Devil in a Kilt by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

Chapter 27

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the smell of rain seemed to seep through Eilean Creag’s thick stone walls, permeating the great hall, making the cavernous vaulted chamber even more dank and cold than usual. It was just before dawn, and many of Duncan’s men still slept soundly upon the rush-strewn floor.

Flickering light from the few wall torches lit at this early hour helped Duncan make his way through the darkened hall. Carefully, he stepped around, or over, his slumbering men and headed for the high table where Sir Marmaduke sat staring into a pewter chalice.

Without a word of greeting to the Sassunach knight, Duncan dragged back his chair and sat. Ignoring his friend, he tore off a chunk of bread, ate it, then washed it down with a hearty gulp of stale wine.

“And a good morrow to you, too.” Sir Marmaduke lifted his chalice in mock salute. “Worse than I predicted, eh?”

Duncan took another sip of the flat wine, then wiped his mouth on a linen napkin. “Aye.”

“Do you wish to speak of it?”

“Nae.”

Marmaduke ran a finger slowly around the rim of his chalice. “Shall I speak with her? Perhaps I can soothe her. She heeded my words the morn of your wedding.”

Duncan slammed down his wine goblet. “I’ve already suffered enough of your interfering, you great lout,” he said crossly. “I have done the vilest of deeds, and trying to make amends at present would bring nothing but more ill feeling.”

“Ill feeling I can see you stirring, for seldom has a man been less gifted with words than you. But vile deeds? Against your gentle lady wife?” Marmaduke shook his head. “No, I cannot believe it.”

“I am not asking you to believe me or nae, for I will not speak of it.”

“Tsk, tsk,” Marmaduke chided. “You’ve no reason to be angry with me.”

“Many are my reasons to be wroth with you, and ‘tis grateful to the saints you should be that I dinnae haul your English arse outside for a fight to the death,” Duncan snarled. “Rain or nae, and not with blunted swords!”

Marmaduke’s good eyebrow arched upward. “What I have done to earn such wrath?”

Struggling to control his temper, Duncan said, “I told you I shall not discuss it.”

“You were not against discussing it yestereve,” Marmaduke countered. “Not that I expect you will have taken a single word of my advice.”

“Your advice was not needed, you blithering knave. The matter has nothing to do with Cassandra and the painted boards bearing her infernal likeness,” Duncan snapped, ripping off another hunk of bread. “‘Tis more grave than that.”

“Then she wasn’t bothered, having seen the painting?”

“Of course, she was bothered!” Duncan drained his wine, slammed down the empty chalice. “She was mightily aggrieved.”

Marmaduke peered at him with his good eye. “You speak nonsense. A moment ago you declared the panel-painting had nothing to do with your foul mood, yet now you say it upset the lady greatly.” Leaning across the table, he rested his chin atop one hand. “Do you care to make your meaning more understandable?”

Duncan leaned forward, too. “By the Rood, you would pull a confession from a dead man! If you must know, everything you said would happen, happened. As it usually does.” Duncan paused to scowl at the Englishman. “My lady was much distressed, but I was able to console her.”

Marmaduke sat back and folded his arms. “Indeed?”

“Aye.”

“So you did follow my advice?”

“Nae, I did not,” Duncan said impatiently. “I used my own methods.”

“And they worked?” Marmaduke sounded doubtful.

“Too well.”

“Too well?” Once more, Marmaduke quirked his intact brow. “What do you mean too well?”

His brother-in-law was always echoing his words, and at the moment his patience was less than thin.

“I mean I bedded her,” Duncan snarled.

A lopsided grin lit Marmaduke’s ravaged features. “And that has cast you into such a black mood?”

Standing, Duncan leaned across the table until he was mere inches from Marmaduke’s face. “She was a maid, you conniving whoreson! A virgin.”

Marmaduke’s jaw dropped. “You mean you’ve only just claimed her?”

“Would she have been a maid had I already done so?” Duncan brought his face so close to Marmaduke’s their noses fair touched.

“But-”

“But you hoped locking me in her chamber while I was befuddled from hippocras, then parading a bloodied piece of linen before my men would convince me I had taken her!” Duncan seized Marmaduke by the neck of his tunic and hauled him from his chair. “And the ploy worked! I did believe I’d taken her. Still, I refrained from touching her again or so I thought since I obviously hadn’t taken her at all. Until last night.”

Releasing Marmaduke, Duncan slammed his fist against the hard planks of the table. “Bluidy hell, Strongbow, your interfering has caused more grief than I can undo!”

Straightening his tunic, Marmaduke regarded Duncan with consternation. “For the love of God, Duncan, you should have been pleased to have a virtuous bride. I regret conspiring to push the two of you together prematurely, but my intentions were noble. Give me your sword, and I shall swear it upon the relic in its hilt.”

Duncan sank back onto his chair. “I am sorry, my friend,” he said. “And I am grateful for my wife’s virtue. Discovering it fair unmanned me.” He paused and pulled one hand down over his face. “You dinnae understand.”

“No, I do not.” Marmaduke refilled their chalices with wine as he spoke. That done, he narrowed his good eye at Duncan. “Or did you take her so roughly you injured her?”

Heat stole up Duncan’s neck at the Sassunach’s words. He’d come closer to the truth than Duncan cared to admit.

Even to his most trusted friend.

Leaning back in his chair, Marmaduke crossed his arms. “Ah-ha. In your … eh … haste, you shocked and frightened her and now she wants nothing more to do with your, eh, passion?”

Duncan pressed his lips together in a tight frown. If only his problems were so simple. It would not be a hardship to spend his days and nights wooing his lady, teaching her the delights and rewards of love.

But, alas, such was not the issue.

His lady already possessed more passion than any woman he’d ever known.

“Well?” Marmaduke pestered when Duncan remained silent.

“Well, what?”

“Shall I give you lessons in properly courting a lady?”

Duncan downed his wine in one gulp. Just barely, he resisted the urge to fling the empty chalice into the nearby hearth. “I am not a fumbling youth nor am I ill-bred. I ken how to woo a lady and…” He paused, leaning forward. “I dinnae need instruction in how to awaken my wife’s ardor. I’d wager my soul she’s more passionate than any lass you’ve e’er had the pleasure to sample.”

Falling back in his chair, Duncan crossed his arms. “Nae, that is not the problem.”

“Let us see…” Marmaduke held up one hand and counted off fingers as he spoke. “The lady was pure, is possessed of heated blood, and is far comelier than she believes. On my honor, MacKenzie, I cannot see the problem.” Pausing, he began tapping his forefinger against his chin. “It’s a riddle. Unless you’ve fallen in love with her?”

“Love?” Duncan scoffed. “Such is only good for bards’ tales on long and cold winter nights. I feel lust for Linnet, that is all.”

“Think you?”

“Aye!” Duncan snapped, furious over the heat creeping into his cheeks at the Sassunach’s probing. “She fires my blood.”

“That is all?”

“God’s bones! ’Tis enough! What man would not weaken at the sight of a fetching lass bare-bottomed and inviting upon his bed?”

The English knight took a slow sip of his wine, carefully studying Duncan across the pewter chalice as he drank.

Duncan squirmed under his friend’s perusal. Sakes, the man could unnerve him.

Setting down his chalice as carefully as he’d sipped his wine, Marmaduke asked, “Does she not stir your emotions as well?”

“By the hounds!” Duncan jumped to his feet. For a long moment he stared up at the vaulted ceiling. When he looked back at Marmaduke, the lout wore one of his knowing grins. “I dinnae have emotions, so wipe that cunning smirk off your face. ’Tis her body I desire. Such urges are natural and have nothing to do with love.”

Marmaduke’s smile faded. “Did you tell her that?”

Duncan withheld the answer. Instead he drew a long, frustrated breath, then lowered himself into his chair. The accuracy of the Sassunach’s words had hit him as if he’d been dealt a blow.

Aye, the truth stung.

“So that’s the way of it.” Marmaduke shook his head. “I feared as much.”

Although it pained him to admit it, Duncan locked his his gaze with his friend’s and nodded. “As always, you are right.”

“Do you wish to talk about it?” Marmaduke offered, and Duncan heard the sincerity of his concern. “Perhaps, together, we can find a way to undo the damage you’ve wrought.”

“You are a dreamer, English. Do you not realize what I’m saying?” Lowering his voice lest anyone else hear, Duncan said, “I robbed her of her maidenhead, initiated her in the pleasures of carnal desire, then, when she turned those damned eyes of hers on me – all soft and adoring – I panicked and told her I wanted naught but an occasional dip into the woman’s flesh betwixt her thighs.”

“Tell me you did not use those words?”

“Not exactly, but I injured her feelings all the same.” Duncan pressed his fingers against his temples. Just thinking of the callous way he’d treated her made his head ache. “She turned her back on me, Strongbow. I killed something inside her, do you understand?”

“Then you have no choice but to make amends – convince her you did not mean what you said. Show her you do care.”

“But I do not,” Duncan argued, feeling the weight of the cold, damp air pressing against his chest, curling around his neck as if to suffocate him, steal his very breath. “It is only taking my ease with her I care about. I cannae tell her I love her when I do not. To do so would be a lie.”

Marmaduke said nothing.

“I willnae lie to her,” Duncan insisted.

“Perhaps not,” Marmaduke conceded, the look in his single eye, penetrating and wise. “But there are other things as ignoble.”

“Such as?” Duncan knew he’d regret the answer.

“Lying to oneself.”

With that, the English knight stood. He took a last sip of his wine, wiped his mouth, then strode from the hall without a backward glance.

Duncan stared after him, feeling soundly chastised. Faith, the all-knowing churl should’ve been a holy man, so good was he at instilling guilt in the innocent.

But, Duncan admitted with a dark scowl, he wasn’t an innocent.

He was a bastard.

Worse, he’d become a liar.

The most despicable liar in the Highlands.