A Perfect Knight For Love (16 page)

“Four? So many?”

“’Tis within riding distance of the castle, my lord.”

“Give me names.”

“I’m na’ all that certain. I can only say Rachel, Marget . . . Ellyn. Mayhap even Marget’s sister, Eve. As soon as the mistress finds out, she disdains them. You’ll most like find them working the slops most days.”

“Does no one see the danger in this? He’s got the pox!”

Amalie gave a gasp. Thayne ignored it.

“He’s our laird.”

“Every MacGowan man has the right to a future with healthy bairns. Why dinna’ Grant hide them?”

“None can fight the chieftain.”

“How many are still untouched?” Thayne asked.

“I’ve na’ seen all of them. But of what I’ve seen . . . they’re verra young. Innocent. Grant’s got three nieces come to live with him, recent-like. Orphans. One is the wife’s relation. Two more just came up from Inverness. To gain employ, much as Marget and her sister did.”

There was no help for it. The MacGowan clansman at Thayne’s elbow was right. Jamie was their chieftain by birthright. His will was the law, and once he gained the title, the lone person who could stop him was Thayne, and that required a physical fight. More than once. To a punishing degree. He couldn’t believe Jamie ignored the threat over the last time he’d been caught ravishing unwilling women. As if it was his right. The blame this time probably fell to Thayne, with his abortive attempt at chivalry, and his focus on Mary for over a year now. He hoped his legs worked for more than holding him up.

“Sean? Fetch the bairn and her wet-nurse.”

The man grunted his reply. Thayne forced his right leg a step and then pulled the left to match it as he moved along the horse’s side. His wife was looking at him with wide eyes and a look that probably reflected disgust and shock. Thayne controlled the flush with an act of will. He shouldn’t care that she’d overheard. She couldn’t stay innocent forever. She’d wed into the MacGowan clan. She might as well know the blackest of its secrets. Aside from which, it was her fault. If she’d kept her mouth quiet about being his wife, none of this would be happening. Thayne would’ve taken the time to escort her to the position of governess at the MacKennah castle, wiped his hands of her, and ridden away. Maybe.

“Come.”

He lifted his arms with the command. She surprised him by sliding into them without a word of argument. But then she added to it. She moved to his left side and pushed her shoulder beneath his arm. The move supported his limp. He didn’t comment on it and she didn’t say anything. Someone shoved the door open against the storm to get them out, and then stepped out. Thayne followed, every step an effort to ignore pain and loosen legs that hadn’t moved all day. It got easier the longer he walked, across the yard and through a gate that wasn’t keeping much out as it crashed back and forth with the wind.

The main croft was thick with smoke from the fire, steam from drying tartans hanging along the walls, and the odor of stew. From the smell, he guessed at mutton stew, mixed with wheat and barley; hearty and filling. Overriding all the other smells was whiskey. Thayne stopped just inside the threshold and hoped the dismay wasn’t evident.

Jamie was atop a stool, a lass balanced on his knee with another at his side. The one at his knee had her face averted. The other had her hands tightly folded together and her head bowed. Jamie’s Honor Guard were spaced about the main table, shoveling stew into their mouths. They were all drinking. Someone had opened a keg and spilled enough to make a dark spot in the earth near the fire. It only took a moment to gauge both girls’ ages, another to ascertain their fear. Thayne sent his glance about the room to find the women most impressed by Jamie’s presence. He didn’t need names. It was obvious. There were women about who were older, well-rounded, voluptuous, and used to a man, if the way they caressed the men’s shoulders and arms were any indication. Thayne had six spotted before taking his first step down from the stoop.

“This? Nae. ’Twas nae battle! I took a spill from my horse. Dense beast!”

Jamie’s loud voice showed the amount of drink he’d already consumed as he patted the bandaging about his shoulder. It was also obvious the effect the whiskey was having on his temperament.

“Oh look! There’s my bairn brother . . . his wife. And his bairn! At last!”

He waved an arm toward the floor as Thayne reached it.

“Come! Sit! Fetch stew. And more whiskey! He’s earned it! He brought us safely to you!”

He shoved the lass off his knee and pushed her toward the fire. She barely caught the fall. Thayne’s lips hardened. He took his own stumble, caught it with a hiss of pain and then righted, drawing on every muscle in his right side to handle the move. Jamie didn’t note anything as he laughed harshly and loudly, before slamming his tankard to the table, making the girl at his elbow jump. Amalie seemed to make the same start, but it was halted by the weight of Thayne’s arm atop her shoulders.

“You needing an invite, brother?”

Jamie was already belligerent. Hostile. And he slurred the words. He didn’t wait for the answer, either, as he yelled for another tankard of whiskey. That’s when Thayne decided the best ploy. They needed time, an assist from Jamie’s near unquenchable thirst, and Thayne’s new wife. Thayne took a step forward but his wife didn’t follow it. She was going to argue now? He pulled her forward with the force of an arm, sending more weight atop her.

“Don’t make me sit near him, Thayne. Please?”

There were tears glittering at her eyes, or something close to them. And then there was nothing but glazed-over amber shade, looking the texture of a stone.

“Trust me.” Thayne sent the whisper into an ear before turning back to his brother.

Amalie was going to sink beneath the weight of Thayne’s arm. That was before she factored in what he asked her to do. She wasn’t joining that monster seated at the end of length of smoothed wood they used for a table. She didn’t even know what she was joining. Servant women laughed and slapped aside grasping hands as if it were normal. And the men! Amalie’s senses hadn’t taken it in fully. She didn’t know men behaved this way. Or a society that allowed it. This wasn’t a sup. It wasn’t a fest. It was an unleashing of male power on anyone in the way. Amalie had never seen men behaving as these men were; loudly speaking with mouths full, gesturing with tankards that tipped ale, pounding on the table more than once with enough force to upset, grabbing at servant women . . . and all with the approval of their chieftain? She couldn’t have imagined it. She was hard-put to keep her mouth closed against the complete shock. And Thayne asked her to trust him?

They walked around the table, gaining a position with a wall at their back. Thayne stopped. He didn’t sit down. He worked at the knot of his soaked outer covering and once he had it unfastened, he handed it to one of his men. Or one of Jamie’s men. Or even the man named Brian who’d led them in here. She didn’t know names and faces aside from Sean and MacPherson and renewed her vow that she didn’t want to know.

“Unfasten your sett and give it to Sean. For drying.”

Amalie hugged it closer, feeling warm trickles of water between her fingers. She didn’t know why she fought it. The wool was saturated, heavy, and not as warm as it had been earlier.

“Can’t we just get some sup and return to the stables? We can bed down in there. I won’t complain. I promise.”

“You’d be alone with me. Alone . . . and I’ve still a consummation to achieve.”

Amalie suffered every bit of the shiver that went all over her, and then tried to staunch it. “I accept,” she managed to answer.

“Take off your sett, lass, or I’ll force it.”

“Please?”

“Chill breeds illness. Wet chill is worse. Unfasten it, or I will.”

“I’ve little . . . beneath. You already know that.”

He looked down at her, stopping her heart with the tenderness of his expression, and then he said damning words that stunned and frightened and appalled.

“’Tis exactly what I’m counting on.”

“What?” Her voice trembled. It had something to do with his fingers working the knot at her throat. She didn’t help him. She didn’t fight him, either.

“My brother.” He cocked his head in Jamie’s direction as if she needed explanation.

“He’s a lecherous beast!”

A hint of a smile touched his lips before disappearing. “Worse than Dunn-Fyne?” he asked.

She shook her head. Then nodded.

“Good. You’re na’ blinded to his true character. Now sit. Drink. Eat. Warm yourself with the fire.”

“That all?”

“A smile would na’ go amiss.”

Amalie glared at him. “A smile?”

“Verra well. Nae smile. Will na’ matter. There.”

He had the plaid blanket unfastened and unfurled, releasing her to air that cooled the moment it touched. Her hair had mostly stayed in the braid, although stray tendrils were trailing about her face and she could feel them stuck to her neck. The crush of her cloak hadn’t done her attire any good. The dress was wrinkled and clung to every bit of her. If she’d used sense last eve, she’d have donned more than the fine lawn undergarments for foundation. Then she’d have layered on as many dresses as she could. Regretting it now was a useless waste of time. Amalie avoided looking anywhere but at her hands as she pulled material from where it clung. Her efforts were useless as well since the material went right back as though plastered there.

“Doona’ fuss so. ’Tis perfect.”

“Perfect?”

“Here. Sit. Eat your sup. They fetched us a trencher and flagon of drink. My thanks, Brian.”

Amalie looked down at a hollowed-out half-loaf of bread, filled with a mixture that sent more steam into air, coating her with more moisture. It wasn’t needed. She already felt near naked. She could sense the reaction in the room about her. She didn’t need to see it. She sat and watched as Thayne followed, although his came with a wince and a stifled groan.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, in a quick whisper.

“Trust me.”

“Trust you? You’re mad.”

“I can protect you, wife. Doona’ fear so.”

“I’m not fearful.”

He snorted. Since he’d been drinking, it ended in a coughing spasm that took long moments to end. A quick look showed more men than Jamie paying attention.

“Eat. ’Tis verra good. And warm. Mutton stew. A Highland favorite.”

“I can’t eat unless I know what you expect.”

“I expect you’ll eat. Look bonny. Argue a bit with me. But still look bonny. Perhaps even slap at me.”

Amalie studied him for long moments while her heart hammered in her breast, sending a high-pitched note through her ears. Thayne didn’t look aside. He’d raised one brow while he waited.

“You want me to sit and look . . . bonny? What is that? Exactly? Feminine? Beautiful? Well-pleasing? Womanly?”

“Aye,” he answered, giving her a nonanswer.

“Which one?”

“All,” he answered.

Amalie tightened her lips. “It’s not hard to act angered with you, Thayne MacGowan. Is that what you want?”

He nodded again.

“Why?”

“My brother needs his interest perked in something other than the young lasses he’s grabbed. You’ve already gained it. I’m just reminding him.”

Her heart fell. Her eyes went wide. Her breath got quick and fast. He was in perfect danger of getting slapped.

“You’re using me . . . to gain . . . his attention?”

Her voice wasn’t there for the full question, but he knew what it was as he nodded, slowly and without breaking the gaze. Amalie opened her mouth twice and closed it the same amount of times.

“You angered?” he asked.

She narrowed her eyes.

“Enough to slap at me?”

“Why?”

“Trouble in a marriage means comfort from outside . . . might be accepted.”

“I’ve never been so slighted in my life. Never.”

“Untrue. Everything Dunn-Fyne said and thought was a slight. Jamie, as well.”

She opened her mouth to refute it and closed it again. This Thayne had a depth she hadn’t guessed.

“You readied?”

“For what?”

He looked heavenward for a moment before looking back at her. “Slapping at me.”

“I haven’t eaten yet,” she replied stiffly.

Thayne smiled slightly before attempting to look angry, but the twinkle of his eye gave it away.

“We’ve time. He’s na’ drunk enough. Na’ just yet. So eat up, wife. Smile.”

“There’s no spoon,” she told him.

“We doona’ always have spoons.”

“What do you use, then?”

In answer, he pulled a thin-bladed knife from his belt, wiped it along the kilt at his thigh and handed it to her. She regarded it in silence before moving her gaze back to him. The complete blankness of expression didn’t reveal anything. Amalie tried to mirror him. She knew she’d failed. She didn’t need his chuckle for proof. None of her past acquaintances would believe this. She could write it in a diary, but it wouldn’t be believed there, either.

“Thank you,” she said finally, and reached for the knife.

“You ready to slap at me yet?” he asked.

It was better to concentrate on the sup. Amalie turned to the stew and fished out a piece of meat, using the knife to spear it.

“One must be ill-bred in order to react with such a coarse, uncouth action,” she told him.

“Even if one is a woman getting insulted?” he asked.

Her fingers tightened on the knife handle as she chewed, putting her full attention on the bite. The mutton was delicious, well cooked over a long period of time. The meat strands fell apart on her tongue where she toyed with them before swallowing. She turned and stuck the knife into the stew again, completely ignoring the man at her side. Or trying to.

“You like the stew?” He asked it as she stabbed at a piece.

“In different company perhaps,” she replied.

He leaned forward, putting his weight on his right side in order to scoop a huge bite of stew out, brandishing a spoon he’d just disclaimed owning. Amalie went still, focused on the rough-hewn surface of the table where scrape marks from carving tools gave it an uneven surface. It was polished to a gloss that compared to the dining table at Ellincourt Manor. That was stupid. And odd. Why would they take such care of a wood slab when it wasn’t hewn correctly in the first place? She studied the slice marks along the table’s edge, guessing diners sharpened their knives on it . . . or something equally unsavory. She didn’t move her eyes to the stew again until she had the complete anger covered over. She was trembling as she successfully speared a piece of meat and then leaned forward to pop it into her mouth, losing only a drop of liquid. She kept her mind on little things and not the large thing sitting beside her, toying with her; trying to get a reaction out of her.