The Highlander Takes a Bride (23 page)

“I am carrying ye up and putting ye to bed. Ye should be resting, ye’re still healing.”

“I can walk,” she protested with a scowl.

“I ken it,” he assured her. “But I like the feel o’ ye in me arms.”

Saidh blinked at this claim, her struggles stopping as he started up the stairs. “Ye do?”

“O’ course I do, ye daft woman. Why do ye think I married ye?”

“So ye could tup me without me brothers killing ye?” she said dryly.

He chuckled at the suggestion and reminded her, “I am the one who told them I’d tupped ye.”

“Aye, ye did,” she said with a small smile. “More fool ye. I ne’er would ha’e told them or demanded marriage from ye. I’d ha’e just enjoyed ye while I could and then gone about me business.”

“I ken that too,” Greer said, not looking pleased. “I realized it the morning yer brothers arrived. Ye’d intended to take yer pleasure and then abandon me.” Peering down his nose at her, he shook his head and said conversationally, “Yer a cruel wench, wife. ’Tis no wonder someone is trying to kill ye.”

“Oy!” she bellowed in surprised offense and began to kick her feet and push at his chest again. This time though, he opened his arms, dropping her. Saidh gasped in surprise as she fell through the air, but before she could do more than that, she landed on something soft. She peered around with surprise to see that while she’d been distracted, they’d reached the bedchamber she’d originally stayed in and that they’d made love in before joining her brothers earlier. He’d dropped her on the bed, and managed to do it in such a way that she’d landed sitting up, saving her wound.

She turned to raise an eyebrow at her husband. “Why am I here?”

“To rest while yer brother and I talk to Fenella,” he answered, and then bent at the waist, pressing his hands on the bed on either side of her hips so that he could claim her lips in a sizzling kiss that had her slipping her arms around his neck and clinging to him. By the time he tore his mouth away to kiss his way across her cheek, she was breathless and terribly excited.

“I’ll return shortly to tell ye what we learn and finish this,” he murmured in a husky voice, nipping at her ear.

“Finish what?” Saidh asked weakly as he nibbled at her neck. Her brain appeared to be having some difficulty processing what he was saying at that moment.

“This.” His hand slid under her skirt and along her thigh until he could lightly brush his fingers against the already dampening skin between her legs.

“Oh,” Saidh moaned, reaching to catch his hand as he started to withdraw it. “Can we no’ finish this first?”

Chuckling, Greer tugged his hand free of her hold and gave her another kiss, this one quick and hard. He then removed her clinging arms and said, “Yer brother’s waiting in the hall. But I’ll be back.”

Saidh let her hands drop to her sides and watched him walk to the door. Once he’d slipped out and pulled the door closed behind him, she lay back with a little sigh, then grimaced and quickly rolled to her side as pain shot through her back. She’d forgotten her wound.

The sudden opening of the door again when it had just closed startled her, and Saidh sat up with surprise, but relaxed when Greer merely stuck his head in to tell her, “Geordie and Dougall will be outside the door. Shout do ye need them.”

He didn’t wait for a response, but then pulled the door closed once more.

Saidh stared at the door for a minute, then lay down on her side again and closed her eyes. It had been after the nooning when she and Alpin had snuck out to the gardens, and while she’d lost consciousness, she didn’t think she’d been out for long. Rory hadn’t been far enough in cleaning Alpin’s wound on his back for much time to have passed. Of course, she had dallied with Greer in here briefly, and then sat below, so by her guess, the afternoon was somewhere between half and three quarters done. Time enough for her to enjoy a wee nap before the sup. Well, time enough for a very short nap and, hopefully, some houghmagandie with her husband.

The thought made her smile as she allowed her eyes to close, but the smile faded when a rustling sound reached her ears. Blinking her eyes open, she listened briefly. Were she asked to describe it, she would have said it sounded as if a great huge snake were slithering through the rushes on the floor. The problem was, she couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Sitting up, she peered around the room, but there was nothing and no one to see.

Frowning, she pushed her hair behind her ears and listened carefully, but couldn’t really tell where it was coming from. It almost seemed to be coming from all around her . . . or beneath her, she thought suddenly and quickly slid her feet off the bed intending to get up.

Saidh stopped short, however, when a startled gasp sounded as her feet landed on something much softer than the hard floor with its scattering of rushes. Leaning quickly forward, she peered down to see that she had her feet on Fenella’s gown-covered rump.

Chapter 16

“I
’m sorry if I startled ye,” Fenella said quietly, glancing up at her. “Do ye think ye could lift yer feet so I can finish getting out from under the bed?”

Saidh briefly considered pushing down more firmly and holding her in place as she demanded an explanation, but this was a Fenella she had never met before. She appeared subdued and her expression was actually apologetic, something Saidh did not think she’d ever seen on the woman’s face. Relenting, she lifted her feet to sit cross-legged on the edge of the bed as she watched Fenella finish dragging herself out from under the bed.

Once out, her cousin got to her feet and began to brush at her gown and skirts, trying to remove the bits of debris stuck to her. Plucking irritably at the pieces that wouldn’t brush away, she muttered, “Yer maids ha’e been lax about their job. ’Tis filthy under that bed.”

“Hmm,” was all Saidh said, although she could have pointed out that she had only been lady here for a very short time and that Fenella herself had been lady before that.

“Ye should order them to clean out the rushes in the room, including those under the bed and lay fresh ones,” Fenella instructed, giving up on her gown with a grimace.

“I shall consider it,” Saidh murmured, and then raised an eyebrow. “Would ye care to explain what ye were doing under the bed?”

Fenella hesitated, her gaze moving reluctantly to Saidh and then sliding quickly to the door, almost with longing. Saidh supposed the girl would rather leave than give explanations, but much to her surprise, Fenella sighed, her shoulders slumping, and then asked politely, “Might I sit with ye?”

Saidh’s eyebrows both rose up almost into her hairline at this. She wasn’t used to Fenella requesting permission for anything. Actually, her cousin almost seemed a stranger in that moment; quiet, polite and with an air of resignation that didn’t really suit her.

“Sit,” Saidh said simply and shifted a bit away when Fenella perched on the edge of the bed beside her. She waited a moment, but when Fenella didn’t speak, asked, “What are ye doing in here?”

“I was in the hall when Greer picked ye up and started to carry ye upstairs. I ducked in here, thinking he’d take ye to the master chamber. I had the door cracked. I was going to slip back to me room as soon as he took ye in there, but instead he brought ye this way and—” She grimaced. “I jest panicked. First I ducked down on the other side o’ the bed, then I scooted under it just ere he brought ye in.”

Fenella shook her head and then peered down and laced her fingers together. She stared at them briefly before raising her head and saying, “I am sorry Alpin got hurt.” Her gaze flickered to Saidh’s forehead and she frowned and added, “And that ye did as well.”

Saidh nodded solemnly. “Thank ye.”

“I did no’ do it,” Fenella added firmly, meeting her gaze. “I heard ye all talking at the tables below. Me maid told me what happened, about the stones falling on ye and Alpin,” she explained. “That’s why I was in the hall. I was going to go below and see that ye were all right, but when I got to the top o’ the stairs I saw that Lady MacDonnell was there and I . . .” She shook her head. “I stopped to wait fer her to leave, and I listened to ye all talking.”

She lowered her gaze to her fiddling fingers. “I ken that ye all suspect ’twas me who hurt ye and Alpin.”

Saidh waited silently, and when she didn’t say anything, asked bluntly, “Did ye?”

“Nay,” she gasped, turning on her sharply. “I told ye I did no’ and ’tis the truth. I swear it.” Frowning, she turned her gaze back to her hands again, adding quietly, “I do no’ blame ye fer no’ believing me, though. As Alick pointed out, four dead husbands in four years is suspicious, and . . .” She met her gaze apologetically as she said, “I ken I was horrible the other day when I threw the applemoyse at ye. I was hurt is all, and mayhap angry. But I really would ne’er hurt ye, Saidh. Ye’re the closest thing I ha’e to a friend or e’en family.”

Saidh’s first reaction was surprise at the claim. That was followed by pity and it must have shown in her expression, because Fenella gave a bitter laugh and lowered her head again.

“Aye. Pitiful is it no’? I ha’e seen ye only three times in me life and we probably ha’e no spent more than a dozen days in each other’s company. Yet ye’ve shown me more kindness and support than me own ma or da and are the closest thing I ha’e to a friend now that Allen is dead.”

Saidh remained silent, unsure how to respond to that. In truth, it really was just pitiful to her. She had grown up secure in the love and support of her parents and brothers, and while her parents were now dead, she still had her brothers, and now Greer, Aunt Tilda and even Alpin.

Realizing she hadn’t included Fenella in that list, Saidh glanced to her guiltily and reached out to pat her hand with a sigh. “If ye say ye’re no’ behind me being shot with an arrow, and the stone merlon dropping on Alpin and me, I believe ye.”

Fenella turned her hand over under Saidh’s to grasp it almost desperately. Voice unhappy, she said, “It matters little. The others all still believe ’twas me.” She gave a short laugh and then said, “And I can no’ e’en blame them. Conran was right. How likely is it to lose four husbands in four years to accidents?”

Saidh merely frowned, unsure what to say or even what to believe just then.

“But I really did no’ kill them,” she said miserably and then frowned. “Well, I did Hammish, but the others . . .” She shook her head helplessly. “How did this happen? How did me life get so twisted and miserable? I had such high hopes as a child. I dreamed o’ the day I would marry Shamus and get out from under me parents—”

“Shamus?” Saidh interrupted with surprise.

“Aye,” Fenella sighed miserably. “We were betrothed as children, but our families had a falling out and Da refused to honor the betrothal.”

“I see,” Saidh murmured, turning that over in her mind.

“And then Hammish offered fer me hand,” Fenella went on, shuddering with disgust. “E’en I had heard the tales told o’ how he treated women and his unnatural tastes, so when Da at first refused, I thought mayhap he cared for me after all. But it turned out he was just negotiating. He’d refused the first offer, fully expecting Hammish would make a second, larger one.” Her mouth twisted bitterly. “And sure enough he did. He offered enough to make e’en me greedy sod o’ a father crow with delight. He could no hand me o’er quick enough.”

Saidh murmured in what she hoped was a sympathetic manner, then cleared her throat and asked, “Fenella, is it possible this Shamus may ha’e been upset at the betrothal no’ being honored?”

Fenella shrugged. “I do no’ ken. He may ha’e been, but he died shortly after so it matters little and—” She stopped abruptly and then turned to Saidh, clutching her hands desperately. “I did no’ kill him, I promise.”

Saidh sighed and patted her hand. “The thought did no’ cross me mind,” she assured her, and that was true, but the news that Shamus was dead was rather disappointing. She’d begun developing a theory in her head that this Shamus had been so distressed by the broken betrothal that he’d set out to kill Fenella’s husbands. Either in a determination to have her himself, or in the hopes she would be blamed and punished for it. If the man died shortly after the broken betrothal, though, then that couldn’t be the case.

“What am I going to do, Saidh?” Fenella asked sadly.

“About what?” Saidh asked quietly.

“About . . .” she raised her shoulders helplessly and finished, “everything.”

She had no answer for that. Fortunately, Fenella didn’t appear to expect one and continued miserably, “Me life is such a mess . . . and yer husband and brothers think I am some sort o’ madwoman bent on killing ye.”

“Well, we shall ha’e to convince him that ye’re not,” Saidh said pragmatically.

“How?” Fenella demanded.

Saidh considered the matter and then shrugged. “We shall ha’e to make sure ye and I are both under guard. That way, the next time there is an attempt there is no way anyone can accuse ye o’ it.”

“Ye mean ha’e two o’ yer brothers watch me all the time as me maid says they’ve been doing with ye since ye took the arrow in the chest?” she asked uncertainly.

Saidh nodded.

Fenella considered that and then said thoughtfully, “That might work . . . At least it will if another attempt is made on yer life.”

“Aye,” Saidh muttered, thinking it was probably somewhat bizarre to almost be hoping that another attempt was made on her life just to prove Fenella wasn’t guilty, but she couldn’t think of any other way to prove it and she did want it proved. She felt sorry for Fenella. Her cousin obviously hadn’t had an easy or happy life to date and she’d like to see her get the chance at that.

“But e’en if that happens, what then?” Fenella asked suddenly.

“What do ye mean?” Saidh asked.

“Well, even once the suspicion is raised, me life will still be a mess. I’ve no husband or home and little likelihood of ever gaining one,” she pointed out. “What man wants to marry a woman who has had four husbands drop dead within the first days or months after marrying her?”

None, Saidh thought, but said, “Why do we no’ worry about one problem at a time?”

“But what will I do? Where will I go?” Fenella insisted miserably, tears welling up in her eyes.

Alarmed at the arrival of tears, Saidh pulled her roughly to her chest and patted her back. “Ye ha’e a home here as long as ye like, Fenella.”

“Really?” She pulled back to peer at her with wide watery eyes.

“O’ course.”

“Ye would no’ mind ha’ing me here?”

Saidh shrugged. “Why would I mind? I grew up with seven brothers, I am used to having a lot o’ people around me. Besides, ye could help me run the servants and—”

“Oh!” Fenella cried and threw herself against Saidh’s chest, sobbing loudly.

Saidh stilled and stared down at the top of her head with a sort of horror. She’d been trying to cheer the girl and staunch her tears. Instead, the woman was crying fit to die.

“Thank ye,” Fenella moaned through her sobs. “Thank ye, Saidh. I promise ye’ll no’ regret it. I’ll ne’er again raise me voice to ye or give ye a moment’s trouble.”

Saidh suspected that was highly unlikely. She was also beginning to consider that she perhaps should have spoken to Greer ere she’d made her magnanimous offer.

Frowning, she patted Fenella’s back and glanced to the door, wondering why Greer hadn’t returned. He’d gone to talk to Fenella, but Fenella was with her. Surely he should have returned by now?

“Ye do no’ ken how relieved I am,” Fenella said, sniffling. The woman did not cry prettily. Her eyes were red, her face blotchy and her nose was running something fierce. “I ha’e lain awake worrying at night, wondering what will become o’ me and—” She paused suddenly and slumped unhappily. “I can no’ stay here.”

“Why?” Saidh asked with surprise.

“Allen’s mother,” Fenella said grimly. “We got along fine while Allen lived. She e’en seemed to like me, but ever since Allen died she has been saying the most horrid things about me.”

“And how ha’e ye responded to those horrid things?” Saidh asked.

Fenella frowned with confusion. “What do ye mean?”

“I mean, I ken she’s accused ye o’ ha’ing something to do with Allen’s death, but did ye tell her ye didn’t and ye loved him, or did ye jest burst into tears and run away?” Saidh asked and could read the answer in Fenella’s expression. Sighing, she said firmly, “Ye need to tell her that ye had naught to do with Allen’s death, that ye loved and were grateful to him, and that ye’ll hear no more o’ her accusations.”

“And what if she does no’ listen?” Fenella asked unhappily.

“Then I will speak with her,” Saidh said simply, and then added, “But even if she does no’ change, she is old, Fenella, and her health has been poorly of late.”

She snorted at that. “Her health has been poorly since I married Allen. Goodness, the morning Allen died she was lying in because she felt poorly. Yet she is still here.” She grimaced. “I do no’ think she is poorly so much as wants attention and sympathy.” She blew out an exasperated breath. “E’en does she stop with accusations I do no’ think I could forgive and live with her.”

Saidh briefly considered suggesting that Aulay might let her live at Buchanan with him and the boys, but then thought better of it. She suspected her brothers would not be pleased if Fenella asked and they learned it was at her suggestion.

“Bowie is handsome, do ye no’ think?” Fenella said thoughtfully.

Saidh blinked at the abrupt change in topic and asked with bewilderment, “Greer’s first?”

“Aye. He has that fine pale hair and strong features. He is really verra handsome.”

“I suppose,” Saidh agreed slowly, not understanding where the conversation was going or how it had even got here.

“He was Allen’s best friend,” Fenella announced.

Saidh stilled and peered at her with more interest. “Was he?”

Fenella nodded. “They were always together, swimming in the loch, going out to check on the villagers, taking off on hunts that lasted for days, and I often found them together in his room at night, just chatting or playing chess,” she said, her expression considering as she added, “And he has always been sweet and kind to me too.”

“Hmm,” Saidh said absently, her mind pondering the possibility that Bowie and Allen may have been more than friends. A man hunting and visiting villagers with his first was not unusual, but the part about Bowie being in Allen’s room at night was a bit much. Aunt Tilda had said he preferred the company of men, after all.

“Do ye think if I married Bowie, Greer would set us up in a cottage in the village? That way I could stay close to ye but no’ ha’e to live with Tilda.”

“Er . . .” Saidh stared at her with dismay. Good Lord! Fenella was like a desperate drowning victim, floating down a river, snatching at every passing branch she saw. First she’d considered Greer, now Bowie. Were Aulay and the boys not Fenella’s first cousins, she’d probably be plotting to marry one of them.

“What do you think?” Fenella asked.

Saidh thought that if Bowie and Allen had been the type of “friends” she suspected, then Fenella was barking up the wrong tree, but she couldn’t say that. Instead, she suggested firmly, “I think we should worry about that later. After we’ve convinced the men ye’re innocent o’ the attacks on me. ’Tis the most important thing at the moment.”