was Ross. Eyes widening, she turned her head quickly away and used the material in her hands to mop up the telltale tears from her cheek. Trying for a composed expression, she then turned back to her husband.
"Seonag could have brought that up. You should be down visiting with your sister and Bean," she chided with a forced smile.
"They'll be fine for a moment," he said, his eyes narrowing on her face with concern. "Ye've been crying. Does yer head pain ye so much?"
" 'Tis fine. I am sure the willow tea Seonag was making will set it right quick enough. Is that it?" she asked.
"Oh, aye." He handed her the goblet and watched silently as she drank it, then took the empty goblet from her. He didn't leave then, though, but shifted his feet and then asked, "Seonag said something about yer gowns being the reason why yer no' coming down? Surely it can no' be so bad? We should talk about--"
His words died abruptly when Annabel stood up and let her hands drop to her sides. She'd been holding the panel she was sewing in front of her breasts, but now they were on full display above the green neckline and while Ross's lips were no longer talking, his eyes were. They nearly popped out of his head as he took in the situation.
"Oh, aye, I see. That's . . ." He had raised his hand to her waist as he spoke, but now the hand continued up to run a finger lightly over the top of one nipple where it was visible above the material. "That's . . ."
"Indecent?" she suggested breathlessly as his finger brushed across the nipple again.
"Beautiful," he muttered and bent his head to kiss her.
Annabel sighed into his mouth as it covered hers. She'd needed this, she realized as she leaned into him and let her mouth fall open. His kiss and touch had wiped away all other thoughts and worries from her mind each time he'd graced her with them and she ne
As for the incident in the woods, she should have run for her mare, mounted and ridden off the moment she'd spotted the man rather than waiting. Annabel was sure she would have managed it had she not stood there like a deer rooted to the spot when she'd first seen him.
These errors on top of her other failings made her feel completely useless. But Ross's kisses pushed that from her mind. She didn't feel like a failure with his arms around her and his tongue rasping against her own. She just felt hungry, and without knowing how she'd got there, Annabel was suddenly aware that her arms were around his shoulders and her legs wrapped around his hips so that she was plastered against him.
When Ross broke their kiss briefly to look around, she groaned and kissed, and then sucked at his neck, not stopping until he carried her to the window ledge and set her there. Annabel reached for his head then, drawing his mouth back to hers, moaning into his mouth when he tugged the neckline of her gown down, allowing her breasts to pop out into his hands.
"Oh husband," she gasped when his mouth left hers to suck at the side of her neck briefly as he squeezed and fondled her breasts. She clasped his head eagerly in her hands, fingers tugging at the strands of long hair, and then sucked eagerly at his tongue when he raised his head to kiss her again.
The pressure of his body against hers eased briefly as he kissed her and she felt one hand drop from her breast to slide up her leg, pushing her skirt ahead of it. Annabel squirmed under the touch, her mouth becoming more demanding. But she broke the kiss altogether and threw her head back on a gasping groan when his hand reached the apex of her thighs and set about caressing her there.
"Ross," she pleaded, her hips shifting into the touch as a fire burst to life there.
"How's yer head?" he growled.
"What?" she asked with incomprehension.
Ross chuckled and slid a finger into her and Annabel moaned and forgot about the question as he continued to caress her with his thumb while sliding his finger in and out of her. The sensation was amazing, but she wanted . . .
Reaching down, Annabel touched him tentatively through his plaid, surprised to find him hard and huge against her hand. It was the first time she'd touched him, and she was caught up in the moment until she realized Ross had gone suddenly still. Opening her eyes, she peered at his face uncertainly. His eyes were closed, his expression frozen in a rictus of what might have been pain.
"Should I not--?" Annabel began uncertainly.
"Aye, ye should," he assured her, opening his eyes. Then Ross kissed her again even as his free hand dropped to tug his plaid out of the way, leaving her free to touch him without the obstruction. Annabel hesitated, but then closed her fingers around the hard flesh, marveling at how silky it felt: hard but soft all at once.
"Damn," Ross muttered, breaking their kiss again.
Annabel glanced to him with concern when he brushed her fingers away, afraid she'd done something wrong, but then he moved closer and glanced down to frown. She glanced down as well, just in time to see that the window ledge was too high for what he'd intended, and then he was scooping her up into his arms and carrying her toward the bed. They were halfway there when a knock sounded at the door.
"Go away Seonag," Ross called out, continuing forward.
" 'Tis no' Seonag, brother."
Ross cursed and paused with indecision.
"I cornered Seonag in the kitchens and she told me of Annabel's wardrobe problems," Giorsal said through the door. "I've come to help. That way you and Bean can discuss how best to keep her safe in future."
Ross bowed his head with a defeated sigh and set Annabel on her feet, muttering apologetically, "I know me sister. She'll no' go away."
Annabel merely nodded and quickly tucked her breasts back in the gown as far as they would go. When she finished and glanced up, he was peering with regret at the orbs swelling over the neckline.
"Are ye going to open the door or shall I just walk in?" Giorsal called out with exasperation.
"I'll get it," Ross said, catching her arm when Annabel started around him. He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, then used his hold on her arm to urge her in the direction of the chair she'd been seated in when he entered, before heading for the door.
Annabel was seated in her chair, the mending back in hand and held high to hide her neckline by the time Ross opened the door.
"Well, and sure ye took yer time letting me in," Giorsal said dryly to her brother as she breezed into the room.
"Count yerself lucky I opened it at all," Ross muttered with irritation, stepping out into the hall in her place.
"Ah, but then ye had no choice, did ye?" Giorsal asked with a grin. "Ye ken I'd just ha'e come in anyway."
"Aye, I ken," Ross said dryly, glanced past her to nod at Annabel. He then pulled the door closed, leaving them alone.
"Well," Giorsal said gaily, crossing the room to Annabel. "Let us see this wardrobe tragedy that has ye stuck up here."
Annabel hesitated, but then lowered the mending in her hand.
Giorsal's eyes widened and she nodded. "Aye. I can see the problem." She grinned suddenly and added, "Though I somehow do no' think the men would think it so much a tragedy as good fortune sent their way."
Annabel blushed at the words and felt her mouth crack into a smile.
"And it explains me brother's misshapened plaid when he opened the door," Giorsal teased as she dropped into the chair across from her. "I gather I interrupted his efforts to soothe ye? No doubt yer grateful I saved ye from the big brute."
Annabel's eyes widened at the suggestion and she said earnestly, "Nay, he is a kind and gentle husband. I--"
"Whist, Annie, I'm teasin' ye," Giorsal interrupted with amusement. "Ye ha'e to laugh at life's trials. It makes them lighter to carry."
"I suppose," Annabel said, relaxing, but then thought that might be true. Life's trials had weighed heavily at the abbey, where laughter had been frowned on. The abbess had seemed to disapprove of anything enjoyable, as if she thought that serving God meant you should be miserable. Annabel didn't think that was the case. Surely God had not made man to suffer and be miserable? Surely, he would want his children happy, just as mortal parents wanted happiness for their own offspring?
Well, most mortal parents, she corrected herself, thinking of her own. Her mother had seemed more concerned with avoiding scandal than Annabel's happiness. She had certainly been more resentful of what Kate's choice had meant to her and father than whether Kate was all right.
"So, what are we doing?" Giorsal said, interrupting her thoughts. "Are we making panels for the gown so it better covers yer breasts?"
"Aye," Annabel said dragging her thoughts back to the matter at hand. "The gown was too long, so Seonag and I cut the hem off. We are making panels with that and then must insert them and rehem the gown at the new length."
"Well, with the three of us working we can have it done in no time," Giorsal said brightly, picking up the other half of the removed hem that was to be used to make the second panel. "Which reminds me, Seonag was going to put together a tray with drinks and pastries for us and then she will join us." Pausing, she wrinkled her nose and admitted, "I do miss Cook's pastries. Honestly, much as I love me husband, does he no' find us a better cook, I think I may have to love him from here."
Annabel chuckled at the claim. She knew the woman didn't mean it, but assured her, "You are welcome here anytime."
"Thank ye. I like ye too," Giorsal said with a grin, and then admitted, "I was no' sure I would, yer being English and all. But I do. Me brother got lucky when our fathers contracted this marriage."
Annabel's smile faded a little at that, and she turned her head down to her work, muttering, "I fear he may not agree with that in time."
"Why?" Giorsal asked with surprise. "Yer pretty and smart and funny."
Annabel smiled wryly and, thinking of the incident where she'd run about blindly in the clearing with her gown tangled around her head, said, "Even when I do not mean to be."
Giorsal smiled faintly, but then said seriously, "Ye seem to lack a wee bit o' confidence though." She tilted her head. "Were yer parents no' encouraging when ye were growing up? Mine were, but I ken Bean's were no' and while he seems to have weathered it well, his little sister suffers some want in the area of confidence."
"Well, since my parents did not raise me after seven, I fear the lack must be my own," Annabel said wryly.
"What do ye mean?" Giorsal asked with surprise. "Who raised ye from seven on?"
Annabel stilled with alarm as she realized what she'd unthinkingly revealed.
"Annie?" Giorsal asked insistently. When Annabel continued to stare blindly at the cloth in her hand, she murmured thoughtfully, "Ross did no' mention yer parents no' raisin' ye. From what he said, they're still living. Though he did no' seem to like them. Did they neglect ye and leave it to the servants to raise ye?"
Annabel frowned at the suggestion and reluctantly raised her head. She didn't want to vilify her parents to save her secret, but . . .
"What is it?" Giorsal asked, noting her expression. "Ye can tell me. I promise I'll no' tell Ross if ye do no' want me to." When Annabel still hesitated, she added, "Ross said there were welts and scars on yer back from whippings. I ken they beat ye."
"Oh, nay," Annabel said with dismay. She had forgotten all about the marks on her back. She was used to the discomfort they caused and hadn't considered that he might have seen them and jumped to the conclusion that her parents had caused them.
"Nay, what?" Giorsal asked.
Annabel sighed and then said, "Those were not from my parents. They never beat or whipped me." She paused briefly, but didn't see any way around telling the truth. "Giorsal, I was sent to the abbey at seven as an oblate and lived there right up until the day I married Ross."
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