Page 35 of The Baron’s Halo

Isabelle pressed his hand against her cheek. “Let us try again. I just have to…become used to you and what husbands and wives do.” Despite her coaxing, his face remained firm. “Please, Sandy?”

For a moment, she believed she had convinced him, because he seemed to be weighing something in the balance. Then, with a deep sigh, he shook his head. “I am afraid not, my love. Much as it pains me, at this moment I do not trust you to stop me, nor do I truly trust me to stop myself.”

He flung off the covers revealing his member, fully aroused and ready to complete its marital duty. “Some men can control themselves better than others, and I always fancied myself one of them. However, I have never been tempted by anyone as bewitching as you.” He climbed down off the bed, stalked over to the center of the room and Isabelle was treated to a magnificent sight of his round, firm buttocks as he bent to retrieve his shirt. Snaking it over his head, he shrugged it into place, his cock again tenting the garment. “I do not wish for you to tell me to stop, and I be unable to do so.”

“But where will you go, Sandy?” Miserable now that he had abandoned her bed, Isabelle struggled not to cry. She didn’t want to make either of them feel worse.

“The castle sports around twenty-five bedrooms, my love.” He paused at the door, stiffly pulling on his trousers. “I intend to find one where I can take a cold bath.”

Chapter Fourteen

Next morning, Isabelle awakened early, despite a restless night’s sleep. She’d been lonely in the big bed by herself, although she didn’t blame Sandy at all for leaving her. There was no reason for him to stay and be tempted all night. He’d sounded as though he’d been in pain when he’d left, which was likely her fault. Hopefully, that would not happen again.

Missing Cooper’s help terribly, she still managed to dress herself in one of the gowns that had arrived yesterday—a fresh deep blue and cream stripe with ruffles at the hem and edges of the wide belle sleeves. It made her happy to have her own clothes to wear once more. Fortunately, it fastened in the front, as did her stays, so she’d managed without help of either a maid or her husband, although she’d certainly have welcomed the latter. After twisting her hair up in a simple chignon, she fastened cameo earrings in her ears and a matching necklace around her neck, now ready to face the world.

Once outside the bedchamber, she looked about for a footman to direct her to the breakfast room, but the corridor was empty. Well, she’d just have to find her own way. Wandering down the hall, Isabelle enjoyed the various paintings on the walls, although she didn’t recognize any of them from yesterday’s trek upstairs. She was coming to a crossroads. Perhaps something would be familiar there.

A staircase led downward, and Isabelle took it gratefully, although she was certain it wasn’t the main staircase she’d come up yesterday. As the stairs curved around, Isabelle restrained herself from calling out, even though she was beginning to believe herself the single living soul in the castle. She arrived at the ground floor, where finally she saw bustling activity.

The stairs gave onto the kitchen, where the cook and maids were busy filling serving pans with delicious smelling food. A maid rushed by with a pan of sausages and Isabelle’s mouth watered. She’d best speak up or she might starve in the midst of all this bounty. “Pardon me.”

A maid carrying a tray of toast screamed and jumped, sending toast flying every which way. “I beg pardon, miss.” She bent to retrieve the scattered bread. Looking up at Isabelle again, the girl shot to her feet and curtsied. “Beg pardon, m’lady. You’re the new Lady MacKay, aren’t you?”

“I am.” Smiling, Isabelle’s trepidations melted away. At least she wasn’t the only person in the castle who didn’t know what to do. “And you are?”

“Morag, m’lady.” She curtsied again, looking like a cornered rabbit. “I’m sorry about the toast.”

“Please don’t worry about it. If you want, I’ll speak to Cook and let her know it was my fault.” Isabelle looked around. They were in a corridor that likely led from the kitchen to the stairs that went up to the first floor and the dining rooms. “But more important, can you show me the way to the breakfast room? I’m afraid I’m completely lost.”

“Oh, yes, m’lady.” Morag finished collecting the scattered toast in her apron, then led Isabelle over to a small set of stairs. “Up these steps, then turn to the left and that’s the breakfast room. I don’t think Lord MacKay is there yet. He wasn’t a few minutes ago when I set the parritch out.”

“Thank you, Morag. You’ve been so much help to me. I’ll be certain to talk to Cook.” Isabelle didn’t want the young girl to be scolded, or worse, sacked, for a small infraction that was Isabelle’s fault alone. She mounted the steps, feeling somehow more confident than she had since arriving at Cridhe Laidir.

The breakfast room was empty, save for the sideboard already groaning with silver dishes that smelled heavenly. Isabelle seated herself at one end of the table, unsure if she should serve herself or wait for a footman to appear to serve her. At least, after today, she’d know what to expect.

Just like tonight. Once she and Sandy lay together as husband and wife, she’d know what it would be like, what he would do and how he would do it. She loved that Sandy was so thoughtful and caring about her feelings, but he also needed to allow her to get through this very difficult…activity by allowing her to get through it.

Isabelle had just laid her napkin in her lap when Sandy appeared in the doorway looking rather disturbed.

“There you are.” His puckered countenance smoothed out. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Did you think you’d lost me?” She smiled, hoping to strike the exact correct teasing tone.

“That has actually been known to happen here.” Sandy came over and kissed her forehead. “When we tour the house, we can look for their bones.”

“Sandy!” He could be such a tease himself.

“Would you like me to make you a plate?”

“Yes, please. You should know I don’t like fish and I don’t care much for oatmeal.” The thick, unappetizing paste had never appealed to her. “And you should also know that there’s no toast. At least, not at the moment, due to an unfortunate accident.”

Her husband turned away from the food to look at her, one eyebrow cocked high. “Am I to assume you had something to do with the lack of toast at the table?”

“You may.” Isabelle grinned at him. “I ended up in the kitchen after I left the bedchamber and startled one of the kitchen maids.” She giggled. “Toast flew everywhere.”

“I am certain Mrs. Fletcher is remedying that this very moment. She knows the depth of my affinity for well-toasted bread.” Carrying two heavily laden plates with ease, Sandy set the one with a little less food in front of her then, instead of heading for the far end of the table, he set his platter in front of the chair to her immediate left and plopped down in it. “I always thought it odd that my parents ate with so much space in between them. I resolved early on that unless there were more than a handful of guests, I would not stand on ceremony at meals, but would allow people to seat themselves where they wished.”

Isabelle nodded as she attempted to find the best way to attack the mountain of food before her. “I think that is sensible. If we don’t have anyone else taking up space at the table, it will be horridly difficult to hold any sort of conversation at all.” She glanced at her husband, who was tucking in with gusto. “Like this morning. We can converse so much better when we are close to one another.”