Devil of the Highlands (10 page)

Evelinde's father hadn't argued. He'd simply ordered the tapestries rolled up and put away, telling Evelinde she could take them with her when she married and moved to her own home.

It was a shame she hadn't been able to bring them, Evelinde thought sadly. They would have looked lovely on the wall here and would have brightened the place. Then there were the cushions she and her mother had sewn of a night. Those would have made the chairs by the fire more inviting. And there were—

Evelinde cut off these thoughts, knowing it was useless to pine for things she could not have.

She could always make more, Evelinde told herself as she pushed through the keep doors and stepped out onto the stairs leading into the bailey. Of course, she couldn't make a tapestry herself. She had neither the skill nor the time for such an effort, let alone a loom on which to perform the task. Tapestry weavers were always male, and it could take two months for two men to weave just a square foot of a tapestry. That was why they were so dear to purchase and why it was such a shame her husband hadn't given her the chance to bring them, or anything else with her.

Scowling, Evelinde caught up the skirts of the voluminous blue gown she wore and started down the stairs, pushing these concerns aside to join the other little irritations she had against her new husband at the moment.

They did seem to be building up in her mind. She already had a healthy list of things to hold against the man, and they'd barely been married more than three days.

Evelinde paused to peer around the bailey as she stepped off the stairs. It was nearly as empty as the great hall had been, with just a few women walking this way and that on some endeavor or other. Had she not spoken to Biddy, Evelinde would have wondered about that, but she had and knew exactly where to find the men. The paddock.

She recalled the direction in which Fergus had taken the horses the night before and—supposing the paddock must be near the stables—turned that way, sure she'd find it easily enough. All she need do was look for men and listen for their voices. It was her experience that men got loud and unruly when "celebrating," and she had no doubt she'd hear them long before she reached them.

Evelinde found herself glancing curiously inside the stables as she walked by. She saw row after row of stalls running its length. From the glimpse she got, it looked as well kept as Mac kept the d'Aumesbery stables.

Lady would have been well cared for here, she thought, then quickly pushed the thought away. She didn't wish to approach her husband angry, for it rarely achieved much except to cause bad feelings. It was always best to approach a matter calmly and while both parties were in a good mood.

To her mind, her husband should be in a good mood right now. She'd certainly felt pretty cheerful after consummating the marriage, at least until all these little problems had cropped up… like not having anything of her own here.

Cullen, of course, wouldn't have this issue, and was celebrating, so should still be cheerful, Evelinde decided. It seemed the perfect time to approach him on the subject of what he wished her to do as his wife. At least that was what she told herself. And it wasn't that it was untrue, but, really, the conversation could have waited until that evening after the sup. However, Evelinde found herself eager to see her new husband, and she was sure he would be happy to see her, too. No doubt he would smile, and open his arms, welcoming her to him, then he would kiss her until her toes curled and…

Evelinde brought her daydream to a halt as she heard a shout of laughter. As expected, she'd heard the men before spotting them. Stopping to look around, she found she'd reached a series of paddocks that ran up to the outer wall. The first enclosure was empty, and she moved closer to the wooden fence that surrounded it, leaning against a post as she peered across to a small stretch of grassy land where the men were gathered along the rails of the next paddock, watching some activity inside.

Her gaze slid over the mass of bodies, searching for her husband as another roar of laughter went up.

Curious, she turned her attention to the paddock itself, eyes widening with horror when she realized the men had either finished with baiting "poor old Angus" or forgone that fun altogether and moved on to riding bareback on a mad horse. Truly, the horse seemed crazed. It was bucking, twisting, and leaping about, doing everything in its power to unseat the man presently clinging to its back.

Evelinde had just decided the man on the beast's back must be as mad as the horse itself when the horse turned, and she realized the madman was her husband.

For one moment, Evelinde simply stood there clutching at the fence post, mouth agape with horror. Visions began dancing in her head of her husband flying off the beast and being trampled to death. The thought of being made a widow so soon after discovering the joys of marriage almost made her swoon. And then her husband
did
go flying through the air, tossed from the beast's back like so much rubbish.

A shriek of horror slipping from her lips, Evelinde immediately began to climb the fence. She was determined to get to her husband as quickly as she could. Her skirt had other ideas, however, and kept catching on the wood. Evelinde just tugged at it impatiently, nearly tumbling on her head as she threw herself into the paddock. She heard a rip, then she was free, tumbling to her belly on the ground.

Grunting at the impact, Evelinde pushed herself to her feet, grabbing at the overlarge skirt and holding it gathered in her hand as she charged across the paddock.

Despite the noise they were making, several of the men apparently heard her shriek her husband's name and turned to watch her rush across the paddock. The horror on their faces made her heart squeeze tight. Evelinde had not seen her husband land, but obviously it had not gone well, she realized, as the men began to shout at her.

Hoping he was not so badly injured he would not mend, Evelinde began trying to recall all Mildrede had taught her about healing as she ran. He probably had a broken bone or two… or more. Those would need setting. His head was her foremost concern, however, and she sent up a silent prayer that he'd protected his head as he fell. The man was just healing from his last fall from the horse. What was he thinking, getting on that mad beast? She would ask him that, Evelinde thought, just as soon as she judged him healthy enough she could give him hell without feeling bad about it.

The men's shouts had grown almost frantic, and they were gesturing and waving a bit wildly. Evelinde tried not to let her imagination tell her Cullen was injured beyond repair.

He couldn't be
, she told herself.
Surely, God would not be so cruel
?

"Evelinde!"

Startled to recognize Cullen's voice, she pushed her worries away and looked more closely at the crowd on the other side of the fence. Her heart leapt with relief when she spotted Cullen pushing his way through the men who were now pressed up against the fence.

"Dammit woman,
move
!" Cullen roared, beginning to climb the fence to get to her.

Evelinde took in the fury on his face and suddenly wasn't at all certain she wished to see her husband after all. She had no idea what she'd done to cause his fury, but she was definitely sure she didn't want to see him until he'd had a chance to calm down.

It was as she whirled to head back the way she'd come that Evelinde spotted the bull. If her heart had leapt and her blood pounded when she'd seen Cullen thrown from the horse, it was nothing compared to her body's response when she saw mad Angus thundering down the paddock toward her.

Evelinde had never been a particularly physical person. It wasn't expected of a lady. She enjoyed riding and wading in the river, and that was about the extent of her physical activity as a rule, but being chased by a snorting bull was a wondrous motivator. Evelinde caught up her skirts and burst into a run toward her husband.

She ran so fast her feet hardly seemed to touch the ground. In fact, she wouldn't have been surprised if someone told her they'd seen an angel swoop down from the skies and carry her those last thirty feet to the fence.

Evelinde moved so fast she actually reached the fence before Cullen had finished climbing it.

Her
climbing the fence, however, was another matter entirely. She could not climb and hold her skirt up at the same time. Evelinde could hear the pounding hooves behind her and actually feel the hot breath of Angus's angry snorts on her back. She would never climb the fence before he was on her. She was going to be gored, and he would then toss her through the air and stamp all over her where she landed, Evelinde thought dismally even as her hand closed on the rail… and then Cullen reached down from the top of the fence, snatched her by the back of the dress, and hauled her out of the paddock.

"What the devil were ye doing, ye daft woman!" Cullen roared. It was not the first time he'd shouted the question. In fact, it seemed to be the only thing he could say as he stared down at his trembling wife, not even giving her a chance to answer before bellowing it again.

Cullen couldn't help himself. When he'd spotted his wee wife rushing across Angus's paddock, his heart had lodged firmly in his throat, leaving him gagging on a terror like he'd never before experienced. His terror had only increased when he saw that Angus had spotted the witless woman and was charging down the paddock toward her.

Worse yet, the senseless female had stopped moving when she'd seen him, a relieved look crossing her face.

Why the devil she'd looked relieved was beyond him. He'd been too far away to do much but roar at her to move and rush to climb the fence to try to help her. And what had the foolish wench done? She'd done a little turn on the green as if she were at a bloody ball, and
then
sprinted for the fence.

Truth be told, Cullen had been rather impressed by her speed in that final dash, but it didn't lessen his anger.

Dear God, he was sure she'd scared ten years off his life with this little adventure… and he did not scare easily.

In fact, Cullen could honestly say he'd never
ever
experienced that kind of horror and fear before in all the years of his life… over anyone… and he never wanted to feel it again.

"I—"

"What the devil were ye doing?" Cullen interrupted to ask again. The bull had been a hairbreadth away from goring her when he'd lifted her out of the paddock. And this wasn't the first time she'd put herself in jeopardy with mad behavior either, he recalled. There was that little ride of hers in the meadow with her mare's reins in her teeth, too. The woman seemed prone to dangerous behavior.

"I was coming to speak to you," Evelinde blurted quickly, before he could repeat his words yet again.

"Me?" he asked incredulously.

"Aye. I had reached the first paddock when I saw you get thrown from that mad horse. I feared you had been injured and would need me. Rather than waste time running around the paddock, I climbed the fence to run through. I thought it was empty," she explained in a rush.

"Empty?" Cullen echoed with disbelief. "Are ye blind as well as daft? How could ye no see him?"

Evelinde just stared back at him helplessly apparently not having an answer for that. It was Fergus who stepped to Cullen's side and placed a calming hand on his arm as he murmured quietly by his ear, "The paddock is L-shaped, me laird. Angus may have been in the inner far corner, where she could not have seen him."

Cullen felt his shoulders sag at that reminder. In truth, a lot of his anger had slipped away at the knowledge that her stupid behavior had been out of concern for him. Fergus's comment simply drained him of the rest. He was terribly happy to know his wife wasn't an idiot. He was even happier to know she had been concerned for him. Though, Cullen couldn't have said why he cared… except perhaps because he found he quite liked her, and he had been concerned for her when he'd seen her in the paddock with Angus. In truth, he'd been in a panic when he'd realized the peril she was in.

The sound of throat clearing made him glance to Fergus to find his first jerking his eyes toward the other men standing around them, gawking at his wife. Cullen glowered at the lot of them and caught Evelinde by the arm to urge her across the grass toward the path.

"I am sorry, husband. I really did not see the bull," Evelinde said quietly, as he marched her up the path toward the castle.

Sighing, Cullen glanced at her as they passed the stables, really seeing her for the first time now his fear and anger had cleared. A frown immediately reclaimed his lips. The woman's hair was a knotted mass on her head, and the gown she wore was so big it was gaping in the front for all and sundry to see what she did and did not have.

"What the devil are you wearing?" he asked with dismay.

"I—" Evelinde glanced down at herself and gasped as she saw the state of her dress. She then reached behind her back, gathering up the excess material into one fist so the front was more fitted and didn't reveal so much.

Cullen scowled as he glanced over the gown. It looked familiar, but wasn't hers he was sure. At least it wasn't one of the ones he'd packed for her.

"Me laird!"

Cullen paused and glanced toward the wall at that shout to see one of the men waving at him. "What?"

"A traveling party is approaching," the man yelled back.

Cullen scowled, then glanced to Evelinde. Not that she noticed. Her attention was on the back of her gown as she twisted about trying to see something, though, he wasn't sure what she was looking for, and at the moment, he didn't have time to find out.

"Get to our room and change into something that fits ye," he ordered, giving her a little push toward the keep. "I have to see who this is."

Evelinde moved toward the keep, but she wasn't moving very quickly. It was difficult to walk quickly with your upper body twisted as far to the side as ye could turn it so you could examine the back of your skirt. She was searching for the pin she'd borrowed—without permission—from Cullen's chest. It had obviously come undone, letting loose the material she'd gathered at her back, and she was hoping it was caught in the folds of her gown somewhere. Unfortunately, a thorough search through the fabric proved it wasn't still there.

Pausing, Evelinde bit her lip and glanced back toward the paddock. Most of the men had dispersed; only a few were still making their way from the area. Gnawing at her lip now, Evelinde glanced in the direction she thought her husband had gone and saw him hurrying up a set of stairs carved into the stone wall. No doubt he was heading up to see who was approaching, she thought and glanced back toward the paddock again.

Evelinde really didn't wish to go anywhere near the bull again, but she also didn't want to have to explain to her husband that she'd lost his pin. What if it held some sentimental value? It could have been his father's, or even his mother's. Even if it wasn't, it had looked valuable. She was sure there were both rubies and emeralds in the broach.

Sighing, Evelinde gave up her position in the middle of the path and headed back to the paddock. She moved slowly, eyes scanning the dirt for the pin as she went, but she didn't see it. By the time she reached the fence, every last man who had been gathered there was gone. It seemed the celebrations were over.

Evelinde paused where she had the first time she'd reached the fence and looked inside the paddock for the bull. Angus was nowhere to be seen, but that was what she'd thought the last time and so looked a little more closely, realizing that it wasn't a rectangle as she'd first assumed, but an L-shape, the back end turning sharply and running along behind the next paddock and out of her line of vision. No doubt that was where the beast had been, back in the area she couldn't see, Evelinde realized, and decided she'd best not try to check the paddock itself now.

Lips pursing, she tightened her fingers on the fence before her with frustration, then suddenly recalled the struggle she'd had with her skirt on climbing the wooden frame. Perhaps the pin had popped open and dropped off there, she thought, and began to search the ground outside the fence, running her slipper back and forth over the grass, hoping to reveal it. When that didn't work, she knelt and began to crawl over the space, running her bare hands over the grass, willing to risk being pierced by the sharp tip to find it. She really didn't want to have to explain she'd lost the pin.

When that turned up nothing, Evelinde sat back on her heels with a sigh and peered into the paddock. The pin might have opened when she climbed the fence, but hung briefly from the material, falling out at some point between this and the other side of the paddock.

Or it may have hung there until she and Cullen were walking back toward the keep, she thought with sudden hope. Standing, Evelinde moved back to the path and followed it past the bull's paddock, eyes scanning the ground as she went. When she reached the spot where she thought they'd cut across the grass between the two paddocks, she got back to her hands and knees to search the grass along the path they'd taken.

"Wife!"

Evelinde closed her eyes at that bark, and there was no other word for it. Cullen sounded angry… again. Not wishing to lose her spot, she turned on her hands and knees to glance up at him, her eyes widening as she saw he wasn't alone. There were two men and a woman with him, she noted with dismay… and every single one of them, Cullen included, were staring at her with a sort of fascinated horror she didn't understand. Surely it wasn't that shocking to find her looking for something on the ground?

"Wife, ye—yer—" Apparently at a loss, Cullen gestured toward his upper chest, then rushed forward.

Evelinde glanced down at the gesture, a blush of embarrassment heating her face as she realized her borrowed gown was gaping wide and—with her on all fours—she was giving them a lovely view all the way down to her knees. Gasping, she sat up abruptly and gasped again as Cullen caught her by the arm and yanked her to her feet.

Before she could reach back to gather the folds and make the gown more presentable, Cullen had already done so. He caught the excess material in a fist and used that hold to turn her toward him as he hissed, "What are ye doing? I told ye to go change."

"Aye, but I lost—" Evelinde paused abruptly when she realized she was about to tell him she'd lost his pin, but he didn't notice, he was already snapping at her again.

"When I tell ye to do something, ye do it, lass." The words were hard and uncompromising.

"I—"

"Obey was one of the vows ye gave," he reminded grimly.

Evelinde blinked at the words, then said sharply, "As I recall I did not vow
anything
, husband. I flopped about like a landed fish."

Cullen growled and opened his mouth, no doubt to give another order, but was interrupted by a woman's voice saying, "Oh my, that sounds an interesting tale, dear. I cannot wait to hear it."

Evelinde turned wide eyes to the woman, noting with distraction that the trio she had first noted with her husband had moved closer.

"You are English," she said with surprise, her gaze moving over the tall, curvy woman with interest.

"Born and raised," the woman agreed with a smile. "And here I feared I'd taken on a Scottish accent after all these years."

"You have a bit of one," Evelinde said. "But not so much I have to struggle to understand you as I do everyone else here."

The woman laughed, but Cullen and the other two men scowled as if she'd insulted them. Obviously, she could not do anything right today, not even speak, she decided unhappily. Her thoughts were distracted when Cullen suddenly urged her forward with the handful of skirt he held, his fist goosing her—unintentionally, she was sure.

"Wife, the Comyns. Comyns, me wife," Cullen announced as he directed them all up the path again.

Evelinde rolled her eyes at his idea of an introduction, but then smiled as graciously as she could manage and said, "Welcome."

Lady Comyn—at least Evelinde thought she must be Lady Comyn, though it was hard to say after that introduction, she thought irritably—chuckled and moved to slip her arm through Evelinde's to lead her toward the keep.

"Call me Ellie, dear. My name is Eleanor, but only people I do not like call me that."

"And I am Evelinde," she murmured, glancing impatiently back at her husband, who was still holding the back of her gown and trying to steer her by it. She attempted to brush his hand away and take over holding the gown with her own free hand, but he ignored her efforts and merely scowled. She scowled right back and pinched the back of his hand.

"We heard Cullen had found himself a bride and could not resist coming to meet you," Lady Comyn said, distracting her.

Giving up on her husband for the moment, Evelinde turned back at that announcement and offered a smile.

"And I am glad you did."

"So am I," Ellie said with amusement, as Cullen broke them apart by shifting Evelinde to the right by his hold on her gown.

It was only then Evelinde saw the puddle she'd been about to stomp through. Still, she cast a glare back at her husband and once again tried to free herself from his hold, this time resorting to digging her nails into the skin of his hand rather than pinching him.

A low chuckle then drew her attention to the fact that the Comyn men—one older and probably Ellie's husband, and a younger one of about Cullen's age who she thought might be their son—were grinning at these antics as they followed them up the path.

"Aye, we heard Cullen had found himself a bride, but no one mentioned he'd met his match," the younger Comyn man said, amusement sparkling in his eyes. " Twill be interesting to see how the Devil of Donnachaidh deals with a wife who doesna automatically obey as everyone else does."

Cullen released her skirt then in favor of turning a hard glance on the man, but he merely laughed and slapped his shoulder. "Come now, Cullen, cheer up, or I shall tell one and all that you are attached to yer wife by her skirt strings."

Evelinde's eyes widened at the man's baiting, but then glanced to Lady Comyn as she chuckled and caught her arm to urge her forward again. "Do not mind them, my dear. My son, Tralin, and your husband have been friends for ages."