My Fair Highlander

by Mary Wine

  “So I will remember my place? Is that your warning?”

  “Nay, lass, my promise to ye is this. Ye may have the Church’s blessing or not, but be very sure that I will be back to make sure ye have no doubt who eases my cock tonight.”

  He hooked his arm around her waist, pulling her against his body while his mouth claimed hers in a hard kiss. There was nothing tender or teasing about it. His mouth demanded submission, and hers opened to allow his tongue to thrust deeply inside. Her passage ached for the same treatment. She wanted to be filled and all of her ignorance destroyed forever.

  “You have no right.”

  He snorted before releasing her. “What I am is honest, Jemma. Ye are a good match, but the thing that has me saying to make yer peace with wedding me today is the fact that even though I can nae see yer breasts, I know yer pink nipples are hard. Ye long for me as much as I do for ye, and I have the experience to tell ye that it will nay be easing. We’re drawn to each other, and nature has her way of being stubborn. I’ll be at the church at dusk.” His eyebrow rose. “And in yer bed by dark. I swear it to ye, Jemma, ye will be mine tonight.”

  The door slammed shut behind Gordon, making Jemma flinch.

  Excitement burned along her limbs and pooled in her belly. Her clitoris throbbed with longing so intense it stopped only a tiny bit short of being painful.

  In yer bed . . .

  She shivered as she recalled his words. The rest of the day’s events paled and fell aside as she became absorbed with recalling the deep timber of his voice. He was correct, her nipples were hard. The woman in her wasn’t interested in the reasons why she didn’t want to wed Gordon, and worse still her mind offered up the fact that he was far more accepting of her nature than any man she might hope her brother contracted.

  But would Gordon remain that way? It wasn’t the way men expected their world to be. It might just be that the burly Scot was once again employing a clever strategy to gain what he wanted before he closed his hand into an iron fist and lowered it upon her.

  But even that fear wasn’t a good reason to not marry him.

  There was always the chance that Gordon was exactly as he appeared and that would be a far better husband than she might have dared to hope for. The reason was simple, she did desire him. So much so that she had to admit that she doubted her ability to send him away tonight if she refused to marry him. His kisses were intoxicating, and she knew that he would kiss her.

  Someone knocked on the door, and it opened almost immediately. Ula pulled both sides of the doors open, and two boys carried a bathing tub in.

  “I can bathe in the kitchen.”

  Ula snapped her fingers at the boys who had stopped with the tub only halfway into the chamber. They jumped and hurried to finish their task.

  “That wouldn’t be fitting for the mistress of this castle.”

  A line of maids entered, and every one of them lowered themselves before hurrying to lay out things to please even the most noble lady. One added wood to the fireplace, poking at the thick layer of ash to get at the coals. Soon there was a crackle and pop of wood catching fire. Lengths of linen were laid out carefully before the growing flames so that they would be warm and cozy when she finished bathing.

  “I’ve fetched up a few dresses that belonged to the laird’s mother. Silk does endure well, it seems. The styling is a bit older, but yer dress is showing a little too much wear for a wedding.”

  “I still don’t mind going below to bathe. It is a great deal of effort to haul water.”

  Ula snorted. “I only wish I could set some of these over-prideful maids to carrying water. I believe it would do them well for it seems there is too much unkindness to suit me. A bit of hard work will fix that.”

  The maids kept their heads down, but that didn’t stop them from cutting quick looks at one another.

  “But this tower has a water line, ’tis a fine comfort.” Ula pointed toward the window with pride ringing in her tone.

  One of the lads opened up a set of shutters that did not reveal a glass window. This one was open to the afternoon air, but the opening was dipped in the center and one of the lads placed a copper trough into that spot, forming a deep “v.” It was long enough to reach the tub, and he reached out the window to pull on a rope that ran very close to the wall. A small wooden pitcher appeared on that rope, and when he kept pulling, it went over the top of the pulley wheel to spill its contents into a wide pan that extended past the window. The water rushed down to the low point in the window opening, into the trough, and then into the tub. Another pitcher was fashioned to the rope and then another. The boy worked the rope, and the chamber was filled with the sound of running water.

  “How clever.”

  “Aye, it is. One of the lads thought it up to save his hands from wear.”

  The tub was filling rapidly, and one of the maids came through the door with an iron basket full of glowing red coals. She angled it carefully through the chamber, making sure to avoid touching anything. The basket had feet on it, and she slid it beneath the tub. A second basket was carried in to join the first one, and Ula went over to the tub to begin stirring the water about. The iron baskets almost touched the bottom of the tub. Since the tub was made of copper, the heat from the coals began to warm the water quickly. The lad finished filling the tub and tugged on the corner of his knitted bonnet before he and his partner left the chamber. The maids took their chance to scurry out behind them.

  “Good for naught.” Ula sent a shake of her head toward the door. “A few lashes would have done them good. Ye are kinder than I, but even if ye are my mistress, I’ll tell ye straight that I think ye should put Anyon out. That girl is trouble, and she is no done upsetting this house, mark my words.”

  “It’s not entirely her fault.”

  Ula grunted and walked over to help Jemma begin taking her dress off. The tub looked very inviting. Her skin felt as if it had sand clinging to it, and that was entirely possible.

  “Being unhappy does nae give her the right to attack ye. That is her fault.”

  “I know.” Being mistress would mean making hard decisions. Ones that made her no friends. Yet that was the cost of making sure that a castle was run well. A noblewoman wasn’t anything if her holding didn’t run smoothly. If laziness was tolerated during the summer, there would be empty bellies in the dead of winter when the food stores ran dry. Gordon was charged with seeing to the protection of the castle, but she would be expected to make sure the kitchens ran smoothly and that her husband was not cheated by servants who failed to earn their pay.

  That was the reason most men contracted a bride years before they intended to wed them. They wanted a woman who was raised to know the skills necessary for running a castle. Many a noble mother had dangled the account books of her own estate beneath the nose of a daughter’s prospective groom, proving that her daughter came with expert knowledge on how to run an estate.

  She realized she was looking forward to having the workload again. She had run Amber Hill for years until her brother brought his new bride home. It had been right to turn over the books and the authority to her, but that had left Jemma with even less to keep her from riding.

  Another rap came from the door. Jemma hugged her arms around her bare chest and looked over her shoulder to see Vanora making her way into the chamber once more. A prickle of anxiety crossed her skin, raising it into gooseflesh. It was normal enough to have a midwife such as Vanora look at her before she went to her groom. An age-old practice that protected women from accusations of greedy men who wanted to collect dowries by claiming there was something wrong with their wives once the marriage was consummated. It could take years for divorces, and all of that time the dowry might be kept.

  “Well, I can’t look at ye with yer hands up like that.” Vanora made a motion with her hand. “Let me see ye, girl. Ye’re not the first bride I’ve taken a look at. The sooner started, the sooner finished.”

  It was a practical idea but o
ne that Jemma found little comfort in. Vanora made a slow circle around her, her keen gaze sweeping her from head to toe.

  “A good bath and ye should please the laird,” Vanora announced with an approving grin.

  Ula pulled the baskets of coals out so that the bottom of the tub would not burn her. Jemma went into the water gratefully. At least it felt as if something was covering her, even if it was transparent.

  Different pieces of soap were laid out on a small table near the tub. The aroma of flowers drifted up to her nose, and she reached out to pick one up. It was scented with rosemary. Jemma reached for another and discovered the smell of heather mixed in with the soap. The third one was spicy cloves from gillyflowers. She kept it and began to run it along her arm. Ula watched her with a keen eye, noticing every detail.

  Another knock on the door and two maids entered. They didn’t consider their presence during her bath anything to worry about. No one would think such a thing. Privacy was something only traitors and plotters craved to cover up their sins.

  But she had become accustomed to being alone. Jemma bit her lower lip and sat still while Ula directed the maids to begin washing her hair. They worked carefully around the new stitches in her scalp while still more maids entered with the dresses Ula had spoken of. She closed her eyes but could hear the footsteps all around her. Nervousness and excitement brewed inside her until she was flooded with a combination of the two emotions. The sun seemed to be arching toward the west remarkably quickly today. Maids flowed in and out of the chamber. They brought her trays of food that she left untouched, and warmed cider that she only sipped. The dresses were tried on, and then more women appeared with their sewing boxes in hand to begin stitching quickly on the one that was selected.

  A hush remained, and Jemma realized that she was the cause of it. The staff was waiting to see what sort of woman she was. No one wanted to be the one who chattered too much and gained the displeasure of the new mistress. Everything felt as if it was rushing too quickly toward the moment when she would be expected to make her choice.

  You’ve already made it and you know it, she told herself.

  Knowing that didn’t ease the tension. It tightened and filled her with anxiety while Ula brushed her hair until it shone. The dress was a soft blue silk with velvet edging. The neckline was square and the sleeve had thick cuffs that turned back to lay against her forearms. Ula looked at the hat that came with it but shook her head. It was a style once favored by Catherine of Aragon, built high to represent the desire to achieve heaven’s favor.

  “I don’t understand the court fashions at times, but ye do nae need a hat since it is yer wedding day. It’s a pity there is no ivy left, everything has turned to color now.”

  “I don’t need decorations.”

  Ula nodded approvingly, and the housekeeper raised her voice just a bit when she answered so that every maid in the chamber was sure to hear.

  “A wise thing that is, knowing that decorations are naught but a waste of resources.”

  The last thing set out for her was a pair of silk slippers. Jemma stared at them for they appeared too fragile to be anything but a figment of her imagination. But she stopped before stepping into them.

  “Gordon took my shoes away.” Saying the words awoke her temper—she was still quite displeased with the manner in which the man had tried to keep her inside his fortress. But her cheeks also heated with a blush as she recalled just what had happened when he took her boots off.

  “I wouldn’t be calling these shoes, they are more slippers, and pretty as they might be, they are quite useless for much more than supping and dancing.”

  Of course, court ladies would have slid their slipper-clad feet into over-shoes that kept the delicate silk creations from being soiled on the way to their banquets. Costly Persian carpets would have been rolled out to cover the hallways so that they might step out of their over-shoes and onto carpet that would not mar their pretty slippers.

  She wasn’t going to wear them.

  Turning around, she walked toward the table and picked up a hand mirror that lay there.

  Was she pretty? She really had never contemplated the question. Her father had told her she was fair beyond all others, but he was her father.

  “Ye will please the laird.” Ula spoke in a soft tone.

  “Hmmm . . . perhaps.” Jemma placed the mirror carefully back on the table. “But will he please me?”

  There was a collective gasp from everyone in the room except for Ula. The housekeeper held her silence for one long moment before erupting with laughter. She slapped the top of her skirts and continued to shake with amusement.

  “I do believe the laird may have met his match. ’Tis a grand day indeed.”

  Gordon couldn’t recall when he’d been so nervous in the past. His shoulders tingled with the strain, every muscle tight with anticipation. Would she come? He debated the alternatives if she didn’t appear.

  But the truth was, he wanted Jemma to walk down to their wedding of her own free will. Part of him needed it more than he wanted to admit. Trying to tell himself she was a logical choice for a bride didn’t change the fact that he yearned to see her submitting by choice.

  That was something too many men didn’t understand the value of. It was something that they failed to see in their own mistresses. Part of what drew them away from their marriage beds was the freely given affection a mistress offered. She embraced a man because she wanted to, not because of some contract. Many would tell him he was insane to want that from a wife, and there was a possibility that they were correct, but that wouldn’t keep him from hoping. He looked toward the door and sighed when it remained empty.

  He ground his teeth against each other and moved down the aisle. He wasn’t abandoning his ideas, but he would have her tonight.

  Even if that was outside the bonds of matrimony.

  Jemma took a deep breath and tried not to turn and look at all the women watching her. She could feel their eyes on the back on her head, but she kept her pace slow and steady as she crossed the courtyard.

  Gordon suddenly appeared at the doorway of the church, his face a mask of disgruntlement. She stopped, staring at that expression and trying to decide what to do next. Her firm decisions didn’t hold up well against that dark expression. She stood in place, trying to recall what her reasons were for joining him.

  But his eyes suddenly lit with joy. There was no other way to describe it. The emotion erupted clearly in those blue centers before his lips parted and his teeth flashed at her in welcome. He held out a hand with his palm up in invitation. Jemma took a step forward and frowned when she lowered her foot onto a sharp stone. His smile faded but not completely as he closed the distance between them.

  “Are ye losing yer courage now when ye are so close? Where’s the spirit that got ye this far, Jemma?”

  “It is annoyed by being barefoot.” She kept her voice low so that her words did not drift to those watching. The men along the curtain wall had turned to witness the moment, and the priests filled in the doorway to the church while the nuns peeked through the stained glass windows.

  Gordon’s eyes filled with wicked merriment, something that she was beginning to understand was a major facet of his nature.

  “Brides used to wed in their shifts to demonstrate their submission to their groom.”

  His hand was still out, and she placed hers in it before digging her fingernails into his skin. He choked on his amusement.

  “Well, I suppose that if you see naught wrong with every man seeing my body through the thin fabric of my chemise . . . I believe the light is just right to shine through and show every curve I have.”

  “Barefoot is submissive enough.”

  “Too much for me.”

  His hand closed around her, and his expression became pensive. “Then why did ye come, Jemma? Somehow, I doubt it was my promise to return to yer bed even if I believe that ye know I mean to do exactly as I said.”

  She raised
her face and stared at the joy that was still glittering in his eyes. Her heart absorbed that single emotion and cradled it close.

  “You are correct that I am not here because you promised to take my innocence tonight. Maybe I am here because you left me a virgin last night.” She offered him a guarded look. “It is possible that I do trust you even if I detest the idea of wedding you barefoot.”

  “I rather like the notion.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “It means I’ll be able to undress ye so much faster.”

  She dug her fingernails into his skin once again, but the priest narrowed his eyes at them both.

  “Are ye ready, lass?”

  “As ready as I am ever going to be, I believe.”

  Gordon took the first step, leading her by their joined hands toward the church and the priest waiting to bless their union. She forbade herself to think, trapping her emotions down beneath all the reasons why taking her vows was the correct thing to do.

  And in an impossibly short amount of time, she was wed.

  Chapter Seven

  The Barras clan was waiting for them when they made their way out of the church. Jemma was astounded at the number of people crowded into the yard. They were straining to see her and Gordon, fathers lifting their sons up to sit on their shoulders while rows of children stood on the few wagons dotting the area. A cheer rose when they followed the priest out of the sanctuary. There had not been one inch of pew space left inside, either. The small procession that preceded them included the altar boys; one held up a crucifix and one held a small painting of the Virgin Mary. The priest followed while swinging the incense burner to spread the fragrant herbs over those who came to see their laird wed.

  They were led all the way to the great hall and then inside. The priest remained until she and Gordon sat at the high table. The man gave a final blessing, and the hall erupted into cheers. Jemma couldn’t contain her smile because there was just too much merriment surrounding her. The cheering died down and the music became louder, and her toe began tapping beneath the silk skirt of her dress.