by Amanda Scott
Interrupted by loud cries to “Drink!” she took a tiny sip.
Alex offered a toast to the crowd and another to Parson Fraser, but after the latter, the priest said brusquely, “That will do, that will do. Out now, the lot o’ ye!”
Moments later, with the clamor on the other side of the closed door and fading in the distance, they were alone.
“Now they’ll be getting on wi’ it,” Lucy said with satisfaction as she settled comfortably against Claud to watch. “Ha’ ye seen this sort o’ thing afore, Claud?”
“Aye,” he said, remembering when he and Catriona had been party to such a scene. “Lucy, what did ye do wi’ Catriona this time?”
“I told ye,” she said without taking her eyes from the other couple. “The wench be afraid o’ me, so she fled. Now hush. I want to hear what he says tae her.”
“He’ll no say anything yet,” Claud said, looking at the two in the bed. “He’ll urge her tae drink her wine. It’ll relax her if she be afraid.”
“I dinna think she is afraid,” Lucy said wisely.
“Lucy, how did ye make her ha’ that dream?”
“I think ye must ha’ done it yourself. Mayhap, even in the chapel—”
“Ye ken fine I didna do it. Why d’ye no answer, Lucy? Art lying tae me?”
“Lucy Fittletrot does not lie,” she said. “She had nowt tae do wi’ the dream that eased that marriage ye wanted so greatly.”
“I did want it,” Claud admitted.
“Dinna fret,” Lucy advised. “Nae one but your lass kens aught about that dream, so ye broke nae rules wi’ the doing.”
“But I—”
“Hush now, he’s going tae say summat tae her.”
Alex shifted a little to give himself the pleasure of gazing at Bab, astonished as always at her beauty. The golden glow of the candles and firelight only enhanced it and made her dark blue eyes look huge and dark.
She gazed at him, her eyes wide now and wondering, and he marveled that she was not afraid of him. He doubted that she knew much about coupling, but he was surprised by her courage. She had shown it often, and she had discretion, too.
How much danger had he put her in? For, whatever happened next, it would be his fault for succumbing to his yearning for her. And sooner or later they would have a reckoning between them. If she declared his deceptions unforgivable, what would he do then?
He remembered the first time he had seen her, at Ardintoul, when his family had traveled there to visit hers. She had done something to annoy Patrick, who was nearly ten years older, and three years older than Alex. She had faced her brother, a wee termagant of four, hands on her hips, eyes flashing, daring him to punish her.
At the thought, he smiled, and she smiled tentatively back at him.
“Do you know what I was thinking?” he asked her.
“No,” she said. “How could I?”
“Sometimes I feel as if you see right into my head and read my thoughts.”
“Do you? I feel the same about you when I want to do something you do not approve and you put obstacles in my path without ever saying a word to me.”
“Art still annoyed with me for keeping you within the walls this week, lass?”
“I do not like being confined,” she said.
Something inside him winced at those words though he could not have said what caused it. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but you were safe here, and I could not know what you might face outside the walls. Have you finished your wine?”
Color leaped to her cheeks, and he no longer believed she was calm. Gently he took the goblet from her and placed it with his own on the bed-step table. Then, slipping his arm around her shoulders, he drew her close, pleased when she did not resist. “I’m glad you decided to marry me after all,” he said.
“I did not decide,” she murmured. “I’m still not sure how it happened.”
“Tell me,” he said.
“It was exactly like a dream,” she said, watching him as if she would gauge his belief or disbelief of what she said. “I dreamed I was in a fairy glen, and the chief of the fairies was performing a wedding.” She paused, and her gaze slid away from his as she added, “I was there one moment, and the next I was facing Parson Fraser and he was telling me to drink the wine in the chalice.”
She was blushing now, and he nearly asked whom she had married in this dream, but he believed he knew, and if he was wrong, he did not want to hear about it. So instead, he said, “I hope you are not sorry it was real, Bab. I am not.”
“No?”
“I have been more than willing to marry you ever since the subject arose,” he said, meaning every word. “I truly believed you had changed your mind. Women do that frequently, I think.”
“Men like to think that,” she said, nodding.
“What I’d like is to kiss my wife.”
Her lips parted, and her eyes widened even more. The moment was irresistible. He bent toward her and captured her mouth.
“Ah,” Lucy said. “That’s better. Wi’ luck they’ll nae talk so much now.”
“Whisst, will ye whisst?” Claud felt a prickling sensation and recognized it as a warning that his mother was nearby. “If ye can make us invisible tae me mam, lass, ye’d best do it straightaway.”
Lucy vanished without saying a word, evidently having forgotten to take him along, because he was suddenly facing his mother.
“What be ye a-doing here?” Maggie demanded, hands on her hips.
“Ye said I should watch over the lass!”
“Aye, well, but ye’re fortunate that her ladyship didna see ye here.”
“Lucy hid us so she couldna see us.” As the admission slipped off his tongue, he wished fervently that he could snatch it back.
Maggie’s face reddened. She leaned forward, putting her face right in front of his. “Lucy is it? D’ye mean that spawn o’ Satan, Lucy Fittletrot?”
“She said she isna Jonah Bonewits’s daughter, so she’s no my sister neither.”
“What does that matter?” Maggie demanded. “She ha’ been under his wicked spells afore, so he could bind her more easily now. I’ll wager she’s responsible for yon wedding that married your lass wi’ Alex Chisholm.”
“Ye ken there were a spell?”
“Aye, o’ course, I do. I might ha’ stopped it afore she stepped into that chapel, but by then she seemed to have accepted it, and it set well wi’ me that she should marry him. She loves him, ye ken. She just doesna understand it yet.”
“Oh, aye, that be plain as day,” Claud said glibly, hoping it was true.
“They’ll do well on their own for now,” Maggie said. “Your presence becomes an unnecessary intrusion.”
And with a snap of her fingers, Claud found himself sitting in his favorite chair in her parlor, alone, staring at the flickering fire. With a sigh, he decided that his love life was rapidly turning to ashes.
Responding with eager curiosity to Alex’s kisses and caresses, Bab wondered what sort of woman she was that she could respond to two men as she did. Perhaps, she thought, all kisses were the same and were meant to stimulate a person to couple, because her body was certainly responding. But she dismissed that thought when a memory presented itself of Francis Dalcross kissing her. That had not stimulated anything but fury, so plainly, all kisses were not the same.
Nonetheless, Alex’s touch was as stirring as the Fox’s, and her body ached for him to continue caressing her. When he reached for the ribbons of her wrapper and loosened them, she raised a hand to help and then wondered at her boldness.
While his fingers were busy with the ribbons, he continued to kiss her, so she scarcely noticed when he pushed the wrapper from her shoulders and reached for the ribbons of her bedgown. But when his hand moved to her bare skin, the sensations were nothing like her dream. She did not feel at all as if she were floating. Indeed, the sensations were stronger, more blood stirring, and when Alex’s hand cupped one bare breast and his thumb stroked its nipple, she g
asped again, and his tongue took that opportunity to slip into her mouth.
A moment later, her bedgown was off, and Alex’s hands began to explore her body. “You may touch me, too, you know,” he murmured against her cheek.
She did not know what to do. “Must I?”
His hands became still. “I collect that you know little of coupling,” he said. “Did your mother not tell you what to expect?”
“She said I should do my duty and submit to my husband,” Bab said.
He chuckled. “I wish I may see that.”
She was silent for a long while, trying to sort her thoughts, expecting him to say more. When he did not, she wondered if he had fallen asleep.
“Sir?”
“You may call me Alex, madam.”
“Madam.” She listened to the echo of the word in her mind. “Are you vexed with me?” She had been calling him Alex in her thoughts for weeks, but she could not quite bring herself to say it aloud yet. One was trained from birth to call men sir, and she had always done so even with Patrick.
He had not answered her. “Are you vexed?” she asked again.
“I am trying to imagine why you think I should be.”
“Should brides not be eager to explore all the secrets of the marriage bed?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I have never been a bride, but I think they are what they are, and after all, you did not come to this bed altogether willingly.”
It was her turn to be silent, but her silence was brief. She said, “It seems silly, does it not? A girl is supposed to marry, and few of us are given much choice in a husband. Moreover, I like you very well, sir. I cannot think of another gentleman I would prefer to have married.” That was true enough, for despite his occasional attempts to sound like one, the Fox was hardly a real gentleman, and despite her feelings for him and the delicious dream that had led to her marrying Alex, she knew she could never have married the Fox.
“Dear me,” he said in the drawl she disliked so much, “do you throw mugs and cast jugs full of ale over other gentlemen? Because if you do,” he added before she could reply, “I must tell you that as your husband I shall take a dim view of such conduct.”
“It is when you speak like that that I most want to douse you with ale,” she said tartly. Then, with a sigh, she went on, “In truth, sir, I do not know myself. I was reeling with confusion one moment and then dancing and chatting happily the next. Then all manner of qualms set in when the ladies hurried me up here and began to undress me, and now the confusion has returned, but despite that, I am content to be lying here beside you, talking with you like this.”
“I feel that, too,” he said. “And do not think that I cannot understand your alarm about today, for I’m a little overwhelmed by it myself. Everything happened so quickly, and there is still much to be resolved. If you are not quite ready to consummate this marriage, I’ll be disappointed, but I will understand. We can wait a night or two until you become more accustomed to being my wife.”
His words were reasonable, and his tone was friendly, so why, Bab wondered, did she feel such a surge of disappointment?
“I will do as you think best, of course,” she said.
“Ah, Bab,” he said with laughter in his voice. “I think we should wait until your thoughts are your own again. I do not know this submissive woman.”
“You are vexed.”
“Nay, lass. I admit that I would like nothing better than to make you mine at once, but I want you to enter into the spirit of things with me. I do not want to push you where you are loath to go.” He threw back the covers.
“Are you leaving?”
“I am just going to snuff the lights and put another log on the fire.”
A moment later, the room was darker, and when he climbed back into bed, she realized that he had taken off his dressing gown and wore nothing beneath it.
“I want to hold you, lass,” he said, suiting action to words.
She could almost hear her own heart beating, but she let him hold her close to him, and the feeling of his body against hers was pleasant. His caresses were gentle at first, soothing, as if he were stroking a cat, and she felt herself relaxing, savoring the sensations his touch aroused in her. His hand moved lower, to the juncture of her legs, to the place that no one touched save herself.
“Relax now,” he said. “I won’t hurt you.”
“I know you won’t, but my body wants to jump,” she said.
He chuckled again, and knowing that she had intended him to, she smiled and then gasped when his fingers touched a remarkably sensitive part of her. His hand moved away and back, touching her breasts again. Then he kissed them, and his mouth teased one nipple while his hand became busy where it had been before.
Her body began arching, begging him to continue until sudden waves of pleasure captured her, rendering all thought impossible. She could only react, and the sensations lasted for several moments. When they eased, she lay beside him, deeply relaxed, with her head on his shoulder.
“What happened?” she murmured.
“Nature happened,” he said.
“Did we consummate our union then? I thought—” She stopped, not sure she ought to put that thought into words.
“We did not,” he said. “We’ve only just begun, lass. I wanted you to know the pleasure of coupling, although that was but a token.”
“Goodness,” she said, wondering how it could have been more powerful.
He kissed her. “Sleep now, and sleep well. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
She did not argue, but neither did she sleep, not for a long while.
She had always known her own mind, and she had always spoken her mind even when the speaking got her into trouble. So why, now, was it so difficult to understand her feelings? She was no longer suffering from the sluggishness she had felt before. Her thoughts were clear and crisp. They just made no sense.
Beside her, Alex lay suffering, telling himself that he ought to feel noble if only because he had not taken further advantage of her. But he knew things were only going to become more difficult. It was one thing to play hero when he had no one to account to or for but himself. It was another to have brought Bab into it.
If he did not set matters right before Patrick learned of it, he did not want to think what the consequences would be. For that matter, he did not want to think about what Bab would say. She was no meek nun’s hen, nor would he have her so.
He had other problems, too, including young Gibby, who had certainly recognized Dancer. “Art asleep yet, lass?”
“No.”
“I found something of yours in the chapel last night.”
“You did?” He felt her stiffen, and despite his guilty conscience, he smiled.
“Aye, and I should tell you that your Gibby Cannich is quite safe. My man Hugo is looking after him and will keep him out of the sheriff’s clutches.”
She relaxed again. “Thank you, sir. I was worried about him. I shall sleep more comfortably, knowing he’s safe.”
He said no more, hoping that sleep would come soon but certain that it would be a long time before he was truly comfortable again.
Bab slept at last and well enough, but she awoke with the first light of dawn, uncertain how she was to go about dressing, since her clothing was in her own bedchamber. But less than a half-hour later, the door opened, and a man entered silently. He looked taken aback to see the bed curtains open and Bab watching him, but he was carrying her clothes, so she smiled.
Bowing, he left as silently as he had come in.
A moment later, Giorsal entered, and just as Bab realized that she could not get out of bed without disturbing Alex, he opened an eye and looked at her.
Then he opened the other and muttered, “Is it morning already?”
“Aye, sir, and Giorsal is here. Pray recall that we are to break our fast with Eric Mackintosh and your cousin Eileen. We must not tarry.”
“I remember.”
It was traditio
n that on the first morning of their new life together a bride and groom took breakfast with their best man and best maid, and young Eileen had served Bab in the latter capacity because she lived near and there had been no time to make other arrangements. Still, it would not do to disappoint her, for unmarried as she was, she had not been permitted to attend the bedding.
Bab arose at once to let Giorsal help her dress, and when she was decently clad, Hugo returned to help Alex. Soon both were ready to go down to the hall.
Eric and pale, blond Eileen were already there, the high table already set, the privacy screens in place. But no sooner had Alex and Bab taken their places than an eruption of noise at the entrance heralded visitors, and someone shouted, “Sheriff Substitute Francis Dalcross demands entrance, master.”
Bab glanced at Alex who grimaced but did not respond.
“I do demand it,” Francis snapped, striding across the hall with two of his minions. He stepped past the privacy screen onto the dais without awaiting permission. “I would have speech with Mistress Barbara MacRae.”
“Faith, Dalcross, have you no manners?” Alex drawled. “You interrupt us before we have even broken our fast. One trusts that you have good reason.”
“Good enough. That damnable Black Fox murdered the sheriff on Friday.”
Exclamations from three of the four at the table greeted his news, but Alex said only, “May the devil fly away with him then. Are you certain it was the Fox?”
“Aye, for the villain left one of his damned silver coins by my father’s body for all to see. I have come to discover all the lass can tell us about him.”
“I am sorry to learn of your loss,” Alex said, adding with a distinct edge to his voice, “but the lass is now my wife, Dalcross, so take care how you speak of her, and have the goodness to show proper respect.”
Dalcross allowed himself a cursory bob in Bab’s direction saying, “So that is how it is, is it? Well, it makes no difference what games you play here at Dundreggan. I’ve come to take Mistress… that is, to take your lady wife back with me to Inverness so I may question her properly.”