A Promise Given (13 page)

Jan dragged his plaid around his shoulders and shifted to his back. But as he
did so, a bristly wad of hay pricked his backside; an unsavory, pungent aroma
drifted to his nostrils. Faith, but there would be no sleep for him at all this
night! With a grimace, he heaved to his side. His patience was short—along with
his temper. Gritting his teeth, he cursed the lovely vixen he’d taken to
wife.

This was not, he reflected blackly, how he had envisioned this night. Nay,
he'd thought to spend hours tutoring Sabrina in the pleasures of the flesh—and
ensuring his own in the bargain. Instead he was here in the stable. No doubt,
she was relishing her victory in ousting him from his own bed! Indeed, his only
salvation was that no one had seen him depart— there were none to witness the
insult to his manhood—and aye, his pride.

Finally, with a sigh he sat up. Broodingly he stared into the darkness. The
night air grew cool around him, and before long his anger cooled as well; in its
place was a hurt he could not deny.

He felt… betrayed. He had wooed his beauteous bride, taken a tender care with
her he'd never shown another. And aye, he’d felt her lips tremble beneath his,
her body arch into his in sweet surrender. Yet in the end it was Jamie she
thought of… Jamie she longed for… Jamie, blast his hide!… and not him.

It was inevitable that his gaze turned toward the keep, toward his chamber.
He was tempted, and mightily so, to return to Sabrina. To show her that while
her lips might speak of another, her body craved his with a passion that matched
his own. Resolve crystallized inside him.

"Ah, Sabrina," he murmured aloud. "You think you are well rid of me, but I
promise you, lass, you are not. Savor your victory, my love. For now, I will
allow you your distance. But 'tis the last night I will spend here, the
only
night…"

On that note, he finally slept.

A watery trickle of light seeping through the shutters woke Sabrina just
after dawn. She'd spent a goodly part of the night tossing and turning. She'd
slept little, for she'd never felt so alone! 'Twas most odd, for only now did
she realize these past nights whilst Ian slept near, she'd not been so mindful
of the shadows that lurked just beyond reach.

And now… now though she strived to stow the memory away, she relived the
evening's play anew. The feel of his hand running wild over her body, his mouth
on her nipples, which even now seemed to swell and tingle. The feathery rush of
whispered words on her cheek…

Most of all she recalled with scorching remembrance the way his swollen shaft
had stretched her woman's flesh, the stunning pressure of him seated to the hilt
within her. Drawing her knees to her chest, she buried her face in the pillow,
flooded with a scalding rush of shame.

There was a timid knock upon the door. It opened, and Mary peeped inside.

"Would ye like a bath, mum?"

Sabrina raised her head, pushing the tumbled skeins of hair from her face.
She was tempted to answer nay and ask the girl to leave her be. But she could
not hide away here in her bedchamber, for such was not her way.

And she'd not give her new husband the satisfaction!

She smiled at the girl. "Thank you, Mary. I'd like that very much."

The bath was soon ready and waiting. She dismissed Mary, saying she needed no
assistance. As she lowered herself into the steaming waters, she winced a
little, for she was tender there between her thighs.

The feel of him was still strong about her person. Sabrina scrubbed furiously
to rid herself of his scent, as if she could rid herself of him! Her mind
skipped ahead to the night to come. Now that he'd made her his wife in every
way, would he do so again? Nay. Surely not. He'd fulfilled his duty to the
marriage bed.

You will share my bed this night and all others.

A voice of stern admonishment resounded in her brain. He was her husband, the
voice chided, and he had the right to lay with her, no matter how she disliked
it.

But you did not dislike it
, reminded another.

Her hand stilled. Her throat tightened oddly. He was right. With silken words
he wooed her. With flaming caresses he swayed her. He had been tender and slow,
and once the pain of his possession had ebbed, he'd brought her to a wondrous
peak of rapture.

She cringed inside. Would Ian mock her with his victory? She despaired the
weakness of her flesh, for she'd made it ridiculously easy for him.

The water was cold by the time she arose. 'Twas time to brave the day… and
her husband as well.

As Sabrina wound her way down the stairs, she did not know what awaited her
in the great hall—but it was certainly not what she found.

In the glaring light of day, she saw that cobwebs danced from every corner. A
stale odor rose from the rushes strewn about the floor; they were utterly
filthy. Several benches had been overturned. A snoring soldier sought sleep
there upon the hearth—'twas a wonder his ears had not been singed!

Upon the table the remains of last eve's meal still resided. Even as she
watched, a hound leaped upon it and seized a haunch of venison. He sank to his
belly, the tidbit between his paws.

Sabrina gaped as a fat little piglet waddled across the floor, grunting and
rattling the rushes with his nose. The piglet stopped and did his duty then and
there. Her jaw closed with a snap. She vowed the little beastie would be their
supper. The stench of ale came to her nostrils… and little wonder.

No one greeted her arrival. It seemed the night's celebration had bled
through till morn.

Two burly fellows were wrestling on the floor. From the corner came a bray of
laughter. Amid shouts of encouragement, they rolled over and over… Directly in
their path was a slender figure clad in pale blue wool.

By some miracle they stopped just in time. The pair stared upward into
snapping green eyes. Their jaws slackened. Finally one jammed his elbow into his
opponent's ribs.

"Up with ye, man! It's 'er ladyship!"

The pair scrambled to their feet.

Sabrina was secretly appalled. Sternly she looked the pair up and down. "Have
you men no duties to attend? None of you?"

The taller of the two wiped a trail of ale from his mouth. " 'Twould seem
not," he said weakly.

"Then fetch that hound and put him outside. He may share our scraps—but he
will not share our table!"

Her gaze shifted to the second man. "You there. What is your name?"

"A- Arthur," he stammered.

"Arthur, fetch that piglet and put him in his pen, and see to it that he and
his brothers and sisters remain there. This hall is not a stable."

She glanced around. "Now," she said crisply, "someone tell me where the maids
have gone to. This hall needs a thorough cleaning, and I suspect it will not end
here."

But before the man could answer, the hall went utterly quiet. The hairs on
the back of Sabrina's neck prickled. She knew, even before she finally turned,
that Ian stood there.

She felt the stroke of chill gray eyes upon her. Her fingers curled into her
palm. When she turned to face him, she longed to sink through the floor to
whatever awaited her below. She could read naught from his expression, neither
approval nor condemnation. Would he gainsay her authority? she wondered
frantically. Would he belittle her before his people?

His gaze flickered away. He addressed himself now to all those who watched
their chieftain and his lady.

"I must beg pardon," he called out, "for my wife is a Lowlander and we all
know what a peculiar lot they can be. I imagine she'll tolerate no laggards,
since I once heard one say that toil is good for the soul. Why, no doubt she'll
even make us take baths once a day! But we'll not have war within the household.
We can save that for the Campbells, damn their thieving hides!" He glanced
around. "You heard her, lads. See to your posts. And be quick about it,
now."

Sabrina blinked, unable to believe she’d heard aright. Relief surged within
her, for if he had chosen to counter her, she'd never be able to hold her head
up again. Well, she would show him that she could be generous as well. She would
ignore his needling remark about Lowlanders.

The hall emptied within seconds.

She felt his gaze settle on her. "I trust you do not approve of your new
home."

His nearness made her stomach quiver like pudding. " 'Tis not that," she said
quickly. `Tis only that it seems very clear this castle has not seen a woman's
hand in many a year."

A strange expression flitted across his features. It was gone so quickly she
decided it must have been a trick of the light.

"Indeed,” she went on, "there is much to be done."

He studied her, his regard so thorough she grew uneasy.

"What? What is it?"

The makings of a smile appeared. "I merely wonder at your sudden penchant for
cleanliness. Why, you used to run dirty and barefoot."

"And so did you." Her reply came swift as an arrow.

"So I did, bratling." The word came out sounding very much like an
endearment. Sabrina stared, for unless she was mistaken, lazy amusement twinkled
in his eyes. What was this? she wondered in amazement. Last night he'd been
angry with her; now he regarded her with something akin to—to tender indulgence!
Sabrina knew not whether she should be relieved or wary. But before she could
question him further, he spoke.

"No matter," he said lightly. "I have the feeling you would ask something of
me. So tell me. What is it?"

Gathering her courage, Sabrina pressed on. "I would have your leave to direct
the servants. I suspect the entire castle needs a thorough cleaning."

He inclined his head. “`Tis done. I'll see that you are given the keys."

With that he took her arm and assembled the household servants. There he
announced to all that she was mistress here; that her commands would be obeyed
as surely as his own. The keys were delivered into her hands. The servants
scurried away to do her bidding. Sabrina turned to do the same.

A hand on her arm forestalled her.

Ian stood facing her. Something about his expression flung up her guard.
Fighting back a wave of anxiety, she lifted her brows.

“Yes?"

“I just wanted you to know"—a smile dallied about his lips—" 'tis glad I am
to see that the night's pursuits did you no harm. And indeed, I pray that you
shall attend all your wifely duties with such… vigor." With that, he released
her and turned away.

Sabrina glared her ire. He mocked her. After all he had dared—after all he
had done!—he mocked her!

"My lord?" she called after him. Her tone was honeyed.

He half turned, a rakish brow raised high.

She smiled sweetly. "Your stench is most… peculiar. Forgive my Lowlander
oddities, but"—she wrinkled her delicate nose in disdain—"methinks you need a
bath. I pray you will attend to it… and soon."

To her utter amazement, he winked at her. "Only if you join me, sweet. Only
if you join me."

To her horror, Sabrina was speechless. When no rejoinder came his way, he
threw back his head and laughed. The arrogant lout, he laughed!

She marched away, yet she could not be angry, for he was not angry. Still,
she was determined to put her husband out of her mind. And she succeeded quite
well, for indeed, she was so busy she had no time to think of the wretch. Very
soon there was not a single pair of idle hands. Sabrina discovered that the
servants were not unwilling or lazy. They simply needed someone to direct their
efforts, but they were agog when she rolled up her sleeves and joined them in
the day's work.

By the end of the day, the laundry shed was overflowing, the tapestries had
been taken down from the walls and beaten free of dust. The hall was scrubbed
from end to end. Clean rushes were laid on the floor and sprinkled with
rosemary.

All in all, Sabrina was pleased with the day's work. Tomorrow she would
inspect the kitchen and the castle stores. For now she was exhausted. Ian had
ridden out to tend to his business and had not yet returned. She told Mary she
was too tired to sup. All she wanted was to go to bed. With luck she would be
asleep by the time he was back.

Her leisurely soak eased the ache in her muscles. She had just slipped a long
white bed-gown over her head when the door creaked open.

It was Ian. In his hands was a tray laden with food and drink.

"You are no doubt tired from all your efforts today," he said smoothly, "and
Mary told me you'd not eaten. Am I not a thoughtful husband?"

Sabrina arched a brow. Determined, more like.

"And indeed, since I am anxious to please my wife, I even did as you asked—I
bathed while you were busy with your work. My only regret is that you were not
here to join me."

Sabrina bit her lip. Oh, but he was a rogue to tease her so!

But now she drew a deep breath. "Does it not bother you that everyone will
think that you… that we…" Her gaze strayed inevitably toward the bed. Her
furious blush said all that she could not; and suddenly there was a gleam in
Ian's eyes, a gleam that reminded her all too keenly of all that had happened
there, in that very bed…

Fragrant aromas wafted in the air. She hadn’t been hungry before. Now she was
suddenly famished. When Ian slipped the tray onto the table near the fire, she
took the chair he offered. Ian declined the food she offered, saying he'd
already eaten. But he drank from a goblet of wine, and while the silence that
drifted between them was not comfortable, neither was it uncomfortable.

Suddenly some strange mood descended, like a dark cloud dropped from the sky.
She was mistress of this huge castle, a role that was to have been Margaret's.
Aye, she could run a household. See to it that supplies were laid in for the
winter. But she could never replace Margaret, for Margaret would have presided
over all with a grace and poise she could never begin to match.