The Laird's Forbidden Lady, page 12
The constant arousal that he’d been dealing with since she’d kissed him of her own free will and a night spent curled around the softness of her curves, her scent filling his nostrils, hardened to rock.
He wanted to reach out and pull her into his arms, kiss those lovely lips and plunge into her heat. Know her, the way a man wants to really know a woman. And if he was honest, it seemed it might be only a matter of time before he gave in to the torment of lust.
Well—apparently he’d made the decision. He could only imagine what she was going to say.
‘Don’t fall in,’ he said, reaching her side.
She gave him a mock glare. ‘I’m not that clumsy.’
She wasn’t clumsy at all. She was graceful, even with the small hesitation in her step that appeared when she was tired. Small and delicate like a wee faery. And all he could think about was getting her in his bed. And there was only one way to accomplish it. Marriage.
It seemed that the seed planted by McIver had taken root.
He watched her balance on a rock, crouch and scoop the water in her cupped palms, sipping delicately as water trickled through her fingers. A sylph who had used her magic to capture him. She shook her hands, wiped them on her skirts before jumping clear.
This was the way he’d remembered her as a girl. A free spirit wandering the hills. Sneaking out of the keep to meet him day after day until he’d been thoroughly enchanted. But she wasn’t a sprite. She was the daughter of a powerful man. His enemy. And if the man had hated his family before, this was going to make things worse.
She looked over. Caught his gaze and smiled. ‘It tastes lovely.’
Hellfire and brimstone, he’d been staring like some besotted calfling. ‘If you are done, we’ll get along or McKinly will think we are no coming at all.’
He hadn’t meant to growl, but it was better than grinning at her like an idiot.
The smile left her lips. She climbed up the shallow bank. He turned and walked down the hill, leaving her to make her way as best as she could. It was either that or take her in his arms and kiss her senseless.
Tonight. He’d reveal her fate tonight, after dinner.
Marriage to a Sassenach. And an Albright to boot. What the devil would his mother say? And the clan? Damn them all, if they didn’t like it, they would have to put up with it. He was their Laird. They would abide by his decision.
Marie Flora and her father were waiting at the croft door, where the heather had been beaten back by soft springy grass. A small vegetable patch behind the cottage was bare of all but a few turnips.
‘McKinly,’ he said, holding out his hand as he neared the man’s threshold. For once, Selina hung back. Afraid of her reception, no doubt.
‘Laird,’ McKinly said. His hair was copper-coloured. Darker than his daughter’s and shot through with silver. The man was stooped and weathered and could have been anywhere from forty to sixty years old, but Ian knew him to be in his late thirties. Crofting in the Highlands aged a man early.
‘Are you well?’ he asked.
‘Aye. Come in. Come in. Take a dram with me. The lass says you’re in need of sustenance.’ His gaze went to Selina, curiosity shining in his blue eyes.
‘Aye, if you can spare it. My wife here is bone weary.’
Wife. The moment he saw McKinly’s measuring stare he realised there was no honourable alternative. Having said it, he had a sense of accomplishment. She’d got herself into this mess trying to help him for friendship’s sake, or out of some misguided sense of obligation, and a Gilvry always paid his debts. They didn’t ruin innocent females, either.
He’d bring the clan round to his way of thinking. Indeed, it was none of their business whom he took to wife. They’d accepted his decisions up to now and they would damned well accept this one. His mother and brothers would be a different matter and so would her father. It was customary to ask a father for his daughter’s hand, but it wasn’t as if Albright could refuse. Not under the circumstances.
Marriage to Selina wouldn’t be such a bad thing. He definitely wanted her in his bed more than any other woman he’d ever met. He’d been aching from the denial all night. And he had no doubt that she wanted him, too. It was a starting place and surely not such a bad one.
Aware of Selina’s sharp stare and her prodding finger in his ribs, he glanced down into her upturned face. ‘Isn’t that right, my sweet?’ The thought she might deny his words burned a path through his gut.
‘So you are married, then?’ McKinly said.
Ian looked at Selina, warning her with his gaze.
‘Yes,’ she said finally. ‘We are married.’
And that was that. Guilt churned in his gut that he’d not discussed this with her, but there would be time enough later.
She smiled at their host. ‘I am sorry to be such an imposition, Mr McKinly. We appreciate that you were not expecting us and would not wish to put you to any trouble.’
Politeness itself and no brittle society manners, no breathy little-girl voice, just a calm friendly manner with a touch of a lilt to her voice. He let go a sigh of relief.
McKinly grinned. ‘Welcome, lady.’
His last-minute instinct had been right. As his wife, she lost her status as Sassenach. Stranger. As his wife, any discourtesy to her was discourtesy to him.
A boy of about six wiggled his head between his father’s legs. ‘Is that the Laird, Da?’ He turned his face upwards to look at Ian. ‘Is it?’ The child spoke the Gaelic.
‘Oh,’ Selina said. ‘And who are you?’
‘My youngest son, Tommy,’ his father said, shaking his head at the impish face. ‘Come away, lad. Let me pass. How is the Laird to get through the door with your head blocking my way?’
The head disappeared.
McKinly stepped aside and gestured for them to enter.
Ian bowed to Selina and waved her forwards.
‘Thank you, Mr McKinly,’ she said as she passed the man and stepped inside. ‘I am honoured by your hospitality.’
He felt as proud as a barnyard cock as he followed her in. A peat fire smoked in a low stone hearth with a stew pot hung over it. The dwelling was poor, but it was clean. The small boy retreated to settle beside the fire and pulled a whittling knife from his pocket and a small piece of wood.
Ian watched the way Selina looked around the croft, her face carefully blank, but he could imagine what she was thinking.
A pang of guilt twisted in his chest. This was not the kind of dwelling for a woman used to the luxuries of life, a woman brought up to live in the society of London. Married to him, her lot would be little better.
He would make it better.
‘I am glad to see you well, McKinly,’ he said in tones a little too hearty, but apparently McKinly noticed nothing wrong.
‘You were lucky to catch me at home,’ McKinly said as he poured drams into clay drinking cups. ‘I was off to make hay in the next valley this afternoon.’ He offered one to Selina. She smiled and shook her head. McKinly’s eyebrow shot up, but he made no demur.
McKinly did not deserve to have his hospitality thrown back in his face. Ian’s voice was harsh when he spoke. ‘Take a dram with us, lady wife.’
Eyes wide, Selina looked ready to argue, then pressed her lips together as McKinly handed her the rejected cup and poured another for himself.
Selina shot Ian a look while the man’s back was turned. No doubt he’d hear some words from her, but he was glad she decided to wait to get him alone before speaking her piece. She was a smart woman, no doubt about it.
‘I’d no heard you were getting married, Laird?’ McKinly said, his face full of curiosity. He shook his head. ‘Though there’s no reason why I should, I’ve seen no one for weeks. My congratulations to you.’ He smiled albeit a little grimly. ‘And to you, lady. Please be seated.’
Selina’s smile as she took the wooden chair he offered was stiff. ‘You are very kind, Mr McKinly.’
Marie Flora stood beside her, staring at her adoringly. Ian knew the feeling. Even here in these dreadful surroundings, and after a night spent in the worst of circumstances, she was lovely.
‘To you and your bride,’ McKinly toasted.
Ian tossed off his dram. Selina wet her lips and her eyes watered. At least she didn’t cough and choke.
While McKinly turned to refill his and Ian’s cups, Ian took hers and swallowed down the contents. She gave him a smile of gratitude and refused the refill offered by McKinly.
The man gestured for him to sit on the trestle at the table, his eyes sharp and bright. ‘What brings our Laird wandering the hills on foot?’
‘Gaugers,’ Ian replied, seeing no reason to lie. All Highlanders despised the King’s Revenue men.
McKinly frowned. ‘You’re a fool to be running afoul of them and you just married.’
‘Aye.’ Ian grinned. ‘Needs must.’
‘You’ll be wanting a room for a night or two, perhaps?’ McKinly said.
‘At least one night, if you can spare it. A corner by the fire or in the byre.’
McKinly looked shocked. ‘Certainly not.’
Selina looked doubtful. ‘We should really be moving on.’
Ian shook his head. ‘Not until we know how things stand at Dunross.’
She looked ready to argue, then shrugged. ‘Then thank you, Mr McKinly.
‘Not at all,’ the Scotsman said. He glanced at his daughter. ‘Marie Flora, put fresh linens on the bed.
The child beamed. ‘Yes, Da.’
Selina smiled at the child. ‘Show me where it is and I will help you.’
The lass was doing her best not to shame him. Somehow she knew this was important. His heart seemed to grow too large for his chest, as if he really was a proud bridegroom. Well, he was, really, wasn’t he?
He gave her a grin of approval. She raised a brow in reply and rose to follow the child.
‘I’ll see you at supper,’ McKinly said, rising to his feet. ‘My older lad has already left for the fields. I was waiting for the girl to return with the eggs before joining him.’
‘About that older boy of yours—I’ve an errand for him.’
‘Oh, aye.’
‘I need him to take a message to Niall.’
McKinly looked grim, but nodded his agreement.
Ian had a pretty good idea of the source of his worry. ‘I’ll take up his scythe while he’s gone. It will do me good to get some exercise.’
McKinly’s face split in a grin, clearly relieved. ‘Well, now, there’s always plenty to do around here.’
‘Can I come, Da?’ the boy sitting in the corner asked.
‘No, Thomas,’ his father replied. ‘You have your own work to do. And I need you here to take care of the womenfolk.’
The boy’s scrawny chest puffed up and then he returned to his work with the knife. Ian moved closer to see what he was working on, but the lad hunched over it. ‘It’s not finished.’
‘Leave him, Laird. The lad is a mite odd about his carvings. Doesn’t let anyone see them until they are done.’ He raised his voice. ‘Marie Flora?’ The girl popped her head out of the adjoining room. ‘We’ll see you at suppertime. Be sure you have a good meal waiting.’
‘Yes, Da.’
Selina appeared beside the child. Ian leaned in and kissed her lips and almost chuckled at her gasp of surprise. ‘We’ll talk later,’ he murmured against her mouth. When he pulled away he saw a blush creep up her snowy cheeks.
Because he’d kissed her in public. He wanted to do it again.
‘Yes,’ she said, with a tight little smile. ‘We will talk later.’ That sounded like a threat.
She ducked back into the chamber.
Ian shrugged and followed McKinly outside. He would just have to find a way to make her see he was right.
What a wretch, Selina thought, staring at the four-poster bed crowding the small sleeping chamber off the kitchen. Beside the bed there was a chest in one corner and a faded and patched runner on the floor.
Lies had tripped off Ian’s tongue as if he was the devil himself. She should have denied it all. But she couldn’t. Not without shaming him in front of his people.
‘Whose room is this?’ she asked Marie Flora as the girl expertly twitched the blankets off the bed and piled them on the rug.
‘It used to be Ma and Pa’s room,’ the girl said. ‘Now I sleep here and he sleeps in the loft with the boys.’
‘Oh, dear. We don’t want to put you out of your bed.’
‘‘Tis a privilege and an honour to serve the Laird.’ The girl smiled shyly at Selina. ‘And his new wife.’
Guilt twisted in her stomach. These people would be so angry if they knew who she was. Selina took the end of the sheet at the foot of the bed and Marie Flora took the end nearest the head and they pulled it free. The mattress had seen better days, but it was clearly the best they had and Selina was certainly not going to complain.
The child pulled out linen sheets from the chest, thin and patched here and there, but spotlessly clean. Together they made up the bed. When they were done, Marie Flora patted the blanket with a smile. ‘‘Tis a comfortable bed. Not many has one like it. Father built it when he was first married. Ma died when Thomas was born.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Selina said.
The girl shrugged. ‘We buried her up on the top of the hill. She liked to go up there and look at the mountains.’
There was a little sorrow in the girl’s voice, but mostly acceptance.
‘How many children are you altogether?’
‘Four. My older brother is away south to the mines, he sends money when he can.’ Marie Flora headed back into the main room and Selina followed her.
‘What else can I do to help?’ Selina asked.
‘Can you peel tatties? We’ve to make the stew go further.’
‘Tatties? Oh, you mean potatoes.’ It was a long time since she’d heard that word used. Not since she used to hang around the kitchen at Dunross, getting under Cook’s feet. ‘Yes, I am sure I can.’ How hard could it be?
Chapter Eleven
Marie Flora stumped in with a bucket of water and a frown on her face. ‘Thomas, are you still here? Did Father not ask you to move the cow to the other pasture?’
The boy shoved his whittling in his pocket and left without a word.
‘He’s such a dreamer,’ Marie Flora said. She put the bucket between them and went to a bin in the corner where she gathered an apron full of potatoes and put them beside the bucket. She handed Selina a knife. ‘‘Tis sharp. Mind you do not cut yourself.’
Quite the little mother and not at all shy any more. Selina couldn’t help but smile. She watched the child peel her first tatty and then began to work on her own.
‘Not sae deep,’ the girl said sharply.
Selina looked up.
‘You are cutting too much of the flesh,’ Marie Flora said. ‘There’ll be nothing left. Watch.’
Clearly if she didn’t get this right her worth was going to go down in this young lady’s eyes. She watched closely, saw how she rested her thumb against the vegetable and skimmed the skin away.
She tried again. This time she did better and the child nodded her satisfaction. She grinned to herself. This was nice, sitting here working on something useful with a companion, instead of setting fine stitches within an embroidery hoop on a piece of cloth only fit to adorn something that was already beautiful enough.
‘Dig the eyes out like this,’ Marie Flora said, showing her how she twirled the point of the knife in the little brown indentations. She put her finished potato in the bowl and washed another one before starting in on it with her knife.
Selina finished her first one by the time Marie Flora had done three, but she elicited no more criticism so she assumed she was doing it right, if slowly.
Thomas wandered in with a wooden bucket full of creamy milk. It sloshed over the side when he closed the door. His sister muttered something in Gaelic and leapt to her feet. The boy went bright red. She snatched the bucket from his hand, all the while scolding. The boy shot Selina a considering glance.
‘Don’t you have any Gaelic at all?’ he asked.
‘Not really.’ She knew a few curse words, but it would be better not to say those. She would save them for Ian when he returned.
Married, indeed. At least he could have warned her. And now they were to share that bed in there. Her traitorous body tightened at the thought and she flushed warm all over. But it would be just like last night, she reminded herself. They would sleep. Nothing more.
The potatoes were finished and her hands were red, raw and numb from the cold water. This would be the kind of thing she would have to learn if they really were married. It would be a very different life. And fraught with danger, no doubt. A trickle of excitement flowed through her.
Marie Flora handed her a towel and turned to her brother. ‘Thomas, take these peels outside, then take yourself off and cut some peat for the fire.’
Thomas picked up the bucket and heaved it out of the door. ‘I’ll add just these tatties to the stew and then we’ll make bannocks,’ Marie Flora said.
‘You’ll have to teach me that, too.’
‘The Laird’s wife doesn’t know how to make bannocks?’
She winced. ‘I’m afraid not.’
‘Oh, aye, you’ll be living in that grand house in the village. Da took me there once to sell—’ She clapped a hand to her mouth.
She rushed off and busied herself at the table, cutting up the potatoes and adding them to the pot over the fire, which was already giving off a delicious aroma.
First Marie Flora put a large flat rock on top of the fire. ‘The bannock stane,’ she said at Selina’s surprised expression. ‘We don’t have a girdle.’ She meant a griddle, Selina guessed. The girl then put out flour in a bowl and mixed it with water. After turning it into a flat round bread, she carefully put it on the hot stone. ‘It won’t take long.’
Selina’s stomach grumbled loudly.
The girl looked at her in astonishment. ‘Are you hungry?’
It was then that Selina realised that she had eaten nothing since dinner time the night before, apart from a handful of oats this morning. How could she ask for food when these people had so little?
