AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"You are English," she said with surprise, her gaze moving over the tall, curvy woman with interest.
"Born and raised," the woman agreed with a smile. "And here I feared I'd taken on a Scottish accent after all these years. "
"You have a bit of one," Evelinde said. "But not so much I have to struggle to understand you as I do everyone else here. "
The woman laughed, but Cullen and the other two men scowled as if she'd insulted them. Obviously, she could not do anything right today, not even speak, she decided unhappily. Her thoughts were distracted when Cullen suddenly urged her forward with the handful of skirt he held, his fist goosing her—unintentionally, she was sure.
"Wife, the Comyns. Comyns, me wife," Cullen announced as he directed them all up the path again. Evelinde rolled her eyes at his idea of an introduction, but then smiled as graciously as she could manage and said, "Welcome. "
Lady Comyn—at least Evelinde thought she must be Lady Comyn, though it was hard to say after that introduction, she thought irritably—chuckled and moved to slip her arm through Evelinde's to lead her toward the keep.
"Call me Ellie, dear. My name is Eleanor, but only people I do not like call me that. "
"And I am Evelinde," she murmured, glancing impatiently back at her husband, who was still holding the back of her gown and trying to steer her by it. She attempted to brush his hand away and take over holding the gown with her own free hand, but he ignored her efforts and merely scowled. She scowled right back and pinched the back of his hand.
"We heard Cullen had found himself a bride and could not resist coming to meet you," Lady Comyn said, distracting her.
Giving up on her husband for the moment, Evelinde turned back at that announcement and offered a smile. "And I am glad you did. "
"So am I," Ellie said with amusement, as Cullen broke them apart by shifting Evelinde to the right by his hold on her gown.
It was only then Evelinde saw the puddle she'd been about to stomp through. Still, she cast a glare back at her husband and once again tried to free herself from his hold, this time resorting to digging her nails into the skin of his hand rather than pinching him.
A low chuckle then drew her attention to the fact that the Comyn men—one older and probably Ellie's husband, and a younger one of about Cullen's age who she thought might be their son—were grinning at these antics as they followed them up the path.
"Aye, we heard Cullen had found himself a bride, but no one mentioned he'd met his match," the younger Comyn man said, amusement sparkling in his eyes. " Twill be interesting to see how the Devil of Donnachaidh deals with a wife who doesna automatically obey as everyone else does. "
Cullen released her skirt then in favor of turning a hard glance on the man, but he merely laughed and slapped his shoulder. "Come now, Cullen, cheer up, or I shall tell one and all that you are attached to yer wife by her skirt strings. "
Evelinde's eyes widened at the man's baiting, but then glanced to Lady Comyn as she chuckled and caught her arm to urge her forward again. "Do not mind them, my dear. My son, Tralin, and your husband have been friends for ages. "
She smiled at the reassurance but cast a glance nervously back to be sure the men hadn't come to blows. However, Cullen was walking between the two Comyn men, listening to something the older man was saying, and didn't look the least annoyed. He also wasn't holding her skirt up anymore, Evelinde realized, and was relieved to take over the task for herself for the rest of the walk.
Her relief only lasted until they reached the keep stairs. Evelinde paused there and caught up her skirt to keep from tripping over it, then gasped as her husband scooped her up into his arms.
"Ye'll trip in that ridiculous gown," he said, carrying her past a now openly laughing Lady Comyn.
Evelinde ground her teeth together and crossed her arms over her chest, wondering where and when it was exactly she'd lost her dignity. She'd think it was somewhere between England and Scotland except for the humiliating events leading up to her wedding. Between tumbling into the river, the debacle when Cullen had fallen from his horse, and being forced to flop her way through her wedding, it did seem she'd had nothing but difficulties from the moment Edda had announced she was to marry the Devil of Donnachaidh. It made her think that must be when luck had turned on her.
And here she'd woken up after consummating the marriage thinking herself lucky to have been wedded to the man. Evelinde snorted at her poor, naive thoughts of earlier as Cullen carried her into the keep. The sound made him glance at her sharply, but she ignored his questioning glance and decided she should have taken heed of her husband's poor luck at the time and reconsidered finding a way to end the betrothal.
And he did have poor luck, Evelinde thought, as he carried her across the hall to the stairs. There was the matter of his dead father, uncle, and wife, and each death blamed on him. That certainly wasn't good luck. It seemed obvious her husband walked under some curse.
Perhaps she should look into good-luck charms to help preserve her through this marriage, Evelinde thought grimly.
"Change. " The one-word order was said as Cullen paused at the stairs leading to the keep's second level and set her on her feet.
"Into what, my lord?" Evelinde asked with exasperation. "I have nothing to wear but the gowns in our chamber, and every one of them will be as large as this one. "
"What?" he asked, his face gone suddenly blank.
"You heard me," she snapped, some of her temper slipping out despite herself. Her gaze slid to the Comyns then, and Evelinde sighed inwardly as she realized that while they had paused at the tables, they were listening avidly.
"Of course you have something else to wear," Cullen insisted. "Put on one of yer own gowns. "
"What gowns of my own?" Evelinde asked, turning sharply back on him as all of her frustrations burst forth. "You carried me away from d'Aumesbery without my maid,
my mare, or even a change of clothes, or a brush for my hair. This is the best I can do," she cried.
Cullen grunted with irritation and shook his head. "Of course I brought ye a change of clothes. I packed them meself while we were supposed to be consummating the marriage. "
Evelinde noticed the eyebrow-raising among the Comyns, but other than shout out to them that the wedding had been consummated since then, she didn't know what to do. And really, she was embarrassed enough already.
"And I put a brush in, too," Cullen added, reclaiming her wandering attention.
"In what?" Evelinde asked with bewilderment. She recalled his moving briefly out of her sight and hearing rustling that might have been the sound of packing.
"In a sack. 'Tis in our chamber," he said.
Evelinde stared at her husband, realizing he'd spoken more words in the last few moments than he'd yet said since they'd met. While she was relieved to have this information now, she couldn't help but be absolutely furious that—had he simply told her these things at some point during the journey here, or even before bedding her that day—the whole humiliating afternoon could have been avoided. She would be wearing one of her own gowns that fit properly, would have had no need of the pin that was now lost, would not have unintentionally exposed herself to their neighbors, and would have greeted them looking dignified and well put together. This whole mess was all his fault.
Evelinde opened her mouth, several choice words trembling on the tip of her tongue, but then snapped it closed again and whirled away. She had already thoroughly humiliated herself in front of their neighbors and would not make it any worse. However, she and her husband were going to have a serious discussion later, Evelinde thought, grabbing up her skirts and stamping up the stairs.
She kept stamping all the way to the room and into it. Evelinde then stomped around the chamber, glowering as she searched for the sack he spoke of. At first, she thought there wasn't one, but then she recalled the soft whoosh when he'd reached the opposite side of the bed the night they'd arrived and moved around to the side he'd slept on and glanced at the floor. Nothing.
She was about to whirl away and stamp back below to bellow at her husband when she spotted a corner of cloth sticking out from under the bed.
Moving forward, Evelinde knelt to grab it and pulled out what turned out to be a sack. The only thing she could think was he'd accidentally kicked it under the bed when getting into it last night, or perhaps at some point when he'd come up this morning to rub the salve into her. Had he mentioned it was there, she would have thought to look for it.
Closing her eyes, Evelinde held her breath for a moment, then released it slowly.
"Patience," she murmured, and opened the sack as she stood up. Setting the bag on the bed, Evelinde reached in and pulled out the first thing she touched. It was a dark green gown, one of her favorites. A red gown followed; another of her favorites. A chemise came next, then another. Finally, her hand closed on a handle and she pulled out a brush. Evelinde then turned the sack over, emptying the remaining contents onto the bed and sighing as several items tumbled out, including a couple of her best belts, cornets, circlets, gloves, and a smaller sack, which held her mother's jewelry.
Evelinde stared at the items and sank down on the side of the bed as tears filled her eyes. He'd thought of everything. Well, not everything. Her tapestries and so forth were not there, but he'd included everything she would need to dress herself properly at least for a couple of days. It was more than she'd hoped for when he'd said he packed for her. Most men would have not thought to include the gloves or circlets she was sure. But Cullen had, and had done so despite her not being able to remind him of the need at the time. He'd also done so during a more stressful than usual wedding. At least, she thought it had probably been more stressful than the average wedding but couldn't be sure. It was her first.
Feeling a bit mollified, Evelinde forced herself to stand and begin to remove her gown. She would dress and fix her hair as quickly as possible, then return below. They had guests. Her first. She'd made a poor showing at the initial meeting but hoped to repair the impression. If she could.
