Turning from him, but painfully aware of his cool scrutiny, I eased the loosened fabric over my shoulders, lowering it and stepping out of it. I draped it over the other gowns that lay on the near table. I didn’t dare look at him, knowing full well that my shift was sheer enough to see through. I still felt the warm effects of my inconceivable discovery: that the figment of my secret fantasies was, staggeringly, my own husband.I thought I might go mad with desire for you, lass. It took everything I had to walk away.The revelation danced across my skin like an invisible breeze, and swelled in intimatepinpoints across my body. Could he feel that way now, as he watched me in brooding silence?
I poured some water from the porcelain pitcher into the bowl, using a soft cloth to wash my face. I brushed my hair, all the while aware of his acute observation. It felt strange to be observed this way, as I carried out my bedtime rituals. The knowledge that he could see the shape of my body as I slid the comb through the end strands of my hair brought a flush to my cheeks and elsewhere. I wanted him to come to me, to touch his fingers to me as he had once done before. I thought of my sister Maisie, who would have had no compunction about using all of her feminine lures. I’d watched her with fascination upon more than one occasion. I considered enticing my husband now, going to him, touching his hair, kissing his lips. I knew what I might do; the instincts were there and I had no doubt I could be just as creative as Maisie if I put my mind to it. I thought of Kade’s vow to me, to give me time and gain his trust. Already, I could feel that his allowance was exactly what I needed. My ability to trust had been damaged by my background more than any of my sisters. What if my husband lashed out at me or refused me? In my heart I knew—almost—that he would do neither of these things. But I would wait, and heal, and learn to trust. I eased back the fur covers and climbed into bed. Only then could I turn again to meet his eyes.
I wondered why he’d stopped writing. Maybe he was thinking about what he wanted to say in his letter.
“Husband?” I whispered after a moment.
“Aye?”
Come to me. Protect me. Touch me.“Good night,” I said.
“Good night,” he said, and the rough edge to his low voice was more pronounced than usual, quiet yet raw with a tension I could not name.
It was a long time before I heard the scratch of his quill continue in the flickering candlelit night.
CHAPTER NINE
OURTRIPACROSSthe Highlands was, in the end, entirely uneventful. Duncan Campbell and his men did not make an appearance, and there was no more word of Campbell’s intention to meet with my father regarding alliances, disputes, wars or any combination thereof. In fact, the only thing the news of Campbell had succeeded in doing, as far as I could see, was to send my husband into a cold, guarded stoicism. Throughout the two days of our journey, we did not so much as speak. I remained in the carriage with my sisters. Kade led the Kinloch soldiers who flanked our procession of carriages on all sides. My husband’s focus on getting us to Glenlochie without incident was absolute. I knew he suspected a traitor was among the Morrison army, and he eyed each of them with blatant suspicion. The Kinloch soldiers were dismissed once we reached our own gates, and their departure did nothing to soothe either his wariness or his mood.
Once we arrived at my home, Kade’s view of the Morrison clan only grew increasingly disenchanted. Used to the unparalleled standards of the Mackenzie clan, he was appalled by condition of our keep. In this I could hardly blame him. After the splendor of therefined, well-run and prosperous Kinloch, I saw our own living conditions in a new light.
Upon our return, Kade and I spent our first two nights in my old chambers, which were adjoined to my sisters’ rooms. This did not afford us as much privacy as my husband would have preferred. Once other more urgent matters had been attended to, I was told that I would give him a tour of all the empty upper rooms of the manor. We needed something more suitable for the future laird and lady of the clan, he said.
And he had not touched me again. In fact, he’d barely spoken to me. Both nights, he’d come in late from his time in meetings and in the training yards, and had worked until the small hours of the morning, writing in several leather-bound books he kept locked in one of his many trunks, which he showed no interest in unpacking. And then he’d risen early and was gone before I’d even awakened. No wonder he was ornery and therefore distant, I reasoned: he’d hardly had much sleep.
On the third morning, he left well before dawn, only to return a short time later. I heard him rummaging through one of his larger trunks, where he kept yet more knives and swords and other unusual instruments of war.
“Good morning, husband,” I ventured, rising from the bed.
He jammed a second sword into place, still holding a knife’s handle in his clenched fist. Then he paused, giving me an assessing, critical glance. “There’s workto be done, lass. You’ve recovered from your wedding and your journey. ’Tis time for you to begin.”
“Begin what?” I asked, slipping a gown over my head and tying the front laces.
“Work.”
Work. Something I’d never been allowed much less invited to do. “Work?”
“You spend far too much time cooped up with your gossiping sisters. This manor is dirty, disorganized and in no fit state to receive visitors, let alone house the nobles of its own clan. Several of my family members arrive in just over a month, and the place is an utter shambles. ’Tis an embarrassment. Much worse than I ever imagined. Why has your family let it get so run-down?”
It was true that Glenlochie was in need of some serious attention. I’d never noticed it quite so much as I had since our return from the wedding, but the manor was messy, shabby and with no real systems in place to improve the current state of our chaotic existence.
Whyhadwe let it get so run-down? I’d considered the condition of our home in the past, and the general feeling of malaise among our workers. But I would no more instruct my father about how to run his manor and his keep than I would advise him about how to rule his army; my outspokenness, of course, would only have resulted in more punishment.
“Who is in charge of the manor?” he asked me.
“My father, of course.”
“Your father runs the army —and not particularlyeffectively. He’s too old and too ill. And too swilled a good portion of the time to do much of anything else. There must be someone who handles the day-to-day operations of the manor itself.”
“The staff run it,” I said.
“Who’sin chargeof the staff?” he repeated.
“I—I’m not sure,” I stammered.
Irritated even further by my inarticulate reply, Kade issued my orders. “Well, from now on,youare in charge. Go and speak to the workers. Tell them to clean the grand hall by the end of the day. Oversee it yourself. And the kitchen staff can be told we’ll have fresh produce, meat and bread this evening. Why is there so little to show for the harvest? And the dried meat should only be used when there’s nothing else available, or the stores won’t get us through the winter.” He continued to jam his weapons into place. I almost asked him to be careful, lest he spear himself, but then thought better of it.
Despite his curt, business-minded tone, the lingering memories of our spare moments of intimacy and tenderness shone through my apprehension. Kade was temperamental, aye, and I could see that he had reason to be. But I felt little of the initial fear of our very first encounters. Instead, what I felt was a residual link to him, forged with his heartfelt words and his beguiling touch. His distance now only succeeded in rousing a budding curiosity in me: could I succeed in drawing out his softer side again? He was gruff and agitated by his many challenges, but I knew of his innermost desires. I knew how his lips felt on mine, and I had seen the lookin his eyes when he’d seen me and touched me so very intimately. This connection gave me a small sense not only of power but of equality.
