To Marry a Scottish Laird by Lynsay Sands
"Joan," he growled. "She fears she'll embarrass me because she does no' ken how to sing and dance and nonsense like that."
"Oh, well that's just nonsense," his mother said with disgruntlement as she continued into the room. "This is all Finola's fault for attacking her the other morning when Joan sat to break her fast at the low table. In fact, Finola said something then about the marriage being annulled."
"You heard that?" Lady Annabel asked with surprise.
"Aye. I had slipped into the kitchens to have a word with Cook. I saw Joan at the table on my way there, and I suppose I should have explained then about the high table and had her move, but I didn't want to embarrass her so said nothing." Sighing, she shook her head. "If I had, it would have saved her the humiliation of Finola's attack."
"Finola attacked her?" Cam asked grimly, wishing the witch was still alive so he could throttle her.
"No' with her fists or anything," his mother said quickly. "She just was very, very cruel, calling her ignorant and saying she'd embarrass us all." She glanced to Lady MacKay and added, "I was about to intervene when I saw ye coming down the stairs. I kenned ye would handle it though, and thought Joan might be less embarrassed was it you and no' me so I eased the kitchen door closed and waited until I thought it was over."
She glanced to Joan and a soft smile curved her lips. "She loves ye son if she's offering annulment to keep from embarrassing ye. I've been trying to find ye a wife, but ye found yerself that and more, a partner who loves ye will work to make ye happy." Her mouth firmed. "There'll be no annulment."
"Nay, there will no'," Cam agreed solemnly.
"What the devil's taking so long, Bearnas?" Artair Sinclair complained, suddenly in the doorway. "Ye were supposed to send Cam out to--bloody hell!" his father barked, spotting Joan. "What'd ye do? Paint her with pitch?"
"Son, yer father is in the hall and wants a word," Lady Sinclair said calmly, shifting so that Joan couldn't be seen from the doorway.
A startled laugh slipped from Cam's mouth and he stepped up to his mother to kiss her cheek. "Thank ye," he said solemnly and then moved to urge his father out of the room and into the hall.
"She's a muckle mess," Artair Sinclair said grimly.
"Aye," Cam agreed on a sigh.
"Well, this is why," he announced grimly, holding up a small object. "We found this in the mare's saddle."
"What is it?" Cam asked, taking the tiny sword.
" 'Tis a hatpin," his father said grimly. "I only ken because I bought one fer yer mother once from a traveling merchant."
"And it was in the mare's saddle?"
"Aye, it was set in the underside o' the saddle so that weight on it would stick the horse in the back."
"So when Joan mounted . . ."
"The horse was stuck by the pin and was desperate to get her off," his father said dryly.
"And it's Mother's?" Cam asked with disbelief.
"Nay. Her's had a different hilt," his father said at once, and then frowned and shifted to the side to make room for the servants who had brought up the water and linens as they now left the bedchamber. Once they'd all hurried past and started downstairs, his father continued, "I showed yer mother though. She was coming out of the kitchens when I came inside. She says Lady MacFarland had one just like it."
"Finola," Cam muttered.
Laird Sinclair nodded. "And we ken it could no' ha'e been her."
"Nay. It could no' ha'e been her," he agreed. "But someone's out to hurt Joan."
Laird Sinclair let his breath out on a disappointed sigh. "I wondered if that were no' the case. Yer mother helped Lady MacKay tend the lasses when the cider made them ill, and she mentioned to me that it was Joan's cider that had something wrong with it. And then when Jinny came out o' the kitchens and saw Lady Finola she said the wench was wearing Joan's gown." He smiled faintly and added, "She was more upset that the woman had gone and died in Joan's gown than she was that the woman was dead." Shaking his head he gestured to the hatpin Cam held and added, "And now this."
Sighing, Artair ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. "I'll arrange for men to guard yer chamber door while Joan is recovering, then to accompany her everywhere once she's up and about until we resolve this. If 'tis all right with you," he added.
"Aye." Cam said, glad to have her guarded.
Nodding, his father turned away. "I'll let ye get back to her then. Keep me informed on how she's faring."
"Aye," Cam murmured and turned to slip back into the bedchamber.
His mother and Lady Annabel were just pulling the linens and furs up to cover Joan as he entered the room. Lady Annabel glanced to him as she straightened and announced, "I cleaned the wound as well as I could, and put some salve on her bruises to help them heal quickly. Now all we can do is wait."
"I'll watch over her. Ye two go on back to what ye were doing," Cam said at once, moving up to the bed to peer down at his wife.
"Are you sure?" Lady Annabel asked. "I do not mind sitting with her.
"Nay. Go on. I'm fine," he assured her.
Annabel hesitated, but then nodded and began to gather her items.
Once they'd left the room, Cam peered down at Joan, then removed his weapons and plaid, lifted the furs covering his wife and slid into bed next to her. If he was going to wait and watch over her again, it was going to be from the comfort of the bed . . . and with her in his arms, he decided, and caught Joan's arm to pull her over to rest against his chest. This time, he would be the first thing his wife saw when she woke up.
Chapter 16
JOAN OPENED HER EYES AND FOUND HERSELF peering at her husband's sleeping face. A smile immediately pulled at her lips. This was a sight she'd woken up to more than once during their journey to MacKay and she'd enjoyed it each time. Cam looked young and untroubled in sleep, not at all the ferocious warrior, or the laughing friend, or the seductive lover, all of which he could be by turn when awake. Campbell Sinclair had many facets, and Joan liked every one of them. There was not a side to her husband that she did not love.
And he had told her he loved her, she recalled and briefly closed her eyes at the memory. Cam loved her. The thought was a thrilling one, and made her want to squeal with glee, but she didn't want to wake him up that way.
"Cam loves me," she whispered with wonder. "And I love him."
Her aunt had said as much the day they'd married, but Joan had merely shrugged off the suggestion. She supposed she hadn't been ready to accept it, or maybe she'd been afraid to accept it because if she loved him and he didn't love her . . . the pain that could have involved would be devastating, she knew.
Sighing, Joan opened her eyes and peered at him again, her smile slowly fading. Now she need only fear that his love would wither away once the first heat of passion died and he began to care more that she couldn't do all those things true ladies were trained to do.
The thought was a depressing one, and she wanted to quickly push it away, but didn't allow herself to. Instead, she started thinking of ways to avoid that. Joan didn't want to have her marriage annulled. She did love him and she wanted to be his wife, she just had to learn to be the wife he needed and was expected to have. And surely if she practiced hard and often, if she gave it her every effort, then surely she could learn to shoot a bow and ride as well as dance and sing? She just needed time to manage that, Joan told herself. And to her mind, the best way to ensure she had that time was to ensure she kept his desire for her burning hot until she'd gained those skills.
It was a plan, at least, Joan thought grimly. An alternative to the proposed annulling of the marriage, and that was better than nothing, she decided and contemplated how best to start that.
The answer seemed obvious. They were already in bed and while Cam had his shirt on, she didn't see any evidence of his plaid. Joan began to push down the linens and furs covering them both, pausing when she got them to her waist and could get a look at the damage she'd taken that morning.
Damn, she t
Sighing, Joan finished pushing the linens and furs down and then eased to her knees with a grimace. Moving wasn't too bad, but it wasn't completely painless either. She could live with it though, Joan thought, and then glanced around, her eyes settling on a pot of ointment on the bedside table.
Leaning over, she picked it up and lifted it to her nose to smell it, smiling when she recognized the scent. It was a numbing salve. Her aunt must have mixed it up when Cam had brought her back. She'd probably applied it then too, Joan supposed, and wondered how long ago that had been. In the end, she decided it didn't matter. It wouldn't hurt to apply more.
Joan dipped her fingers in and quickly began to rub it over her side, wincing at the first touch. Oh aye, touching it would be a good thing to avoid, she thought grimly, relieved when the task was done.
Setting the small pot back on the table, Joan turned back to Cam. While his shirt was still on, his plaid was missing as she'd hoped. Even as she noted that, he murmured sleepily and rolled onto his back.
A small smile immediately claimed her lips. This position was just perfect for what she intended.
CAM WAS HAVING A WONDERFUL DREAM. He and Joan were by the waterfall they'd camped by on the way north. He was lying on his back on his plaid, and Joan was bending over him, her long hair brushing across his stomach as she pushed his shirt up his chest.
"I love your body," she whispered, her breath hot against his skin as she smoothed her hands over his ribs and then his upper chest, pushing the cloth until it was gathered up under his chin and arms.
"Mmm," she murmured, smiling, then bent to lick teasingly at his nipple. Cam smiled at her teasing and tried to slide his hands into her hair to draw her up for a kiss, but she evaded his touch and slipped further down his body, her hair dragging down his stomach again, and then gliding over his hip bone before she stopped and peered at his stirring erection.
"What have we here?" she breathed, glancing up to him with wide naughty eyes before dipping down to lash him with her tongue again, this time running it quickly over the head of his hardening cock.
Groaning, Cam reached down again, this time managing to glide his fingers into her hair, but then he stopped, merely cupping her head and gasping as she closed her hand around his shaft and squeezed gently.
Her gaze lifted to him again and she smiled solemnly, and then murmured, "I love you, Cam."
"I love you too," he murmured, waking himself up with his own voice and opening his eyes in time to see Joan take him into her mouth. His eyes widened incredulously as dream became reality, and then squeezed closed on a moan as she drew her mouth down his shaft. She'd asked him to teach her how to pleasure him with her mouth after he'd done it to her once on their journey and he'd tried to instruct her, but she'd always been tentative and unsure in those early efforts. This time she was a woman determined, and Cam squeezed his eyes so tightly closed he almost saw stars as she began to move her mouth up and down on him, her hair tickling his hips and thighs, her hand following her mouth's movement, her breasts brushing his legs just above the knees.
Cam took it as long as he could stand it, but was afraid he was going to lose himself right there in her mouth, and without even having kissed her or otherwise seen to her pleasure. His conscience simply couldn't accept that, and he rose up slightly so that he could catch her by the upper arms, and began to drag her up his body.
Joan came willingly, letting him slip from her mouth and moving up his body to straddle his hips, trapping his erection between their bodies. She raised herself, and clasped him in hand to direct him into her, but Cam caught her hand to stop her. Once she was upright, he'd seen the bruise on her side.
"What are ye doing?" he asked with a frown.
Joan paused and peered at him uncertainly. "I wanted to . . ."
Cam arched his eyebrows when she hesitated and blushed. "Lass, ye can no' possibly want to with yer side the way it is. And yer leg," he added, as he glanced down and noted that her actions must have started it bleeding again. Bright red blood was showing through the linen bandage wrapped around her leg.
"I'm fine," she assured him, shifting her hips to rub herself against him.
Cam stiffened as pleasure shot through him, but then he took note of her expression. There was more determination there than pleasure, he decided grimly, and urged her off of him.
Kneeling beside him, she tried to slip her leg back over his hips, protesting, "But, I want to please you."
Cam stilled and met her gaze. "Love, ye already please me. But ye're no' in any shape fer this. Yer side must be sore, and ye've started yer leg bleeding again. Ye need to rest and recover."
"Nay, I'm fine," she assured him, and reached out to wrap her hand around his still erect penis. "Let me please you, husband."
Cam groaned, but forced her hand away. "Nay, woman. Ye need rest."
"I need you," she insisted, leaning up to kiss him as her hand once again found and clasped him, and slid his length.
Cam was not responding to her kiss, but he was weakening. He could feel it. He wanted to force her to stop and rest, but damned if his cock wasn't opting for another outcome. Growling, he opened his mouth to her, then whipped his head toward the door when a knock sounded.
"Ignore it," Joan said quietly, trying to turn his face back to hers with her free hand. "Let me finish what I started. I--eeeeee," she ended on a squeal and released him to dive under the linens and furs as the door suddenly opened.
"What the devil!" Cam barked as his mother and father and Joan's aunt and uncle trooped into the room one after the other, all of them grim faced. What the devil was happening now? he wondered with irritation. And could they not have waited until later to tell him about it?
Joan poked her head up from under the furs when Cam dropped down beside her. She peered over the edge of the material at the people who had entered, then sat up a bit with surprise. "Uncle Ross? What are you doing here?"
Ross grinned at Annabel and said, "She called me 'Uncle.' "
"Aye, she calls me 'Aunt' most times now too," Annabel told him with a small smile.
"Would someone care to explain why ye've all decided to barge in here while me wife and me are abed?" Cam snapped.
"We have important news," his mother said apologetically.
Laird Sinclair nodded, but then scowled and said, " 'Sides, 'tis the middle of the day, lad. What the devil are ye doing abed anyway?"
"Annabel was injured," Cam reminded him stiffly.
"Aye, she was. That does no' explain why ye're lying about with her." His eyes narrowed. "Ye were no' trying to indulge in some houghmagandie with her when the poor lass is all bruised and beat up, were ye? She's in no shape fer that nonsense."
Cam scowled at his father. "Aye, I ken that! I even told her as much when she tried to have her way with me."
Groaning, Joan pulled the furs back over her head. Well, this was embarrassing.
Cursing as he realized what he'd said, Cam growled, "Just tell us what ye came here for and go so she can rest."
"Laird MacKay arrived this hour past with news," Lady Sinclair murmured quietly.
"Aye?" Cam asked.
"Aye," Ross said. "I sent one o' me men out to search for the cloth merchant after ye all headed to Sinclair. I thought to buy material to bring with me when I collected me wife and daughters."
"Material?" Cam asked with confusion.
"Fer gowns for Joan," he muttered, sounding uncomfortable.
Clearing his throat, he shrugged, and said, "I was no' sure what ye'd like, so I picked what I thought would look best with yer coloring. The men loaded it all on a wagon and we brought it with us. They're unloading it now."
"Thank you," she whispered, tears glazing her eyes at the kindness. Joan wished she was dressed so she could get up and hug the man.
"Surely that is no' the news that was so important ye burst in here to tell us?" Cam asked with a frown.
"Nay," Ross said, straightening. "On his return journey with the merchant, me man came across a fellow dead on the side o' the road. He recognized him as a Sinclair, so--"
"No' Douglas?" Cam interrupted sharply.
"Nay," his father assured him at once. " 'Twas Allistair. Douglas is fine as far as we ken."
"Oh." Cam sighed.
"Me man brought this Allistair back with him, along with his belongings. There was no violence to the body and he seemed to have died a natural death, so I told them to put him in a wagon and I'd return him to Sinclair when I traveled here on the morrow, and then I dealt with the merchant. But once that was done, I saw the men had left the warrior's bag behind. I bent to pick it up and when I opened it and found it was full o' scrolls. Since I was no' sure who they were to or if they were urgent messages, I decided we'd best set out right away rather than wait until morn."
Cam sighed. "Let me guess, the messages were to the families of the women Mother invited here, and we'll be stuck with the wenches fer even longer than we'd feared."
"But some of the girls have already left," Joan said with a frown.
"I sent out three messengers," Lady Sinclair explained. "Some of the lasses live closer than others, so I divided them amongst the men thinking to speed the process along. The messenger who was to deliver the scrolls to the closest families has already returned. They are the families of the girls who have already left us."
"Oh," Joan murmured.
"So ye came to tell us that we'll have some o' the women here longer than we'd hoped?" Cam asked slowly.
"Nay, we came to tell ye that the messenger was poisoned," his father said dryly.