To Marry a Scottish Laird by Lynsay Sands
"I suggest ye no' worry about her saying she did no' want to go to Sinclair," Ross said quietly. "The fact is, ye're married now. She will be going, and what happens between ye from here on out is up to the two o' ye." When Cam merely nodded and continued to stare into his ale, Ross added, "However, I should point out that yer dallying down here rather than going up to bed her is no doubt just reinforcing her belief that ye do no' want her."
Cam's head jerked up at the suggestion. The man was right, of course. Standing, he said determinedly, "I am going up."
"Good. Then me wife will stop comforting her and come down," Ross said dryly, then caught his arm as Cam stepped over the bench. "A moment."
"What?" Cam asked with a frown. Now that he'd decided to go up, the delay was a bit annoying.
"Ye're satisfied she was innocent the first time ye were together?" Ross asked, eyes narrowed.
Cam stiffened. "Aye. I told ye that when we first talked o' me marrying her. She still had her maiden's veil."
Ross nodded. "But there's the matter o' the sheet fer proof."
Shoulders relaxing, Cam nodded. "I shall see there is proof."
"Good," Ross said releasing his arm. "I shall see ye in the morning then."
Cam nodded and turned to leave the table, but halted abruptly to avoid crashing into Payton, Ross and Annabel's son. The nineteen-year-old stood with several men behind him, a wide grin on his face.
" 'Tis time we took ye up to yer bride," the young man announced.
Cam stared at him blankly, then turned to peer at Ross for help.
"Well, I was gonna let ye get away without this indignity," the MacKay said with amusement. Getting to his feet, he added, "But, what the hell? I had to suffer it, so why no' you too?"
"Damn," Cam muttered as the men suddenly converged on him.
"WHAT IS TAKING THEM SO LONG?" Annella asked with irritation.
"He's not coming. Cam doesn't want me," Joan said unhappily, watching her cousin pace the room. She would be up pacing with her if she weren't completely naked. They hadn't even allowed her a shift to sleep in, claiming the bedding ceremony called for her to be stripped and put abed, and then Cam to be as well. Who knew nobles were so barbaric? Joan thought. She had never slept naked in her life . . . well, barring the few times she'd fallen asleep after Cam had bedded her. Before that she wouldn't have even considered it. The hut she and her mother shared had been too chilly at night once the fire went out; she'd have frozen to death had she slept naked. It was indecent.
"O' course he wants ye," Kenna said with amazement, rushing over to sit on the bed and claim her hands. "Why ye're beautiful, and smart and nice. How could he no' want ye?"
Joan smiled faintly at the girl's words and pointed out, "I'm pretty enough but not beautiful, and how would you know I'm smart or nice? You only met me today."
"Aye, but ye're me cousin," Kenna pointed out.
"So I must be nice and smart?" she asked with amusement.
"Aye," Kenna said simply.
Joan smiled, but then sighed and shook her head.
"Kenna, dear," Lady Annabel said suddenly. "I forgot to ask the servants to bring up wine, cheese and bread for Joan and Cam. Could you--?"
"I'll get it, Mama," Kenna interrupted, popping up off the bed.
"She's such a good girl," Annabel said with affection as the door closed behind her youngest child.
"Aye," Joan murmured.
"Both of my girls are," Annabel added, smiling at Annella. The sixteen-year-old smiled back and then moved to the bed and sat where Kenna had been a moment ago.
"Ye don't really believe Cam does no' want ye, do ye?" Annella asked with a frown, rubbing Joan's cold hand between both of her warm ones. "Kenna's right, ye're beautiful, and ye do seem smart and nice."
Joan grimaced. "It matters little if I am nice or smart. Raised in the village as I was, I don't know the first thing about being a lady, let alone running his keep or . . . I'm sure he fears I shall embarrass him in front of his parents . . . and I probably will. "
"Ye were raised in a village?" Annella asked with amazement.
Joan blinked, surprised the girl didn't know that, but then realized that all Annella and Kenna knew was that she was their cousin and was marrying Cam.
"Yes, dear," Annabel said when Joan remained silent. "Your Aunt Kate, my sister, died giving birth to Joan. Fortunately, the midwife, a healer from the village, was a kind and loving woman who raised her as her own."
"In an English village?" Annella asked with dismay.
Joan couldn't tell which horrified the girl more, that she was raised in a village, or an English one.
"Aye, in Grimsby," Annabel said calmly.
"But why was she no' sent here?" Annella asked, turning to frown at her mother. "Ye and father should ha'e raised her."
"Aye," Annabel agreed. "But we did not even know she existed until today."
"How could ye no' ken she--"
"Not now, Annella," Annabel interrupted quietly. "We can talk about this later."
The girl hesitated, obviously curious to have her answers, but then suddenly turned to Joan and hugged her. "I'm sorry."
"What for?" Joan asked with amazement, hands automatically rising to hug her back.
"Ye should no' ha'e been raised in a village with strangers. Ye should ha'e been here with us. We are yer family."
"There's nothing for you to feel bad about," Joan said, hugging her with more feeling now. "My mother was a good woman. She loved me and taught me much, and we did better than most. We were rarely without food, and usually had wood for the fire. I was lucky," she assured her, but for some reason her assurances seemed to upset Annella. She could see it in her expression and tell by the way her grip on her hand tightened.
"We will teach ye how to be a lady," Annella announced suddenly, and then glanced to her mother. "We will, will we no'?"
"Aye, of course," Annabel said, smiling with pride on her daughter.
Nodding, Annella turned back, "I shall teach ye to dance, and play music, and all those things, and Mother can teach ye how to run a castle and such. I can help with that too but she is better at it, and--"
"They are coming!" Kenna squealed, bursting into the room with a tray of food and drink in hand. She rushed to the table by the fire to set it down, adding, "The men were lifting Cam onto their shoulders to carry him up here as I reached the stairs."
"Off with you two then," Annabel said, ushering her girls toward the door.
Joan frowned as she watched the girls leave the room. The moment her aunt closed the door behind them and turned back, though, she asked with dismay, "He wouldn't come on his own? Was he so reluctant the men had to drag him up like a--?"
" 'Tis part of the bedding," Annabel interrupted soothingly. "The women lead the bride up and put her abed, then the men carry the groom up, strip him and put him abed next to you."
"You mean a bunch of men are going to come in here and--?" Her words died as the door suddenly burst open and a dozen MacKay soldiers spilled into the room, bearing Cam overhead like a wild boar they'd hunted down. They had obviously celebrated the wedding well and were the worse for drink. They nearly dropped Cam when they started to lower him to the floor, and then she suspected they unintentionally hurt him a time or two as they tore off his clothes . . . and it could only be described as tearing them off. They certainly didn't strip him as calmly and carefully as her aunt and cousins had done with her.
Joan watched the whole thing with something akin to horror. Perhaps she'd had a sheltered upbringing, or perhaps this was a Scottish tradition. She'd never attended a wedding in England, not even between commoners, so couldn't be sure this didn't happen in England as well, but it all seemed terribly barbaric to her.
Fortunately, it was also fast, and Cam was quickly naked and tucked into bed next to her. The men then began to file out, the laughter and ribald jokes that had accompanied them into the room fading as they moved off down the hall.
Joan glanced to Ross MacKay at that comment, noting only then that he'd been amongst the men and hadn't left but stood by Annabel, his arm around her waist. The man--her uncle, she reminded herself--gave her a wink that she suspected was supposed to cheer her. It didn't, any more than Annabel's reassuring smile reassured her, but she forced a smile and the couple slipped from the room, pulling the door silently closed behind them. She and Cam were alone.
Joan breathed out slowly and shifted her gaze to the furs and linens covering her, almost afraid to look at Cam and see anger there. After a moment, she couldn't stand the silence any more. She could actually feel Cam looking at her, and couldn't bear that either.
"There is wine and cheese on the table by the fire if you're hungry," she blurted, desperate to break the silence.
"I'm hungry," Cam admitted. "Jest no' fer wine or cheese."
Joan glanced at him uncertainly. He didn't appear angry. "Then what would you rather have?"
"You."
"You want me?" she squeaked.
"Aye, ye daft woman," Cam said. Clucking his tongue with impatience, he sat up beside her in bed. "I could no' keep me hands off ye the last two weeks, Joan. Why would it be any different now?"
"I--You're not angry that my uncle made you marry me?" Joan asked uncertainly.
"Nay," he assured her solemnly, tugging the linens and furs down to reveal her shoulders and breasts. Reaching out, he cupped one round globe, allowing his thumb to flick gently back and forth over the nipple as he said in a husky voice that sounded a little distracted, " 'Sides, he did no' make me do anything. I was the one who first said anything about marrying ye."
"But only because you learned I was his niece," Joan pointed out and then gasped as he suddenly bent to close his lips over the nipple he'd been toying with. He suckled at it, his tongue continuing the flicking his thumb had been doing a moment ago and Joan's hands rose of their own accord, one clasping his shoulder, the other cupping the back of his head to urge him on as her body responded to the caress.
Releasing the nipple he'd been nursing, Cam raised his head.
"What does it matter?" he growled as he glanced down and flicked the linens and furs completely off of them both. Raising his gaze, he watched her face as his hand slid down her body.
"We're married." Cam growled and gripped her hip briefly, squeezing. He then shifted his hand between her thighs urging them apart, before finally finding her core.
"Ye're me wife," he breathed, lowering his head so that his hot breath brushed her lips as he spoke. His fingers ran lightly over her warm, wet flesh once, then again before stopping to circle the nub where the pleasure he was raising in her seemed centered.
Joan moaned and shifted restlessly, her body beginning to strain toward the release that she knew he could give her. She was tugging on his hair and shoulder, trying to bring him down for a kiss, but his mouth remained tantalizingly out of reach as he whispered, "And I'm ye're husband."
"Aye," she gasped, her hips shifting and rotating now under his touch.
"Ye'll come to Sinclair," Cam continued, applying a little more pressure and Joan began to twist her head. He was driving her crazy; her release like his mouth was just out of reach and if he would just . . . she stopped digging her nails into his shoulder and reached instead for his staff, relieved to find it hot and hard.
Cam stiffened at her touch, and then abruptly stopped caressing her and shifted over her to settle between her legs.
Joan moaned in relief as he drove into her, even as he groaned his pleasure. Once fully in though, he paused and kissed her, a hot, wet, demanding kiss. Then he broke that off and raised his head as he began to move, pulling partway out of her again.
"God," he growled as he sank back into her. "Ye feel so damned good, and now ye're coming to Sinclair and I can drown in this pleasure every night."
Cam began to move in earnest then, his body pounding into hers. Joan held on to him, her hands clutching his shoulders as he drove them both toward release, but for the first time since their first time together, she wasn't wholly engaged in what they were doing. Some small part of her brain remained separate and wondered about the days. How pleased will he be to have a wife good only for bedding?
The thought ran around and around inside her head until Cam suddenly gasped, "Stop yer fretting."
Startled, Joan focused on his face just as he claimed her mouth again. He thrust his tongue in rhythm with his hips, but also reached between them to caress her again and Joan's worries retreated under the onslaught. Her passion quickly returned to a full burn and it wasn't long before they both cried out their pleasure.
Afterward, Cam pulled up the linens and furs as he shifted to his side. He then caught Joan around the waist and pulled her back against him when she turned onto her side as well. A heartbeat later a small snore sounded by her ear and Joan realized he'd fallen asleep. Envy slid through her. She was suddenly wide awake herself, all sorts of worries crowding her mind. Most of them about how displeased Cam would be when he realized how ignorant and unprepared she was to be his wife. But she was also now fretting about what he'd said. He seemed happy that she was coming to Sinclair because he could continue to bed her, but was that the only reason? Was there nothing else about her that pleased him? And, if not, then what would her life be like when he grew bored with her? It was no better being his wife and watching him bed another than being a discarded mistress watching him move on. Actually, she thought suddenly, being the wife was worse. As a mistress she could have simply moved away and saved herself the heartache. As his wife, she couldn't. She would be expected to bear it she was sure, and Joan wasn't at all sure that she could do that.
"One problem at a time," she muttered under her breath. Annabel and Annella were going to teach her to be a lady wife. She would start tomorrow, Joan decided determinedly, and learn everything she could before they left for Sinclair. That thought made her wonder how long she had before they left MacKay. No one had said, but she was sure they would stay a couple days at least. After all, she'd just met her family, just learned they existed. Aye, they would surely stay a couple days or perhaps a week ere traveling on to Sinclair, Joan assured herself as she finally drifted off to sleep.
"TODAY?" JOAN SQUAWKED WITH ALARM, wide eyes on her aunt.
"I know. I was hoping for more time too," her aunt Annabel said soothingly, patting her hand where it rested on the table. "But Cam is concerned that his family will be worried about him. He says he was originally traveling with his cousins."
"He sent them on ahead," Joan recalled with a frown. She also recalled him telling her that he'd done so because of a tavern wench and felt a twinge of jealousy, which was just ridiculous. They hadn't even met yet.
"Well," her aunt continued, "I gather he told them he would follow in two days. But he said your journey here took much longer than expected?"
Joan bit her lip and nodded. "He was injured when he saved me from those bandits on the road. He slept for three days afterward, and then it took us two weeks of travel to get here."
"Two weeks?" Annabel asked with surprise.
"Aye. We did not travel very quickly," she muttered uncomfortably.
Annabel nodded with understanding. "Of course. He no doubt needed to take it slow while healing from such a wound."
"Hmm," Joan murmured, avoiding her gaze. It hadn't really been his need to heal that had slowed them. All in all the man had healed quickly once awake. In fact, after the first couple days he'd seemed right as rain to her. Certainly, he'd not seemed to have any problem with . . . er . . . vigorous activity.
"Well, Cam is now two weeks later than he was expected. He worries his family will be fretting and fears they may send out a search party. He thought it would be better just to take you home right away and reassure everyone."
"But--"
"Mother!" Kenna's cry interrupted Joan and made her glance around as the young girl rushed up, dark hair flying an
"Aye, dear, I asked him to," Annabel said patiently. " 'Tis a half day's travel to Sinclair and I thought they may like to stop on the way for a picnic."
Kenna shook her head and turned to Joan, "But ye can no' leave. Ye just got here. We want to get to ken ye."
"It was Cam's decision, not Joan's," Annabel said gently.
"Well he can just change his mind," Annella announced arriving at the table. "We are supposed to show her how to be a lady. We promised."
"I know," Annabel said unhappily. "But what can we do about it? Cam is her husband now and he has decided that--"
"Then I shall ha'e to go with her," Annella interrupted firmly and when her mother looked as if she were about to protest, added firmly, "Father has always said a promise made is a promise to be kept, and we promised we would help her learn to be a lady."
Annabel blinked and then a slow smile slid over her lips. "Aye, he does say that, does he not?"
"He does," Annella said, grinning now.
"Oh, I promise too. I promise too," Kenna said at once. "I can help. Please, Mama, can I go too?"
"Aye, you can," Annabel said, patting her shoulder. "We shall all go. That way we can get to know Joan better and keep our promise too."
Joan watched wide-eyed as they all smiled, then Annella warned, "Father'll be fair froth o'er our all leaving."
"Then he can come too," she said lightly and stood up. "Come along, girls. We must pack quickly else Cam will leave us behind."
Nodding, Annella turned and gave Joan a quick hug, assuring her, "We'll be quick."
"Do no' let him leave without us," Kenna added, hugging her next before rushing after her mother and older sister.
Joan stared after the trio as they bustled away, feeling just a bit dazed by it all. A lady rather than a commoner, married, and an aunt and cousins who were willing to risk the MacKay's wrath to help her . . . and while she didn't know him well, Joan suspected her uncle's anger might be a thing better heard about than suffered or even seen.
Shaking her head, Joan turned to the table and picked up her goblet of cider. So this was what having family was like? The thought immediately made her feel guilty. Maggie Chartres had been her family for twenty years, in fact her only family. And she had been a wonderful woman who would have fought to the death on her behalf she was sure, but life with her had always been calm and peaceful. Even in a healing emergency her mother had remained unflappable. There had never been frantic cries, or whirlwinds of activity, or mini rebellions as the one her aunt and cousins were about to hold on her behalf. This was different. Her life was now different in many ways.