Devil of the Highlands (8 page)

She wanted to ask him to stop. She wanted to beg him not to stop, and she wanted him to kiss her, but he touched her with nothing but his hands, squeezing, kneading, plucking then rubbing by turn, until Evelinde thought she couldn't bear it another moment. Just when she opened her mouth to protest, to ask him to at least kiss her as he touched her, his hands slid away, and he turned to scoop up more salve.

Evelinde bit her lip to keep from speaking and clenched her fingers to keep from reaching for him as he warmed the salve. When he turned back, he ignored her upper body altogether and instead turned his attention to her lower legs. He massaged and caressed her feet, her ankles, her calves, her knees…

Evelinde watched him turn away to collect more salve, aware her breathing had become uneven and labored.

It was a combination of what he was doing and anticipation of what was yet to come, then he turned back, and his hands glided over her legs just above the knees. Evelinde was stiff as a board, her entire body waiting.

When his hands moved higher and crested over her upper thighs toward the juncture between her legs, she gasped and caught her hands in the linens she lay on.

She did not know if it was the salve, or his massage that was doing it, but her aches and pains were completely gone; the only sensation she was experiencing was pleasurable anticipation.

"Relax," he growled again, and Evelinde sighed as his hands moved back down her legs: rubbing, massaging, and kneading the kinks out of her muscles. This time, when his hands began to move higher along her thighs, she didn't stiffen up but squirmed slightly, her legs easing open under his touch.

What he was doing was making her eyes droop closed so she was peering at him through bare slits. She watched his face, noting the concentration and care on his expression and once again wished he'd kiss her.

Evelinde liked it when he kissed her. She liked to taste him when his tongue thrust into her mouth, she liked the way it rasped across her own. These thoughts frittered away like cobwebs, and she gasped and found herself clutching at the linens again as his hands moved over her upper thighs, his fingers brushing lightly across the flesh at the apex.

Evelinde was suddenly aware that as he'd massaged her he'd spread her legs wider, leaving her open to him.

A flash of embarrassment claimed her, but not enough, she thought, to make her close them and hamper his touch. And then his fingers brushed over her core again, and her legs snapped closed, stopping the caress and trapping his hand at the same.

It was an instinctual reaction. Evelinde couldn't have stopped it had she tried. Biting her lip, she opened her eyes and found him looking back at her. They stared at each other for a moment, neither of them moving, then, still meeting her gaze, he used both hands to ease her legs open again and shifted to kneel between them so they couldn't close. As he did, his plaid slipped until she was perilously close to seeing the hardness that was presently raising the cloth.

Evelinde watched him silently, aware her chest was rising and falling in rapid shallow breaths, as his fingers brushed over her skin again. Her legs tried to snap closed but were prevented by his presence, so instead she closed her eyes and clenched her fists and moaned, her hips instinctively trying to shift and arch as his fingers danced over her flesh.

If she'd thought he'd built a fire in her by the riverside at d'Aumesbery, it was nothing compared to what he was doing now. Evelinde actually began to ache with a need she didn't understand and had barely tasted at the river. Her hips began to move of their own volition, the urge so strong his hold could not completely stop it.

And then he suddenly withdrew those magic fingers.

Evelinde's felt the absence keenly, and her eyes shot open at once. She met his gaze and saw the smile curve his lips before he suddenly leaned forward to dip his head between her legs, replacing his hand with his mouth.

She cried out with shock and started to sit up to grab for his head and try to draw him away, but then his tongue rasped over her heated, sensitive flesh, and she froze, even her breathing stopping. A second rasp sent the breath she'd been holding out on a whoosh, and Evelinde dropped back on the bed, her body taking over from her shocked mind.

Her knees rose, her heels dug into the bed, and her hips began to undulate as a high, ululating moan began to stream from her mouth. It soon turned into a somewhat louder, uh uh uh… and then an Oh God, oh God, oh God.

Evelinde had begun to twist her head desperately back and forth on the bed when she felt something enter her, his finger, she thought, and the excitement that had built in her suddenly exploded, rushing over her in a wave that left her incapable of making any sensible sound at all. Lost in the sensation claiming her, she never noticed him rising up, tearing his plaid away to drop it on the floor, and shifting his position between her legs.

Evelinde was vaguely aware of a gentle prodding, then he suddenly plunged into her, filling her until she thought she'd break apart around him. He froze. She opened confused eyes to see his were now closed, an expression that appeared almost to be pain on his face. After a moment his eyes opened, and he watched her face silently as he eased halfway out.

Evelinde felt her body clench around him, protesting his leave-taking, then he eased back in again, and she closed her eyes once more, giving herself over to the sensations bursting back to life inside her.

She felt him catch her by the bottom and lift her hips, and groaned as he pushed back into her again, his body rubbing against her sensitive core. Her moan seemed to act like a release for Cullen. The speed picked up then, his hips moving faster, his body pounding into her over and over again, enflaming their passions until they both cried out with release.

Evelinde opened her eyes, smiled at the spot where her husband had slept, and stretched happily. She decided that she quite liked marriage. It was the most exciting and invigorating adventure she'd ever known. At least it was with Cullen. She was so pleased with herself, her husband, and her marriage, that Evelinde thought were Edda there right then, she might be tempted to throw her arms around the woman and give her a great big kiss on the cheek in thanks.

Well, perhaps that was going a bit far, but a letter to express her gratitude might be in order. A glowingly happy letter that would probably make the woman pull her hair out and throw a temper tantrum.

The last thought made Evelinde frown, and she decided no, she had better not. If Edda realized how happy she was, the woman really would be in a fury, and she'd take it out on the people at d'Aumesbery. Evelinde wrinkled her nose at the thought. She wouldn't see anyone pay for her happiness. She'd just have to forgo sharing her joy with her stepmother.

Ah, well
… Shrugging philosophically, Evelinde rolled happily out of bed, then paused and moved her leg about as she realized it was hardly paining her now. She didn't know if it was the salve, or her husband's massage, or even just not being in the saddle, but it felt much better.

It was a wonderful day, Evelinde decided, and turned to move toward her chest, only to pause as she recalled she didn't have one. She had arrived with just the dress on her back. And she didn't even have that, Evelinde realized with dismay, because Biddy had taken it and her chemise below for cleaning.

Her smile slowly slipping away, Evelinde dropped onto the side of the bed. She didn't have a thing to wear she realized and sat there for several moments, at a loss as to what to do. It was not as if she had many options.

She could hardly walk around Donnachaidh naked. She wasn't even terribly comfortable just sitting there on the side of the bed naked, Evelinde acknowledged, and reached for the top linen, drawing it around herself.

Then she just sat there feeling rather numb and unhappy… and trapped.

Grimacing, Evelinde stood and began to pace fitfully around the room, her gaze sliding with disinterest over the few items scattered about the large chamber. Other than the bed and the two small tables, there wasn't really very much to distract her, just three chests.

Her gaze landed on the largest one, and Evelinde contemplated it silently. It really wouldn't be well done of her to go snooping in her husband's chests, she knew, but there might be something in there she might wear; one of her husband's shirts, say. 'Twould be better than standing around wrapped in a linen.

Moving to the largest chest, she knelt to open it, eyes widening as she peered over the contents. It was filled with dresses. If this was her husband's chest, he had some odd customs, indeed, Evelinde thought, and smiled faintly as she recalled trying to explain that Cullen had ripped her gown while trying to get it off himself and Mildrede asking if he'd been wearing it. Her maid would be amused at the sight of all these gowns, she thought, and felt a pang for the woman who had been her lady's maid most of her life. She was going to miss Mildrede terribly.

Sighing, Evelinde reached for a gown lying on top. She lifted it out and stood to hold it up for inspection. It was a lovely dark blue gown with a fitted bodice and pale blue panels in the pleats of the skirt that would only show when walking.

Heart lifting at her discovery, Evelinde carried the dress to the bed and laid it out, then returned to the chest in search of a chemise.

She found one quickly and slipped it over her head while standing beside the chest, wrinkling her nose at the stale smell to the garment as it slid over her face. 'Twas obvious the shift had been packed away for some time.

The clothes probably belonged to Cullen's first wife and had simply never been removed after her death.

The thought, made her pause as Evelinde fretted that he might resent her donning his dead wife's clothes.

She almost took the chemise off, but the prospect of being trapped, naked, in the bedroom was not an attractive one and made anger rise within her. If the man had shown the good sense to ensure she had alternate clothing, she would not have to wear these, Evelinde told herself, shoulders straightening.

Satisfied that she should wear it, Evelinde glanced down at the chemise she wore. It was rather large on her.

Cullen's first wife had obviously been much taller, not to mention more buxom, she thought, noting the roomy bodice and gaping neckline. 'Twas obvious she would have to take in the gowns if she planned to wear them, but for now it would have to do. She would start working on the gowns by the fire that night. However, at the moment she wished to see her new home.

Moving to the bed, Evelinde donned the gown, biting her lip when she found the bodice of the dress gaped as much as the chemise. It also pooled around her feet. She tried gathering the material of the gown at her back to see if that improved matters. Finding it did, Evelinde then glanced around for some way to pin it there, but she didn't see anything useful. Finally, she knelt back at the chest and dug through the contents. When that didn't turn up anything, she moved on to the two smaller chests. The first held her husband's clothes; plaids and white shirts. The last chest, however, held an odd assortment of items, some that made absolutely no sense.

Evelinde lifted out an arrow with alternating white and dark feathers in the fletch, grimacing when she noted that they were tinged with dried blood. Most of it had flaked off over time and lay in a powdery residue on the bottom of the chest. Even more of it fell away as she shifted it aside to peer through the other items. Evelinde was most relieved when she found a large broach among the rest of the items. It was similar to the one her husband used to fasten his plaid over his shoulder.

She let the chest lid drop closed, set the pin on it, then quickly regathered the material of the gown at her back and—with a bit of effort—managed to fasten the pin through it.

Satisfied, Evelinde glanced around, her thoughts on a brush to fix her hair, but of course, she didn't have one of those either. She knelt to Cullen's chest again and dug through the small knives and other contents in search of a brush, but could not find one.

Evelinde sat back on her haunches with exasperation, then closed the chest again. Truly, she was glad to be away from Edda, but—

But nothing
, she told herself. Everything would be fine. She would take in his first wife's gowns, and find a brush, for surely he had one somewhere. The man had long hair and did not run around with it all knotted up, so he must have one.
Everything would turn out
, Evelinde assured herself. These were just little hiccups on the path to happiness, and truly she had little to complain about. These small problems were better than a cruel, coldhearted husband who beat her and was uncaring of her pleasure in their bed.

Buoyed up by these thoughts, Evelinde stood and ran her hands through her hair. Then, hoping it looked passable, she made her way to the door. It was time to explore.

When Evelinde stepped out of the chamber, it was to find herself in a very dim hall. This explained why her husband had had no difficulty making his way to his room in the dark when they arrived the night before. With no windows to allow sunlight in, it was nearly as dark now. He was obviously used to traversing the hall in poor light. Making a mental note to suggest lit torches be placed in the hall during the day, Evelinde made her way carefully to the top of the stairs.

Much to her relief, the light here was better thanks to arrow slits at intervals in the wall rising above the great hall. Evelinde had grabbed up the voluminous skirts of her gown to keep from tripping over them and started down the stairs when the keep doors opened and Fergus entered. The man didn't notice her on the stairs, but strode quickly across the great hall. His long legs ate up the distance as he approached the door she had guessed led to the kitchens when Cullen had carried her through last night. Once he passed through the door, the great hall was once again empty.

Evelinde started down the stairs then, finding it quite odd that the big room was abandoned. At d'Aumesbery the great hall had always seemed to have someone in it. When the people and servants were not crowded around the tables for a meal, there would be a servant cleaning, a group of knights enjoying an ale before returning to guard the wall, Edda seated by the fire… The list of possibilities was endless.

Stepping off the stairs, Evelinde hesitated, uncertain what to do. As lady here… She bit her lip, acknowledging she had no idea what her responsibilities would be. She'd known what to do at home but had no idea how things went at Donnachaidh.

Evelinde glanced toward the door she thought must lead to the kitchens, took a step toward it, and paused again. At home, one of her duties had been to confer with the cook about meals and what supplies were needed and such, but presumably, Donnachaidh had run along well enough ere she'd arrived. She had no idea who did such tasks and did not wish to step on anyone's toes.

Clucking her tongue impatiently, Evelinde shifted from one foot to the other, wishing she'd asked Biddy a thing or two while the woman had been helping her with her bath. She would next time, Evelinde promised herself, and she would also ask her husband what he expected of her when she had the chance. For the moment, she would just explore and get a feel for her new home.

Feeling better now that she had a plan, Evelinde caught up her skirt and crossed the great hall to the door Fergus had disappeared through. As expected, she found herself in the kitchens when she stepped inside. What she hadn't expected was to find it completely occupied by females. The kitchen at d'Aumesbery had both male and female workers. Aside from the rotund little male cook who ran the kitchens, there were several younger, strong male servants to do the heavy work, such as preparing boars for the spit and so on. However there wasn't a single male in evidence in Donnachaidh's kitchens. Even Fergus was gone. Obviously, there was another door leading out of the kitchens because he hadn't come back the way he'd entered.

Evelinde's gaze slid around the room, running over the women of varying ages until it landed on Biddy.

Much to her surprise it appeared the woman who had acted as her lady's maid was really in charge of the kitchens. At least, she was the one waving a large knife and barking orders at the other women bustling about as she paused in carving up a chicken.

A sudden splash of sunlight drew her attention to the door Fergus must have used to exit, and Evelinde watched curiously as a man, thin and somewhat gnarled by time, entered. He glanced toward Biddy, then almost seemed to tiptoe along that wall of the kitchen until he reached what appeared to be a tray of cooling pastries.

"Get away from those pasties, Scatchy, or ye'll be losing a finger," Biddy snapped without glancing up.

"Fergus has already tried that, and I've no patience for ye men this morning."

Old and grizzled, Scatchy stared mournfully at the tray he stood beside and turned a scowl on Biddy. "Yer a cruel woman, me lady, making them and no letting us have any."

Evelinde gave a start at the title. Me lady? Her gaze swung back to Biddy, her eyes widening as she peered at her dress. All she'd noticed in her room was the apron, Evelinde hadn't taken heed of the gown beneath, which was far too rich to be a servant's. Who the devil was she and what was she doing acting as lady's maid and working in the kitchens? Evelinde wondered. Her husband had not mentioned any female family. But then he hadn't mentioned male family either, though she knew he had a cousin named Tavis, at least she thought Tavis was the cousin. One of the few comments Fergus had made to Cullen on the journey to Donnachaidh was that mayhap they shouldn't have left his cousin behind with the others because the man was likely to get waylaid by the first likely female and forget to return. Cullen had grunted and said that the other men would keep Tavis in line."Ye can have a pasty at the nooning along with everyone else," Biddy said unsympathetically. "Now be off with ye and go back to yer stables ere I mistake ye for one of me chickens."

She added an exclamation mark to the comment by slamming her knife down and slicing cleanly through a leg on the dead and plucked bird.

Shaking his head, the man made his way to the door, slowing to offer Evelinde a wide, toothless smile as he passed.

"Go on!" Biddy yelled, and glanced up to cast a glare at the man, which was replaced by surprise as she spotted Evelinde by the door.

"Lass!" Setting down her knife, the woman wiped her hands on the apron around her waist as she rushed to her side. "Yer up. Cullen thought ye'd sleep most of the afternoon away when he came back below."

Evelinde tried not to blush. "Nay. I slept through most of the journey here."

"Oh. Well, would ye like something to break yer fast?"

"If 'twould be no trouble," Evelinde said.

"No trouble at all," Biddy assured her. "Just take yerself on out and sit at the table, and I'll send a maid out with some mead and a pasty. Or would ye prefer some cheese and bread?"

"A pasty sounds lovely, but there's no need to send it out. I shall just eat it here. I have some questions to ask if it would not trouble you," she explained.

"Of course ye have questions. Come on over here then." Biddy led her back to where she'd been working when Evelinde had entered, pausing beside a bit of clean counter not far away, then glanced around, her gaze stopping on a young blond maid chopping vegetables. "Mary! Bring that stool over here fer the lass."