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"Wife," he said, his expression exasperated. "Ye never judge a man by his words, but by his actions. A man, and a woman,"—he added firmly—"can lie to ye with their lips, but their actions will tell the truth. "
"That may be true of most people, husband. But I am not most people, I am your wife, and I need both the actions and the words," she said firmly.
Cullen stared at her as if she were some exotic creature he'd never seen before, then threw up his hands with exasperation and marched past her and out of the keep.
Evelinde stared at the closed door for several minutes, her mind in an uproar. She wasn't sorry she'd said what she had. For heaven's sake, she hadn't even known Biddy was his aunt until the woman had told her so herself!
Still, she wasn't sure she'd accomplished much either. What Cullen said was partly true. Were she to judge him by his actions, her husband was proving to be a considerate, caring man. He had done everything she would have wished him to do and without her ever having had the opportunity to ask him to do it… Everything except ease her mind by telling her what he was doing.
Evelinde supposed that was better than a man who made proclamations of caring, or promised her the world but did not trouble himself to do anything. And it was certainly better than a husband who drank too much and beat her. Releasing a little sigh, she rubbed her forehead where an ache was beginning to grow and acknowledged that things could indeed be worse. She did much prefer a quiet but thoughtful husband to a lying, abusive husband.
Perhaps she would just have to learn to deal with Cullen's telling her nothing, Evelinde thought on a sigh.
At least she had Mac and Mildrede again, she reminded herself, as the door opened, and Mac, the man who had listened to her woes and worries since she was old enough to sit a saddle, entered with a small chest in hand. He was followed by the other men, each of them carrying an item from the wagon.
Mac paused beside her, waited for the others to pass by and start up the stairs, then said, "Lady's been stuck walking behind the wagon for four days and may like a ride. She's no had a proper ride since ye left. "
"Lady is here, too?" Evelinde asked, cheering.
"Aye. She was taken to the stables. "
Evelinde immediately started past him, pausing to glance back when he spoke her name softly.
"Doona be too hard on the man, lass. Talking is harder for men than 'tis for women. "
Evelinde frowned at his words, and pointed out, "You talk to me all the time. "
"Aye. " He smiled faintly. "But I'm an old man. I've learned the value of talking. Cullen's younger, though, and proud. " He shrugged and shook his head. "Empty vessels make the most sound, lass, and he's no empty. "
"No, he is not," she agreed quietly.
Apparently satisfied that he'd done what he could, Mac turned away with his burden. "Go on and see yer Lady. She's been pining for ye. "
Smiling faintly, Evelinde turned and continued out of the keep. Her smile widened at the prospect of seeing her mare as she crossed the bailey.
She was barely halfway to the stables when she saw Cullen come charging out of the building on his mount. He immediately headed out of the bailey, urging his mount to a run as soon as he'd passed under the gate.
Evelinde wondered briefly where he was going but then pushed the worry away and hurried on to the stables. If Lady did not seem tired, she would take her for a ride. Just a short one since she didn't know the area, but even a short, fast ride would help soothe her.
"My men saw ye from the wall about half an hour ago. So, I saddled up to meet ye," Tralin greeted as he reigned in before Cullen's mount on the edge of the woods surrounding the hill Comyn castle sat on.
Cullen grunted. He would have done the same the other day had Tralin and his parents not already nearly been to the castle by the time his man had alerted him that a party approached. Cullen suspected the men on the wall had been too distracted watching him trying to break the new horse to notice the approaching riders. Or perhaps they'd been watching his wife trying to get herself killed charging across Angus's paddock, he thought with an irritation that soon faded as he recalled she'd been rushing across the paddock because she'd feared he'd done himself an injury tumbling from the horse.
His wife was like to drive him crazy at this rate, Cullen decided with exasperation. One minute he was scared witless, the next furious at her for risking herself so, and the next he was touched that she'd feared for his well-being. Truly, marriage was turning out to be like a ride on a boat in rough weather; up and then down and then up and then down again. Someone should have warned him that marriage could make a man seasick.
"So? To what do I owe this your presence? Or need I ask?"
Cullen's eyes narrowed. "What do ye mean by that?"
Tralin shrugged, then arched his eyebrows. "Do I dare ask how married life is treating ye?"
"Nosy beggar," Cullen muttered.
Tralin burst out laughing at the insult, and asked, "Trouble in paradise?"
When Cullen merely sighed unhappily, he reached out to slap him on the back encouragingly and turned his mount back toward Comyn castle. "Come, friend, I suspect ye could use an ale, and I would enjoy one, too. "
Cullen hesitated. He shouldn't really be there. It was nearly an hour's ride to Comyn and would be the same back, and he had much to do, but he'd needed to ride off his frustration and confusion and had somehow ended here. Now that he was at Comyn, he might as well have a drink before he returned Cullen reasoned and urged his mount forward with a nod.
"So," Tralin said, once they were settled at the trestle table in the Comyn great hall. "How is the fair Evelinde?"
Cullen smiled reluctantly and admitted, "She is fair. "
"Aye," Tralin agreed, watching his face with interest. "Even in the overlarge gown and with her hair looking as if she'd come straight from her bed, she was fair, but she was fairer still when she came down after changing and fixing her hair. "
Cullen nodded, a smile curving his lips as he thought what Tralin said was true, but his wife looked most beautiful when she was naked, her bright blue eyes darkening with the passion he stirred in her.
"She seemed to have a personality to match," Tralin added, when Cullen remained silent. "So I can only assume whatever trouble it is has brought ye here is yer fault. "
The image of his naked wife shattering, Cullen straightened abruptly and turned an offended gaze his way. "What?"
"Well…" Tralin shrugged. "I doona see her being stubborn and proud. You, on the other, hand are both. "
Cullen grimaced at the truth of those words and sighed. "I didna plan to come here, but now that I am…" He shrugged, and said, "You are better with women than I. At least they seem to like to talk to ye.
"
"That's because I actually talk back," Tralin said dryly, then asked, "What happened?"
"I found out she's been crying herself to sleep," Cullen admitted unhappily.
Tralin's eyebrows rose. "Why?"
"She did not realize I had brought her clothes," he admitted. "The woman seemed to think I brought her to Donnachaidh with naught but the gown on her back. "
Tralin shrugged. "How could she know otherwise? Did ye tell her ye had?"
"Nay, but she should ha'e kenned that I'd no bring her here without her belongings. "
"How could she know that?" he asked with amusement. "She doesna ken ye, Cullen. And ye must admit, you are no the most forthcoming of men. "
Cullen frowned at the very suggestion that he might carry some of the blame for her thinking so poorly of him but knew it was true. The man was only echoing her complaint.
"Have the two of ye talked at all since the marriage?"
"She talks," Cullen admitted with a smile tugging at his lips as he thought of the way Evelinde had chattered away to him the last several days. She'd told him tales of her youth, her adventures, her friendship with Mac and affection for Mildrede, as well as revealed the clever ways she'd managed to avoid her stepmother as often as possible.
"She talks, huh?" Tralin said, watching his smile. "And what do you do?"
"I listen," Cullen answered, and he did. He'd found himself enthralled, listening to her voice. Evelinde was a fair storyteller, and he'd been able to picture much of what she'd said in his head as she spoke.
"Hmm. " Tralin sipped at his ale, and asked, "Do ye like her so far?"
Cullen considered the question and nodded slowly. "Aye. She's clever and sweet and… wishes herself back at d'Aumesbery with that perfectly hateful stepmother of hers rather than at Donnachaidh with me," he ended with disgust.
Tralin choked on the ale he'd been in the process of swallowing, and Cullen thumped him a couple of times on the back, understanding the reaction. That admission had horrified him, too. It was hard to accept that she was so unhappy with him that she would rather be back there being insulted and abused by Edda.
"Why?" Tralin got out finally. "From what you said the other day, the woman treated her horribly. "
Cullen nodded glumly. He'd told Tralin and his parents about the stepmother while Evelinde was upstairs changing the day they'd visited. He'd described Edda's behavior toward her stepdaughter with a few succinct words that had made it clear she had been badly treated by the woman.
He, on the other hand, never insulted or abused her, Cullen thought. In fact, he'd done everything he could to try to make things easier; leaving right after the wedding to get her away from Edda rather than staying to rest a night after the long trip to d'Aumesbery, choosing and packing gowns and such in that small bag for her when she was unable to do it herself, cutting himself to fake the consummation rather than subject her to the humiliation Edda had insisted on, carrying her before him on his mount the whole way so that her injuries were exacerbated as little as possible…
"Are ye rough with her in bed?" Tralin asked suddenly, and when Cullen turned a shocked and furious gaze on him, added quickly, "I am just trying to sort out why she would wish she was back at d'Aumesbery. I ken ye would not insult or abuse her like her stepmother—"
"I called her daft," Cullen admitted, then explained about the bull and her being in the paddock.
"Well, I think that can be forgiven," Tralin said with a frown, then cleared his throat and returned to the bone he'd dug up a moment ago. "I know you would not abuse a woman, but I was just wondering if—I mean, yer no used to dealing with virgins, Cullen, and mayhap you were a little less gentle than you might have been, or she was shocked by what… er… takes place. "
"I have been avoiding bedding her to allow her body to heal," he admitted unhappily.
Tralin's eyebrows shot up. "You mean the wedding has not been consummated?"
"Aye, it has," Cullen assured him and frowned. He'd intended to wait until her body had healed completely and she would not wince in pain when he caressed her. Howbeit, the morning after arriving home, he'd spilled ale on himself and headed up to the room to change his tunic and Biddy had stopped him and asked if he'd take her salve up to Evelinde and tell her she'd be along shortly. He'd agreed, fully intending just to give her the salve, but then he'd walked in and found her laid out naked on the bed on her stomach and all his best intentions had gone out the window.
The next thing he knew his hands were slick with salve, and he was applying it himself, and once he'd touched her Cullen had been lost. So much so that he couldn't even say if Biddy had ever come up intending to apply the salve. If she had, neither of them had noticed, and she'd slipped away without disturbing them, and he was grateful for it.
Tralin cleared his throat to get his attention, and asked delicately, "And how did it go?"
"It went… well," Cullen muttered, knowing he lied through his teeth. It had been incredible. He was no virgin, but bedding his wife had been one of the most exciting experiences of his life. Cullen had never before felt a passion like she'd drawn from him, or the desire to please a woman as much as he'd wanted to please Evelinde. His passion was so all-consuming it had been a struggle to remain gentle and a constant battle to avoid touching any of her sore spots. Reining in the passion she'd stirred so had been a sort of torture… a sweet torture. And one he'd wanted to repeat immediately on awaking, too. But, afraid he wouldn't be able to go gently next time, Cullen had forced himself to resist, reminding himself that she needed to heal.
"It went well for you," Tralin said. "But what of her? Perhaps—"
"It went well for her, too," Cullen interrupted dryly. "It went verra well for both of us. Howbeit, she seems to have mistaken my consideration in not wanting to trouble her again until she is fully healed as an indication that she did not please me. "
"Hmm," Tralin murmured.
"And she wants me to explain things to her," Cullen complained. "I told her to watch me actions and no bother so much about the words, but she insists she wants me words and actions. "
"Demanding wench. "
Cullen nodded, only realizing that his friend had been teasing him when Tralin started to laugh.
"Cullen," he said with exasperation. "I ken yer no used to explaining yerself. Yer laird over the people of Donnachaidh and as such need not explain anything to anyone, but she is not just another one of yer people. She's yer wife, and the two of ye are just getting to ken each other. Ye'll need to explain some things at first. "
When Cullen just glowered at him, he added, "Look at it from her perspective. Ye showed up, married her, and dragged her off right away, and she thought with naught but the gown she wore. Ye then bedded her once, and no doubt left her to her own devices after that, without a word of praise to let her know that ye were pleased with her, or—knowing you—any sort of direction as to her place at Donnachaidh. She is no doubt feeling lost and uncertain in her new home and position. "
"But I have done all I possibly can to ease the way for her," Cullen protested.
"Except tell her ye're pleased with her for bride," he pointed out. "And praise is no doubt what she needs after being insulted by her stepmother all these years. "
"But—"
"Look at it as just another one of yer duties," Tralin interrupted. "Ye take yer duties seriously, I ken. So, think of this as one. Yer duty is to ensure yer wife kens she is appreciated and necessary at Donnachaidh. "
"A duty," he muttered.
"Aye. " Tralin nodded. "I promise ye if ye do, she—and hence, ye—will be much happier. "
Cullen considered the suggestion seriously, then nodded and stood.
"Where are ye going?" Tralin asked with surprise.
"Home to attend me duties," he muttered, heading for the door.
