Her husband.
She should withdraw, step back into the chamber, yet something kept her hanging there. The way he moved, perhaps, long, free strides with a quiet vigor that screamed of masculinity.
An attractive enough man, was her husband. A pity that no woman—none who would appreciate him—would ever have him. Because he’d wed her.
He was off for a ride, and suddenly Annista wished with all her being she could go with him, off and away into that early morning freedom.
He and the horse headed for the drive. He paused and looked up at the house.
Saw her there.
How must she appear, hanging from the window like a hoyden, her hair blowing in the wind! Yet he did not seem startled to see her.
Instead, he raised his fingers to his bared head, saluting her the way a servant might. It was him, wasn’t it? Not one of the grooms?
It was him.
She should withdraw.
Instead she watched with startled pleasure as he vaulted onto the back of his horse and with a beautiful burst of combined energy, beast and man, they took off down the drive.
Barely a whisper of sound once they veered onto the turf—looking gray in this light—and away.
As wild as the landscape, he was. He fitted it most perfectly.
And she envied him the opportunity for escape while she languished here in her night rail with naught better to look forward to than a morning spent in needlework in the solar with his mother.
She pulled herself back into the room, shut the window and tiptoed to the door that connected her room to Alan’s. Would his bed linen still lie tumbled? Warm from his body?
She lifted the latch and the door refused to open. Locked, just as he’d promised.
A man who kept his promises?
A woman who kept her threats.
When Bonnie arrived a short time later, she started at seeing Annista already out of bed.
“Let me light yer fire, Mistress. And bring yer breakfast.”
“Aye, bring it here, please.” She did not want to eat with Father and her in-laws. She did not even want to see her in-laws. But, having taken little to eat yesterday, she had to admit she felt hungry this morning.
Yesterday had seemed uncommonly long. She had passed the time following the dreadful wedding breakfast settling into her chamber and then making limping conversation with Mistress MacKallan. She had seen her husband at dinner, but no more.
She’d had no further glimpse of Evan.
Yet she would swear she could feel his malevolent energy somewhere close by.
Today, so she determined as she waited for Bonnie to bring her breakfast, she wanted to visit Robena’s grave. And find something to do. She would go mad here with naught to occupy her but sewing and plotting Evan MacKallan’s death.
She sat beneath Bonnie’s hands as the maid dressed her and arranged her hair, consuming her breakfast ravenously as she did. The little maid’s fingers trembled, which gave Annista pause.
“Were ye comfortable in your quarters last night, Bonnie?”
Bonnie did not look up from her task to meet Annista’s gaze. A decided flush climbed to her cheek.
“Och aye, Mistress. ’Tis a fine wee room they ha’ given me, all quiet, and I do no’ ha’ to share wi’ anyone.” Back home, the maids shared rooms in the garret, two or three to a chamber.
Yet something in Bonnie’s manner failed to convince.
