by Lynsay Sands
Bending before the box, she opened it, and rifled through the clothes inside until her hand hit on something hard. Following the shape to discover that it was indeed her harp, Kyla released the breath she had been holding. It had been packed in among the clothes so they would cushion it during the journey. Clever Morag, she thought, shifting through Crazy Mary's songs in her head while tossing gowns and tunics willy-nilly in an effort to unbury the instrument. Once she had, she straightened, lifted it out, then lugged it across the room to the empty chair opposite her husband. She set the harp down with a discordant crash of vibrating strings.
Smiling innocently at her husband's wince, she then settled in the chair, rucked her skirt up, spread her legs in the vulgar way Mary liked to sit, then tugged the musical instrument between them and plucked a couple of strings. It was, of course, hopelessly out of tune after the journey and weeks of unuse.
Fiddling with it briefly, Kyla tightened a string here and there as she settled in her mind on a song to sing. It was a difficult task, for while all Mary's songs were rude or suggestive, being a lady, Kyla had rarely paid enough attention to remember all the words. Eventually, she came up with one, unsure though whether it was actually one song, or a combination of two.
It mattered little, she supposed, so long as it did the trick.
Galen shifted in his seat, trying not to look at his "wife" as she tuned her harp. Her hair was a mess from her search for the instrument and that combined with the way she sat, perched on the edge of her chair, knees spread wide, skirt pulled up and dangling between them leaving her ankles, calves, and knees bared as they cuddled the harp, was a bit distressing. She looked like a tavern wench, nothing like the delicate noble woman she was supposed to be.
He was relieved when she cleared her throat in preparation to begin. Then she plucked a note, its soft sound vibrating in the air as she tilted her head, opened her mouth, and suddenly began to shriek at the top of her lungs.
"Ohhhhhh, aaaaaa keg of rum, a keg of rum!
Ask me sirs and I'll bring ye some!
Ask for me, you can have that, toooooo!
I'll do the things your wife won't do!"
Galen gaped at the woman before him, his face flushing, his hands clenching, and his eyes wide with shock. She paused in her discordant braying to smile at him sweetly. Then she plucked another string, filling the room with its brief sweet trill before she tilted her head, opened her mouth, and continued to belt out her song.
"Ohhhh, hohhh, on me knees or on me back,
I'm the best there is and that's a faaaaact!"
She paused to give him a lusty little wink there as he began to make gasping, choking sounds, then plucked another cord.
"I'll spread me legs and make ye welcome!
And even let ye squeeze me melo--"
Galen let out a squawk, lunging to his feet in dismay, but when he opened his mouth to say something--anything--to stop her, he found himself choking and coughing as the words stuck in his throat. His wife was on her feet at once and at his side, thumping his back energetically. A little too energetically in his opinion.
"Are you all right, my lord? Do you need a drink? Shall I send for...?" Her voice trailed away as he shook his head, clearing his throat as he straightened.
"Nay, nay I--"
"Good!" Giving him one last thump, she returned to her seat, hitched her skirt back up, and cuddled the harp again, then paused, muttering. "Now, where was I? Let's see...A keg of rum...la-da-de-dum, dum-de-dum, de-la, welcome...Ah! Aye, here we go!" Smiling at him charmingly as he sat reluctantly back in his own seat, she plucked another lilting note and continued,
"Ohhhh, I'lllll call ye love, I'll call ye ducky
And sure enough, ye can even--"
"Enough!" Galen roared, surging to his feet again, this time with his voice intact.
Kyla plucked another cord, and finished innocently, "Pluck meeeeee!"
Closing his eyes, Galen sank weakly back into the seat, his head shaking slightly back and forth as he wondered, with horror, what exactly he had done by marrying the wench. She was mad. No doubt about it. At this moment she even looked mad with her hair all wild, her cheeks flushed red with what he could only think was excitement, and her eyes sparkling with a sort of lunatic anticipation as if awaiting his praise!
"Well," she prompted suddenly, sounding impatient, and Galen sighed.
"Thank ye for the song," he managed to get out in a calm voice. "Mayhap we should retire now."
She looked as if he had struck her at those words, and Galen regretted that he had not managed some sort of praise for her attempt to entertain him. Still he simply didn't have it in him to do so. He wasn't much for lying, even if meant as a politeness.
"Fine!" she snapped, letting her harp thump back to the floor with a jangle of strings. Standing, she stepped around it and stomped over to the bed. She hesitated there, muttered something--he presumed to her imaginary friend--then threw herself across the width of the bed and rolled over so that she lay fully clothed across the bottom of the mattress staring at the ceiling.
Frowning, Galen moved slowly to the foot of the bed to peer down at her. "Do ye not think ye might wish to prepare first?"
She stiffened at that, then smiled at him sweetly. "Aye, of course! I do not know what I was thinking."
Launching off the bed, she moved to the nearest chest and began digging inside. Shaking his head, Galen turned away and moved back to the fire, pretending to stoke it in an effort to give her a moment of privacy. He could hear the rustle of clothing as she undressed. It went on and on and on. Just when he was beginning to lose patience, he heard the chest slam closed, the patter of her feet crossing the floor, then the whoosh of her dropping into bed once more.
Setting aside the iron, Galen straightened with relief. He turned to face the bed, frowning in confusion when he saw his wife there, lying flat across the bottom of it once more. She was not undressed, not stripped down to just her tunic even, but was apparently wearing more clothes than she had been the first time she had laid down. Now she had on one or two gowns more on top of the one she had been wearing earlier.
Moving to the end of the bed again, he scowled at her. "What are ye doing?"
"Awaiting you, of course," she answered dryly, then turned her head to the side and muttered sotto voce, "Nay, he's not dense. No denser than most men anyway. 'Tis not dense to ask a question."
Galen stiffened at that, and said a bit sharply, "Do ye not think it would have done ye better to remove your clothing rather than put more on?"
She turned back to peer at him in surprise. "Why, my lord, surely you know that the Church forbids consummation while naked?"
"Aye, well the Church can--" He paused abruptly when her eyes narrowed on him. Grimacing, he said dryly, "Well, mayhap ye could at least take one or two of your gowns off? Surely one gown, or even just your shift is clothing enough?"
"Nay."
"Nay?" he growled.
"Nay. I want to look nice for the consummation," she said simply. "Do you not think I look nice?" When he hesitated at that, she added, "Ernestene thinks I look lovely."
"Ernestene." His face twisted with disgust, then he muttered: "Well, I think you look hot."
Kyla grimaced slightly at that, because she was indeed hot. It was summer, and she had stoked the fire to an infernal level, and then he had gone over and stoked it some more in a really rather nice effort to give her privacy. Which really had nothing to do with the situation at hand, she berated herself, then sighed. She had donned not one, not two, but four more gowns. She would have put on more, but none of the other outfits would fit over top of the five she already wore. She was not just hot, she was boiling, but she wasn't going to tell him that. "Actually, I am a touch chilled," she lied. "But if you are warm, mayhap you should beat down the fire a bit."
Her husband's answer was to lean forward and place his hand to her forehead as if checking for a temperature. Apparently not finding any, he stra
ightened, frowned at her with displeasure, then began to work at his own clothes.
Kyla watched him, her mind not really on what he was doing, but quickly sorting through all the rest of the rules that the Church had about when sex was forbidden, hoping to come upon one that would delay things at least long enough for her to find a way out of this marriage. According to the Church, sex was forbidden during Lent, Advent, Whitsun week and Easter week...
No help there, she thought with a sigh, then continued on with feast days, fast days, Sundays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. Today, unfortunately, was a Thursday and was neither a feast nor a fast day. She sighed unhappily, then continued to tick the forbiddens off on her fingers. Never during daylight, never in a church, never for any other purpose than to produce a child, and never when the woman was either bleeding, pregnant, or nursing....
She paused on that thought, briefly considering telling him that it was her woman's time, but that seemed a bit cowardly to her. In fact, now that she thought about it, pretending to be mad was rather cowardly, too. He seemed a nice, reasonable sort of fellow. Surely if she simply explained that she didn't wish to be married to him, he would allow her to--
Her thoughts died abruptly as his plaid hit the floor and he stood before her in only his shirt. It was soft and white and draped his muscled body almost lovingly, reaching halfway to his knees. And somehow, the pureness of it seemed to emphasize the strength and width of his shoulders. Kyla admired them briefly, then glanced down at his legs. Hard and strong and nicely shaped, and--GOOD GOD--What was she thinking of, laying there ogling him like that, she berated herself as he reached for the hem of his long shirt, to take it off.
"The Church says--" she bleated now, positive that if he took that top off, she would be lost.
"Aye, I ken," he sighed wearily. "Intercourse is forbidden whilst naked. But I swim naked, bathe naked, and sleep naked--and it seems silly to keep my clothes on to consummate this marriage, then get up to remove them afterward." Despite his words, he apparently decided to leave the shirt on for a moment more. Shaking his head, he climbed onto the few spare inches of bed she had left him, then scowled at her. "Do ye not think we could at least lie the right way?"
"This is the right way," Kyla answered nervously, scooting slightly to the side in an effort to put space between them. She suddenly found his nearness terribly distracting.
Apparently, thinking she was making room for him, Galen spread himself out on his side beside her, and peered over at her with a sigh.
Eyes wide, Kyla watched him nervously, then when he reached out to grasp the lacings of her top gown, she opened her mouth and let loose a shriek. When he immediately withdrew his hand in surprise, Kyla's mouth closed, ending her wail.
He gaped at her uncertainly for a moment, and Kyla managed a sweet smile. But when he reached for her lacings again, her mouth opened on another keening cry. His hand was again quickly removed, and her mouth closed, her shriek silenced once more.
This time her smile had no effect.
"What are ye doing?" he asked between gritted teeth.
"Nothing."
"Ye were screaming."
"Nay."
"Nay?"
"That was Ernestene practicing her singing," Kyla murmured calmly.
He didn't appear to know what to say to that, and Kyla was just congratulating herself that she had finally struck on a way to convince him she was mad and therefore to annul the marriage, when he reached for her lacings again. Eyes widening, Kyla popped her mouth open, another cry ready to issue forth, only to have his other hand suddenly plop over her mouth, silencing her as he worked one-handed at her clothing. She didn't fight. She had no right. He was her husband, unfortunately. But she did glare at him over the hand on her mouth as he fumbled at her lacings. It took him several moments, but he did finally manage to undo them. Then he began to try to tug the first gown off of her shoulders, but it was a difficult task, made more so by the fact that she lay on her back and he only had one hand to work with.
It took her by surprise when he suddenly removed the hand from her mouth. So much so that he had sat up and tugged her into a sitting position beside him before she remembered to continue shrieking again. The moment she began, though, his palm covered her mouth once more and he scowled.
"Nay," he said. When she arched her eyebrows in challenge, his own brow furrowed back at her. "If Ernestene cannot be quiet, I will have to ask her to leave," he threatened. Kyla ground her teeth in frustration. He was supposed to wish to annul the marriage, not humor her!
Her irritation was replaced with surprise when he suddenly stood, tugging her along with him. Then he began to again work at her clothes. He did so with the same gentle attention a mother would give undressing a child. There was nothing sexual in it, nothing in the least provocative. He merely unlaced the top gown, tugged it over her shoulders, down her arms, around her waist, then over her hips and pushed it down to pool around her feet. Then he did the same with the second gown. Kyla was as stiff as a board by the time he got to her last dress, her eyes wide, an odd tension building inside her and making her breath come in shallow bursts despite his gentle nonchalance.
When he straightened, Kyla didn't wait to see what he would do next. She whirled away, crawled onto the bed, then flipped onto her back again, spread-eagled, to stare at the ceiling blindly. She heard Galen release a sigh, then a rustling drew her gaze around to see that he had walked to the foot of the bed and was now shrugging his shirt off over his head, leaving him naked. Completely naked. Totally naked. Manhood-swinging-in-her-face naked.
Good Lord! Kyla had been told the facts of life quite bluntly long ago by Morag. She also had a brother, whom she had seen naked on several occasions when they were just children, but still, despite all this she nearly gasped aloud at the sight before her. Her brother Johnny had never stirred her like this. She had never thought his warrior's form especially attractive to look upon like that of this man. Her gaze devoured the MacDonald's wide, muscular shoulders and powerful arms, heating as it slid over his chest, taking in the way it gleamed in the amber glow from the fire, and how his flat stomach rippled as his arms moved. He was, quite simply, beautiful to behold. And the very sight of him was having an effect that was most detrimental to her well-being and the plan she had been trying to carry out. It was bad enough that he was prosperous and a good, strong leader, that his people were happy and content, that, so far, he even seemed relatively nice. But looking at him now was making her question whether she really had any reason not to wish to marry him.
Then her gaze dropped to the limp member waving in her face, and disappointment overcame all her wonder and, yes, even lust, of a moment earlier. She knew enough about the facts of life to be able to see that the poor man had no more interest in consummating this marriage than she'd had when he'd first entered the room. Which left her to wonder what on earth they were doing.
"If we do not consummate, it could still be annulled," she blurted as he started to climb onto the bed beside her once more. That made him pause, his eyes finding her face and settling there rather blankly.
"What?"
"I said, if we do not consummate it, this marriage can still be annulled. On the grounds that I am addled."
"I suppose it could," he agreed slowly, appearing to consider it briefly before shaking his head. "But that'd hardly be a fitting reward fer yer courage would it?"
Kyla's eyes widened in amazement. "What do you mean?"
"Well, it would hardly be just of me to set ye aside fer something that wasn't yer fault."
"It would not be unjust at all since that is what I want," Kyla announced with a scowl.
"But since yer addled, yer not really capable of deciding what's best for ye, and that leaves it to me to decide for ye. And I know ye would be safer and happier with me than ye could possibly be with the MacGregor, so I could not possibly annul this marriage." Smiling at her gently, he took her hand and patted it like a father soothing a c
hild or old woman. "Never fear, m'lady wife, I'll look after ye with care. Ye'll be guarded at all times and I'll do what I can to ensure yer happiness."
Kyla's eyes widened in horror at that assurance as she realized what she had done. While she had certainly succeeded at convincing him that she was indeed mad, he was not intending now to annul the marriage. No. All she had managed to do was to ensure that she would be treated like a child, guarded against her own insanity at all times, and given no freedom at all. Desperation welling up in her, she cried, "But, surely you can not wish to be married to me?"
"Nay."
She blinked in surprise at that, a certain amount of effrontery rising up within her. "What do you mean, nay?"
"Well and sure enough I'd hoped for more in me wife than this," he admitted honestly. "I'd hoped for a partner, a helpmate. A woman who'd stand beside me and help me rule my people. Not a madwoman I'd have to protect my people from..." He sighed sadly. "And I had that briefly, ere the fevers rushed yer madness along."
Kyla blinked, rather surprised to find the idea of standing and ruling beside this man attractive. Most men wished to rule all, including their wives. Then she frowned slightly. "What do you mean, you had that briefly before the fevers rushed my madness along?"
He looked surprised that she would even ask. "Well, ye were all I could have wished for in a wife ere they did their damage. Intelligent, witty, courageous." He sighed again miserably. "Aye, ye were the perfect wife."
Kyla felt another pinch of regret that she had convinced him that she no longer was those things, then asked suspiciously, "Now, how would you know what I was like ere the fevers? We met after they had taken hold."
He smiled slightly with memory. "Ye talked a lot on the way here. Actually, ye talked nonstop." He shrugged apologetically at the dirty look she threw him. "Some of it even made sense, and what didn't make sense, yer old hag explained. She told us tales of yer growing up, of yer skills and abilities, of how ye bested your brother repeatedly over the years with yer sly intelligence, of how ye charmed all with yer wit, of how ye saved yer brother..." He shook his head sadly. "I warrant each and every one of me men was just a little bit in love with ye by the time we arrived here."