My Fair Highlander (22 page)

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Authors: Mary Wine

BOOK: My Fair Highlander
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Maybe he could be both . . .
Jemma tried to hush her inner voice. It was a dangerous idea, one that promised her heartache if it did not blossom. But she failed because there was already too much tenderness between them. She could not shut the doors to her feelings; they felt as if they were blocked open.
“Why did ye insist on the bed?”
Gordon sounded sleepy, but his hand froze on her shoulder. “I did nae think to ask ye before. Ye had a reason, yea?”
Jemma buried her face against his chest, hoping the man would think her exhausted. She didn't want the tensions of the day to shatter the moment.
“Tell me, Jemma. I will nae have ye keeping things secret from me that are important to ye.”
“And I do not plan to be a wife who whines to you of every trifle.”
He drew in a stiff breath because it didn't take him long to deduce what her reason was now that passion wasn't distracting him. “Who questioned yer virtue?” His tone was hard now, and he sat up, taking her along with him to sit her next to him. He cupped her chin and raised it before giving her the chance to do it herself. His pride was wounded, and it shone in his eyes.
“That is it, isna it, lass? Who spoke against ye?”
She shook off his hold. “Don't treat me like a child, Gordon.”
“Then answer me like a woman who is nae trying to hide the answer.”
She shrugged. “It does not matter who spoke, what is important is how many listened.”
He frowned. “'Twas Anyon. No one else would dare or worry about yer place here so much.”
Jemma scoffed at him and tried to move off the bed, but she froze when she caught sight of the sheet. Bright red blood marred its surface, drawing a shiver from her in spite of her desire to see exactly this.
“I am going to put her out.”
“You will not, Gordon Dwyre.” Jemma didn't care if her tone was something no wife should use with her husband. The Church would chastise her for it, her brother would disapprove, but none of that seemed to matter. Her dealings with Gordon had always been poised on the border of uncivilized behavior, and it was a truth that she enjoyed it.
“There are rules beyond the confines of this chamber, Jemma, that you know must be observed. She was my mistress, if ye may even call a few tumbles by such a title. She is to be turned out.”
He stood up and stalked across the chamber to swipe something off the floor.
“Those rules are exactly why I am telling you that she shall not be turned out by you.” Jemma followed him, determined to gain her wish.
“Ye are nae making any sense, woman.”
“Exactly.” He snorted at her triumphant tone. “You do not understand because running the house is a woman's duty. I would not comprehend many of the things that you order your retainers to do because I am not a man and was not raised to understand the duties that are yours. So I tell you again, Gordon, leave Anyon be. I set her down and will do whatever else is needed.”
He drew in a stiff breath, his expression remaining inflexible. “Except that Anyon is nae causing trouble over her duties, she's questioning my devotion to the vows I took with ye.”
He shook her dressing robe out with a snap that betrayed how much his temper was still burning. He held it open for her, and she lifted one arm with confusion turning her mood dreary.
Was he going to send her back to her old chamber now that he'd had her?
She couldn't help but think it. Too many couples that wed for the same reasons they had slept apart.
Well, she would not whimper. She was a woman now, not some child wed too early because of her fortune and her groom's taste for a girl in his bed who would be simple to dominate because she was too young to know her own thoughts. She would also speak her mind even if it displeased her groom. Her heart ached, the tenderness that had been hers but a few moments ago now wilting.
“I am your wife, Gordon, and I shall do whatever is necessary to run this house. Your doubt insults me. Do you want a wife or a pampered princess who is useless besides her ability to take your seed?”
He cursed. Jemma held her chin steady while she knotted the tie to keep her dressing robe closed.
“'Tis something I understand, lass, the need to know yer word is respected.” He picked up his kilt and wrapped the fabric around his waist a few times before tossing the rest of the fabric up and over his shoulder. It lacked the normal pleats and wasn't as accommodating to his stride, but he seemed to care little about that. He yanked the door to the chamber open and grabbed a rope that hung next to the threshold. He yanked it several times before turning around and sending the door shut with a hard motion that slammed it.
“I'll grant ye that, lass, the need to nae be thought too weak to command those under yer authority.”
“Thank you.”
He laughed, and it was not a kind sound. Gordon covered the distance between them, and she was able to see his expression once again. It sent a shiver down her spine because this was not a man to cross, not in his current frame of mind. Something dangerous glittered in his eyes.
He lifted one finger and pointed it at her as the sound of booted feet began to pound on the stairs leading up to their chamber.
“But be very sure that I will be setting the matter clear as far as me men go.”
Whoever was on their way up the stairs didn't stop to knock on the chamber door. They pushed right inside, and Jemma found herself stepping back into the shadows the edges of the chamber offered because her confidence in being so scantily covered did not extend to anyone except Gordon. Two of Gordon's captains tugged on the corners of their bonnets and kept their gazes on their laird while they waited for him to tell them why they had been summoned.
Gordon pointed toward the bed. “There seems to be some discussion about my bride's purity. Ye will witness the fact that she came to me a virgin and that there was no blood on the sheets this morning as I did nae jump on her last night the moment the doors were sealed like some beardless boy that does nae know how to stroke his bride's passion. We were interrupted last night before I got to deflowering her and I am nae happy to hear there has been talk to the contrary.”
Several women entered the open door in time to hear their laird's words. One was the cook that pressed her lips into a hard line. The woman slept in the kitchen and had clearly come straight from her bed, for her long hair was hanging down her back in a single thick braid.
She joined the captains near the bed and lifted a candle lantern high to illuminate the sheets. Jemma stepped back farther into the shadows, tears prickling her eyes. It was ridiculous to cry over such an expected thing. Being English only meant she dare not overlook any detail. Brides suffered such exhibitions all over the world; it was very unwise to allow it to upset her so.
“Now begone and make sure it is known that I will nae have the matter questioned.”
“Aye, Laird.”
The captains offered Gordon a tug on their bonnets before quitting the room. The cook snapped her fingers at the other maids who had arrived behind her, and she herself pulled the soiled sheet from the bed while they brought forward a clean one.
“Leave the sheet on the table since it is raining.”
“Aye, Laird.” The cook did as instructed before snapping her fingers at the maids once more and shoving them toward the door. It closed behind them in a hard sound that drove a spike through the last of her heart.
She shouldn't expect anything different. It was the way things were and the world was an imperfect place. Mustering her strength, she walked toward the door, intent on playing her part, but she couldn't quite bring herself to stop and lower herself before leaving. It was too submissive, and Gordon would know it was false.
Well . . . the doors were shut so she would be herself while behind them.
For the moment all she truly craved was an end to her duties as bride.
Chapter Nine
“
W
here are ye thinking to go, Jemma?”
That dangerous note was still in Gordon's voice. Her fingertips had not yet even touched the door.
She turned to discover him moving toward her. “Clearly we are finished consummating our union. I wish to sleep.”
He stopped a single stride from her and aimed a hard look at her.
“Ye sleep here.”
“But—”
He didn't care for her hesitation and he acted upon that displeasure just as quickly as he had always done, scooping her up and carrying her to where he wanted her. He reached into the bed and yanked the tie open before reaching behind her to pull the dressing gown up and over her head with one powerful motion of his arms. She was dropped back onto her knees with nothing except her hair to cover her.
“Here, Jemma. Ye want me to respect yer authority over the house, then ye shall accept my will when it comes to how to manage me men.” He tore his plaid off and crawled into bed with her. His cock was hard once more, and she shivered because no matter how much her feelings ached, she desired him.
“Ye sleep here, in the place that I never brought Anyon or any other who was not my wife.”
He pulled her up against him, binding her to his larger body with solid arms.
“That will send the message to my men that there is no doubt who is mistress here.”
He pressed a hard kiss against her mouth, demanding compliance with one hand cradling the back of her head to hold her still for the ravishment. Sweetness flowed from the kiss, soothing the raw emotions that had sliced at her. His cock was hard against her, but Gordon finished their kiss and lay down behind her. He bound her to his length with strong arms, tucking her head beneath his chin and pulling the bed covers up to cover her. One of his feet tucked over hers, but he did nothing to try to relieve the swollen cock that was hard against her bottom.
He sighed, nuzzling against her head and inhaling the scent of her hair.
“Do not think me harsh, Jemma. Men are different from women.”
Confusion settled over her, but the trust that she had felt so strongly overwhelmed it. The corners of her mouth tugged up into a satisfied grin. His body was so warm against her, his arms so tender, and the night the perfect shield against the harsh reality that sunrise would bring.
“You never brought anyone here, to this bed? Not even your first wife?” Her voice was soft, and she heard him sigh behind her.
“I changed chambers after I gave Imogen her wish to join a convent. I could nae stomach sleeping in the bed she detested so much.”
“You wouldn't call Anyon your mistress?”
He snorted. “A mistress is a woman a man has affection for, Jemma. All I did with Anyon was take what she flaunted beneath me nose. I see that she was scheming now, but I did nae at the time.”
A hint of weariness reflected in his voice. As laird there were many times that women had tried to secure what they wanted from him by offering him tumbles.
“I shall have to make sure I flaunt myself before you often so to keep you from noticing any others.”
She heard him draw in a stiff breath. Jemma nibbled on her lower lip while she waited to see what his response might be. Many a bride had also been forced to face the fact that her husband would wander where he pleased, with whom he pleased, and she would be expected to remain silent upon the matter of his indiscretions.
“'Tis something I will look forward to, lass; indeed, I will mostly likely dream of it tonight.” He groaned. “Now go to sleep, Jemma, else I lose the restraint to keep out of ye while ye are yet so tender.”
He stroked her hip and she allowed her eyelids to shut. There was comfort and tenderness in his embrace, and she allowed it to carry her off into slumber.
 
“Mistress?”
It was Ula who woke her. Jemma rubbed her burning eyes and tried to focus her thoughts. Her mind was a foggy mess that defied her demands to clear.
“Ye have missed service, but the laird bid me allow ye to sleep. It is growing late now.”
Jemma opened her eyes and saw the sunlight shining in the open windows to make large bright rectangles that stretched across the floor. She sat up and gasped when the bed covers fell down to her waist, allowing her breasts to be seen.
“I'm so sorry for sleeping so late. I can't imagine why I did.”
Ula was more composed than Jemma. The housekeeper held up a chemise that she eased over Jemma's head and arms to cover her before she stepped out of the bed.
“It has been an eventful week for ye, Mistress. I imagine ye are in need of a few hours of rest now that things are more settled.”
Ula raised her voice so that the maids working in the chamber were certain to hear her.
“Ah yes, things are far more settled now, Ula.”
There was a splash of water and then the sounds of flowing water. Jemma turned to see one side of the huge bathing tub hoisted into the air by a pulley that she had not seen hanging from the ceiling last night. There was a thick hook holding one end of the tub, and one of the maids pulled on the rope to lift the tub. On the opposite side of the tub was a lower point in its rim. A gutter was fitted against it while a smaller opening in the wall was revealed at the floor level. One maid pulled on the rope raising the far end of the tub while the other held the gutter in place and all the water rushed out to flow down the side of the tower.
So clever.
“Ye may have bathe every day, Mistress, no matter what weather.”
Ula was making a point of addressing her as Mistress.
“The laird has gone on to help rebuild the home that was burned two nights ago. He'll return tonight.”
“Of course. It is good to hear that he is seeing to his people.”
So she would see to her duties as well. Jemma took one last look at the bed, smiling when she considered how much she longed for the shorter days of winter because it promised longer nights with Gordon.
She was a wanton. There was no doubt but she was happy. In fact it felt like a bubble of contentment encased her. There was nothing she found distasteful, not even the flapping of the soiled sheet in the wind from outside the chamber window.
She hurried off to the church, and the priest frowned at her for missing service, but he welcomed her into the sanctuary and began a quick service for her. Only the nuns and younger priests were in attendance, but as she was Mistress of the castle, they stopped their duties to stand and observe the service. Jemma took the Mass, sipping from the golden chalice and taking the small piece of bread he offered. She refused to quibble over the fact that such a service was illegal in England. She was married to a Scot, and women often had to be more practical than men when it came to adjusting their thinking. A princess such as Mary or Elizabeth Tudor might be allowed to place their foot firmly on the floor and refuse to bend to the whim of their royal father, but the rest of the country had to live in peace with the favored church.
The great hall was nearly empty, but the maids there lowered themselves when she passed them. The cook began snapping her fingers, and the little popping sounds echoed in the mostly empty hall. Maids brought forth a fine meal of cereal and fruit along with warmed cider that had been mulled with cinnamon. Jemma took a moment to inhale the scent of the costly spice before sipping at the drink. She would have to tell the cook not to use such expensive things on common days. But since the cider was served, she savored every drop and chewed on the small brown piece of cinnamon.
Another snap popped from the long worktables, and Jemma turned to see Anyon gaining the cook's attention once again. This morning Anyon wore her linen cap correctly. It was tied securely beneath her chin like the other maids' and her hair was tucked up into its gathered back. Although Anyon's chemise was tugged up to cover her breasts more properly, the cook was still riding the girl unmercifully. With another snap from the cook's fingers, Anyon carried a small copper pitcher toward the high table where Jemma was seated.
The girl's lips were white from being pressed so tightly together, but she lowered herself before carefully refilling the cider mug. Jemma felt her stomach sour, but she clamped down on her own pity. Anyon had spent too many days acting as a better to everyone, and now she would have to face those she had spit in the face of.
But the unease in Jemma's belly persisted, so she rose from the table and went to find the estate books. It was time to begin the duties of a wife.
 
Gordon wiped the sweat from his brow and smiled. The afternoon sun was bright with no sign of the rain that had blanketed the countryside yesterday.
“Whoa there, laddie, who's that dreaming the day away?”
It was Kerry who teased him. His captain tossed up another bundle of thatch before climbing up to help him secure it to the roof supports.
“Ye're jealous, Kerry, and I'll tell ye straight, ye have every right to be.”
“Och now, that's unkind. Just unkind in the worst way.”
Gordon bent over and felt his back give a twinge of discomfort for the number of hours he'd been working on the roof. They were nearing the top of the house now, and soon he'd have the right to ride home to the woman he'd been thinking about since he left. The sound of children drew his attention. He straightened back up to see the family's four youngest playing in the yard. They wore bright smiles while they watched their new home being built.
“It will be a blessing to have a few of those following ye around.” Kerry shot him a smirk. “Hopefully all girls, because if they're boys, the poor sods will look like ye, and that would make them ugly creatures for sure.”
“Kerry, I have a fine memory, and ye are going to marry someday.”
“I could never choose between all the lasses that adore me, Laird. 'Tis a fact that I can't bear to give up any of them in favor of the other.”
Gordon bent back over. “Ye just wait, Kerry, the Church is going to lock ye in the stocks yet and nae release ye 'til ye repent and wed.”
“Not if I keep slipping the priest the wine he likes so well.”
Several men snickered in response because their priest was a plump man in spite of his vows of poverty. His robes were fuller than most of their kilts, but the man was fair, taking what was offered and only taxing those who could afford it. There had been worse clergy on Barras land before.
A sharp whistle drew Gordon's attention back to the ground.
“Rider coming up fast, Laird!”
Every man stopped to watch the youth riding his horse like the son of Satan himself was chasing him. Dust rose up behind the horse in a dull-colored trail.
“That's young Travis.”
“Aye.” Gordon climbed down from the roof, his neck muscles tightening. Travis was only twelve and not yet old enough to ride out with the retainers. But the lad could sit a horse and stay in the saddle better than some of his men. If someone had sent the lad out, time was essential.
“Laird, yer bride is ailing!” Travis began yelling before he even stopped his horse. The animal walked in a circle, trying to cool off. The youth pulled hard on the reins to turn the animal so that he was facing his laird again and might be heard.
“The cook suspects poison.”
Jemma opened her eyes and stared at the blurry haze in front of her. Voices surrounded her, but she couldn't seem to force her brain to make sense of the sounds. It was almost as if she had suddenly been taken off to a land where no one spoke English. Everything moved too slowly, swirling around her in nightmarish motion. She wanted water, but her hand shook when she stretched it out, her strength failing her before her arm reached out far enough to gain any attention. Instead her body felt like it was falling through the air. Down, down, and still farther down. She waited for the pain that would be hers once she hit the bottom of the abyss but it never came, because she never stopped falling.

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