The poor lass expected him to hurt her. That was clear enough in her alarmed glances and the hesitant way she touched him. He was doing all he could to put her at ease.
As for him, he wanted to fall on her so badly it ached. He wanted to hold her close and knead her skin, and caress her all over, for beneath her clothes she was shapely and well-built, curving and voluptuous in all the ways that fired his blood. He craved to know the body of this bonny Englishwoman he’d married, but he wouldn’t frighten her, not this first night. It would take time to earn her trust, and he’d need her trust in order to have her fully.
For now, he contented himself with the slide of her hands across his shoulders. Her fingers weren’t strong enough to provide much relief from the journey’s tension, but rubbing his back allowed her to get used to him in a physical way.
“That’s made me feel a great deal better,” he told her. “If you’re tired, you can stop.”
“I’m not tired,” she said quickly.
“Well, then, would you like to rub my lower back also?”
She hesitated, then complied. He could tell by her lighter touch that she was tired indeed, but he also understood why she didn’t wish to leave off. Rubbing her new husband’s back was a physical action she could control. What came next on the wedding night...she doubtless felt a lot less confident about that.
“Did you know Lady Lorna well?” he asked, to fill the uncomfortable silence.
“She was my cousin,” his wife said after a pause. “She was well liked. We were all shocked when she ran away.”
“Do you think she was afraid? Did she leave because she was too afraid to marry me? I hear there was another man.”
“Any of the men would have left with her. She was very pretty.” Holly lowered her voice. “But she left with Lord... Well, I shouldn’t...”
“Shouldn’t tell me the name?” He laughed. “I won’t go after the poor man. He’s stuck with a coward for a wife, and she might have been mine. He did me a service by taking her away. No, I only wondered if you two were close. I suppose you’ll miss your other cousins when we’re in Scotland.”
She made a soft sound of agreement and stopped rubbing his shoulders. “Perhaps...”
He turned to her. “Perhaps what?”
“Perhaps I ought to stay here at my uncle’s house until after the holidays. Until Christmas Day, at least, if it’s to be my last Yule…”
“That would be hard for me and my men,” he pointed out. “For then we’d miss celebrating with our families.”
“You could leave me here and come back to fetch me afterward.”
Again, he had to work hard to hold back a smile. As if a Scot would leave his wife, even an English wife, in another man’s home. He took her hand, uncurling her tense fingers and studying the stout, plain wedding ring he’d placed on her left hand.
“You must come with me, lass. I wouldn’t leave you behind. But it won’t be so bad, I promise. You haven’t known a Yuletide celebration until you’ve seen one at Cochrane. You’ll be having too much fun to miss your family.”
She blinked at him. “How do Scots celebrate Yule?”
“Like the English, only better. You’ll see. The Cochrane keep has another name, an older one. MacEacharna. We’ve centuries of traditions to draw on.”
“Oh.” She moved her lips, silently trying out the name. “What does that mean? Mac...”
“MacEacharna? It means warmth, welcome, a safe home, a fortress. At the holidays, it means a celebration of the heart.”
“Mac-Each-ar-na.” Her tongue tripped over the foreign syllables. “It sounds...” She looked at his arm beside hers. “It sounds strong.”
“It is strong, Holly. You’ll see. We’ll be on our way there tomorrow. Two days ride, perhaps three if the weather continues poorly, and you’ll be home within the castle’s walls. You’ll see what I mean then, about warmth and welcome.”
He could see that she didn’t believe. The more he sang Scotland’s praises, the more she drew into herself.
“But that’s a journey for tomorrow,” he said, “and it grows late. Here, lie down with me.”
He made room for her beside him, and after a slight hesitation, she complied.
“Close your eyes, sweet. It’s been a trying day for both of us.”
She obeyed, then waited. She thought he would molest her now, for she started trembling again. He felt atremble too. She was so near, so clean and sweet and luscious in her frightened innocence. Ah, well, perhaps she had reason to be frightened. Perhaps she sensed that his cock was rigid as an oak tree, and his good intentions strained to their ends.
“What is it, then?” he asked, stroking her hair back upon the pillow. Such beautiful, pale hair, curly as any he’d ever seen.
She met his gaze, just for a moment, before darting her eyes away. “My mother said you would...that you would do something with your...”
“With this?”
He took her hand and placed it along his throbbing erection. The feel of her slim fingers against his throbbing shaft had him holding hard to his control. “It’s called a cock, love, and you needn’t be afraid of it.” He leaned closer, forcing her eyes back to his. “I won’t hurt you. Whatever you’ve heard, it’s not my way.”
Her fingers had gone still as a skeleton’s bones. Even Scottish women were shy when they were inexperienced.
“We’ll take things in our own time if you like,” he said, letting her pull her hand away. “Husbands and wives make love once they’re wed, it’s true, but I’d just as soon bed you when you’re safe at home in Cochrane Castle. You can wait until then, can’t you? You don’t mind?”
He tried not to take offense at her obvious relief.
“Yes. Oh yes. In fact, I... I think that would be best.”
“All right, then.”
He touched her chin and considered trying for a kiss, but her lips were pressed tightly closed.
“You must be tired.” He traced a finger along the lacy edge of her gown’s neckline. “Are you going to sleep in that pretty shift?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You must call me Malcolm, now that we’re married.” He said it with the guttural Scots pronunciation, hoping she’d make an attempt, but she lay back on her pillow, stiff and still like a skeleton again.
“Sleep well,” he said, then repeated the same in Scots. He added brave one in his own language, for she was braver than her cousin Lorna, agreeing to marry a foreign man she desperately feared. Poor trembling thing. He would have held her close to stop her shaking but he thought that would only increase her panic, so he took her hand instead.
He wouldn’t bed her yet, but he wouldn’t let her steal away from him either. In time her fingers relaxed in his and she fell into a fitful sleep, more exhausted, finally, than she was scared.
Chapter 4
Secrets
Holly came half awake, looked over at her husband, and thought she must still be in a nightmare. The laird held a knife, an ornate Scottish dirk with leather laces trailing from the hilt. He wasn’t threatening her with it, no. As she watched, he jabbed it into the pad of one of his oversized fingers.
She gasped in shock. She wasn’t dreaming, for real crimson drops appeared. He ignored her exhalation and dripped a trail of blood between their bodies, then smeared it about on her uncle’s fine white sheets. What did it mean? Would he make her bleed next? Was this some visceral Scottish marriage rite in which she must take part?
He put his finger to his mouth to staunch the blood and finally met her eyes. “I’m not going to stab you,” he said. “You needn’t look so afraid.”
“Why did you do that?” she asked, looking down at the stained linens.
He wore a wry expression. “I’m sealing a pact. One of us had to shed blood upon these sheets by morning. I don’t mind that it’s me.”
She had no idea what he was talking about. She’d heard nothing of bloodshed, but perhaps, in important political pacts such a
s this...
Well, she was glad he’d stepped up and shed the blood so she needn’t injure herself. It was kind of him, even. For a beast, he surprised her at every turn with his consideration.
“Thank you,” she said, eying the dirk as he stowed it in his belt. “Perhaps... Do you need me to dress your finger? I can call for a maid.”
“No. I’ll be fine. It’s just a scratch.”
He ran a look over her in her night clothes. He was completely done out already in his Scottish regalia, down to his thick wool stockings and leather boots. Holly wished she wasn’t such a heavy sleeper. He looked ready for anything, and she was practically naked beneath his gaze.
“I’ll call the maid anyway,” she said, “for I must dress.”
“Not yet. Sit up here. I’ve something to tell you first.”
She was just now coming fully awake. His oversized physique alarmed her anew as he joined her on the bed, his kilt spread along the covers and his long, muscled legs so much stronger than hers.
“Look at me, Holly. Are you listening?”
She drew her thoughts from his legs and focused on his face. He wore an intent expression that prompted her to nod. “Yes, I’m listening.”
“Good, because this is important. Yesterday, you were English, but now you’re my Scottish wife. Until we leave this keep, love, I need you to keep our secrets. I don’t care for the English to know I speak their language, for they guard their tongues less, and I learn more of what I need to know. You understand?”
Was that true? Was she Scottish now? She looked at his kilt’s plaid and remembered her own plaid she’d dress in when she rose from bed. Did she dare tell her uncle that Laird Cochrane knew perfect English, and only pretended to need translation?
A moment later, she realized with some surprise that she didn’t wish to tell him. Her uncle had given her away as a political pawn to this foreigner, so why would she feel sympathetic to his side of this game?
“I won’t tell,” she said, and she meant it. She would have said so even without the reward of Laird Cochrane’s pleased smile. Malcolm. He had asked her to call him Malcolm. She promised again, adding his name even though it felt strange on her tongue. “I won’t tell, Malcolm.”
“A good, bonny woman you are. Another thing...” He glanced at the stain he’d smeared upon the bed. “They’ll assume, from the blood, that I’ve coupled with you at some point during the previous night. That’s why I put it there.”
“Oh.” She bit her lip. “Does coupling make you bleed? My mother didn’t tell me.”
“It doesn’t.” His voice held a slight tone of impatience. “Well, perhaps a little the first time, but it’s not as frightening as you think. The point is, they’ll be looking for blood this morning as proof our marriage is sealed. Some lunkheads don’t believe a woman belongs to a man if they haven’t bedded down proper like, but I don’t hold with that. I’ll come inside you the first time when we get to your new home, that’s what I’ve decided.”
She nodded in agreement. Yes, she preferred to delay as long as possible, especially now that she’d learned about the blood. How brave one had to be to survive marriage. No wonder women only spoke of bedroom activities in hushed voices.
“But we won’t tell anyone that’s our plan,” her husband continued, “in case it’s misinterpreted as some insult, some sign that I don’t intend to honor this marriage. For I do, Holly.” He chuckled. “Imagine someone thinking I don’t want you.”
Beneath the humor in his gaze, she saw something else, something that made her insides shiver.
“Indeed,” he said, sobering, “I am hopeful for our marriage’s success. This alliance will be a fine thing for our families as well as those who rely on us for peace.” He took her hand. “We’ll honor each other, won’t we?”
Again, his intent expression compelled her to nod. He made her feel and believe things she wouldn’t have imagined possible the day before. To honor a Scot? She’d have thought it a disgusting idea yesterday, but today, it didn’t seem that farfetched. He’d been honorable so far. Could she do less?
“I won’t say anything, my lord. I promise.”
“Good, then.” He placed a finger beneath her chin. “Those are our secrets, and ours alone. If anyone asks how our night passed, Scot or Englishman, merely smile and tell them it passed well enough.”
“Yes, sir. Malcolm.”
He stared into her eyes, then at her lips. For a moment, she thought he would kiss her. She braced for it. Feared it.
Wanted it a little.
But only out of curiosity, of course. Would he be hard and rough if he kissed her? Would he bite her lips? Or would he be as gentle as his touch upon her chin?
But he didn’t kiss her before he released her, and she had the good sense to feel glad about it. It was a couple days’ journey at least to the Cochrane keep. It gave her a little time to steel herself for the future, for the blood and intimacy that would make their marriage more official.
Some part of her still hoped for an intervention. A wild battle that would throw off the deal. A howling storm so portentous and destructive that both kingdoms would agree to nullify the marriage to appease their God. But the braver part of her was resigned.
That resignation gave her the strength to dress and prepare for the journey. Her baggage had been packed the day before, so there was precious little to do before she donned her warm, voluminous plaid atop her deep green wool gown. Her English gown. Was it the last she’d ever wear?
Just as she finished, her uncle came knocking at the door. He’d been quite drunk the night before, and honestly looked very drunk now as he made his way over to the bed to inspect the sheets. He was truly looking for blood, proof that she’d been bedded. The laird shot her a look, half amused and glinting with collusion.
“You’re to have a good journey then, niece,” her uncle said, barely sparing her a glance before he turned to stumble away. Yes, still a bit drunk. He nearly ran into the doorframe on his way out. It wasn’t much of a goodbye.
In fact, only her mother and father met them in the courtyard to see them off. Her mother mumbled something about her cousins still being abed as she held Holly’s cheeks to kiss her farewell. Her father claimed it was the intimidating band of Scots that kept the well-wishers away.
Holly tried not to let the dismal send-off affect her, although it hurt her feelings that no one—not her uncle, his courtiers, her cousins, or any of the hundreds of people she was protecting with the marriage—had come to the courtyard to say goodbye. They made a quiet, dreary party as they left. Many of the Scotsmen were as drunk as her uncle. One almost fell off the wagon that carried her belongings. Holly didn’t want to cry, and she would have managed it if her mother hadn’t started weeping into her handkerchief.
Her new husband settled her before him upon his saddle, holding her close as she turned her head into the crook of his arm.
“Don’t cry,” he said quietly, once her parents wouldn’t hear. “It’s not worth crying.”
“Nobody cares that I am leaving.”
“You’re Scots now, and the English don’t care for Scots. They especially don’t care to see you carried away by one of them, you see? You can’t take it to heart.”
She didn’t want to take it to heart, but she’d been through so much the past day and a half that she couldn’t pull herself together. “They will see me cry,” she fretted, peering about at the men around them. “I’m sorry.”
“There now. Cry a little, then set yourself to the journey ahead.”
She felt his arm tighten at her waist as she leaned back against his chest. She shivered though she wasn’t cold, not with him holding her. He used his plaid to dab away her tears as they rode toward the north, along the forested Berwick coast. Yesterday she would have shied away from any contact with the laird. Why, she would have been terrified, expecting him to hurt her in some way, but he hadn’t done anything bad to her at all. In fact, all his Scottish vassals h
ad treated her respectfully since their arrival at her uncle’s.
Of course, you are barely away from Mortimer’s keep.
Perhaps she’d be treated differently once she was in the Lowlands. She tried to picture Malcolm as a brute but failed. If anything, his size made his gentle nature even more conspicuous.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to believe.”
“What’s that, love?”
She had no idea how Malcolm heard her above the noise of the horses and their numerous escorts. “I said…I am sad to leave,” she lied.
“I imagine so.” She felt his chin rest a moment atop her head. “It’s not forever, you know. If our union brings the peace we hope for, we can travel back and forth as we wish in safety. Not just us, but other English and Scots.”
She swallowed, feeling the breadth of him along her back. “How did it all begin?” she asked. “The wars along the borders?”
“There’s always been warfare, though it makes both sides miserable. I can’t say why it initially began.”
“I wonder if it is only a matter of us misunderstanding each other.” She felt embarrassed as soon as she said it, but her husband didn’t laugh at her.
“You’re probably right, lass,” he said. “There hasn’t been a great deal of communication across the border, only mistrust and grief. Perhaps we can change the tides with our union.”
“I pray it is so. I hope there will be peace.” Because I have sacrificed my freedom for it.
But somehow, within her, she felt a glimmer of hope that it might not be the dire sacrifice she’d feared.
Malcolm and his men proceeded cautiously the first day, making their way through the wilds of England’s North Country. If there was trouble, it would come now, as they left Mortimer’s lands with his niece in tow. Not every man wished for peace, and their snubbed departure showed that even within Mortimer’s keep, there were plenty who wished the Scots to hell.
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