Devil in a Kilt by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

Chapter 28

Linnet woke to a dull ache between her thighs. Curling herself into a ball, she hugged her knees and shut her eyes, willing away the throbbing pain.

But the ache persisted, and sleep would not return.

Nor could she deny the weak bands of sunlight filtering through the shutter slats. It was morning, the one after she’d lost her maidenhood, her heart, and all hopes of ever winning her husband’s affection.

Fighting the urge to pull the covers back over her head and ignore the day, she scanned the room, making certain he was truly gone and not lurking in some dark corner, waiting for her to awaken so he could continue his lecture on the glories of carnal desire.

But the chamber was empty, she was indeed alone.

She shivered, feeling used and betrayed.

Angry, too, because, despite everything, she couldn’t deny the sharp stab of disappointment she’d felt upon discovering he’d already slipped from the room.

Stiffly, for it seemed every bone and muscle in her body ached, she climbed from the bed and dressed as quickly as she could. With luck, she could pass unnoticed through the hall and spend the day in her herbarium.

Or perhaps she’d try to sneak past the sentries at the gate so she could walk in peace along the shore?

Nothing would please her more than a pleasant stroll on the shingled banks of Loch Duich, where the towering castle walls would keep her well hidden from prying eyes and wagging tongues.

But all plans for a day of blessed solitude vanished the moment she opened the bedchamber door, stepped out, and collided with him.

“Sakes, woman!” He leapt back, trying to balance a large wooden tray of food. “Have a care where you’re going.”

Linnet blinked at his scowl. “I vow, sir, I could not have known you’d be at the door.”

Striding past her into the room, Duncan set the tray on a table near the hearth. “I’ve brought victuals to break your fast. Oatcakes and a jug of fresh buttermilk, some honey and cheese.” He folded his arms over his chest and frowned again when she remained by the door. “Are you no’ hungry?”

“Aye,” she admitted, uncomfortable under his gaze. “But I could have eaten in the hall. There was no need for you to fetch my breakfast.”

He made a gruff noise, then pulled out a chair for her. “The fare in the hall wasn’t fit for crows,” he explained, obviously waiting for her to take her seat. “Besides, I … ah … thought you’d prefer to dine alone this morn.”

“I see.” Linnet crossed the room, wondering if he thought to keep her from the hall? Hide her away as he did Robbie?

Was he worried his men would read her face and see all wasn’t well between them?

More disturbing, could he see what troubled her?

Did her face reveal that her heart was breaking? That he’d taken her to the dizzying heights of all her hopes and dreams, only to let her crash to the ground, her most secret desires scattered around her like shards of broken pottery?

Schooling her features, she sat and carefully poured herself a cup of buttermilk. “Thank you,” she said quietly, avoiding his stern scrutiny. “It was thoughtful of you.”

“Nae…” He stepped forward and reached toward her, then let his hand drop, as if embarrassed he’d dare attempt to touch her. “Bringing you breakfast is as it should be and … and … not good enough. You deserve much more for what you gave me yestereve. I should have brought you a length of the finest cloth and a chest overflowing with jewels. I … ’tis … oh, by the saints, lady,” he blurted, yet another frown creasing his brow. “Can you no’ see I am no’ good at fancy words?”

“I’ve no need for fancy words.” She glanced up at last, surprised by the flush coloring her husband’s handsome face. “Noble gowns and glittering gemstones mean little to me.”

He reached toward her again, this time smoothing the backs of his fingers down her hair. The light caress sent a jolt through her and made her pulse quicken.

“Have you nothing else that requires your attention?” She held his gaze, hoping he’d leave her be while at the same time wishing he’d touch her again.

Faith and mercy, she wished he’d do more than simply run his hands over her tresses.

A strange look entered his deep blue eyes then. “Indeed, there is a matter of importance I must tend to,” he said, taking the seat opposite her, his intense gaze holding her captive. “That is why I am here.”

“Oh?”

“Aye.” He nodded, the corners of his mouth curving upward in a seductive smile. “A matter of utmost importance.”

“I do not understand.” Linnet hedged, half-afraid to listen further. Tearing her gaze away, she turned her attention to the food before her.

Anything but lose herself in the depths of his bone-melting gaze. She daren’t risk her heart to the whim of a devil’s beguiling smile.

Yet…

Already, that warm, soft feeling was spreading through her, pooling in her belly, and making her all too aware of the strange power he held over her.

Worried he’d sense what she felt, and before she could regret the consequences, she looked up. “Can it be, sir, that the ‘matter of importance’ is that you wish to quench your bodily lust again? If so, I’ll disrobe and spread my legs. I am aware that is my duty.”

“God’s bones!” Duncan shot to his feet so fast he knocked over the jug of buttermilk. For a brief moment, he stared at the thick liquid spilling over the table edge onto the rushes, then, with one great swipe of his arm, he sent the earthen jug and all else upon the table to the floor.

Linnet jumped up, too. Extending her arms before her, she began backing away from him. But he caught up with her in two quick strides, seizing her by the shoulders and pulling her roughly against his chest.

“Must you e’er vex me?” he railed, fair lifting her off her feet. “I came to apologize! To repay you-”

“For what?” My services?” Linnet countered, her voice a mere squeak, for he held her so tightly the neckline of her gown dug into her throat. “The same as you’d pay for the favors of a stewhouse harlot?”

“Nae! ’Tis my wife you are. Dinnae twist my words. I’ve told you I’m not good at pretty speeches.” Letting go of her, he ran both hands through his hair, the gesture making him appear more desperate than angry. “You do not understand. I did not mean to hurt you.”

“You are mistaken, sir.” With trembling fingers, Linnet tugged her gown into place. “I do understand. I know very well that you did not mean to cause me undue pain.”

“I-dinnae-mean-that-kind-of-pain,” he bit out, emphasizing each word. “And I think you know it. I meant it wasn’t my intent to injure your feelings.”

“Oh.” Linnet’s heart turned over at his awkward attempt at apologizing, and at the sincerity in his eyes. Even so, she didn’t dare make overmuch of anything he said or did.

He’d expressed his true opinion of her, and their marriage, the night before.

Squaring her shoulders, she fought the sweet sensations his nearness stirred in her. “I thought feelings held no interest for you?”

He shook his head. “I do care for you, Linnet.”

“So you said.” Growing bolder than she would’ve thought she’d dare, she spread honey on an oatcake. “You care for me as a man cares for a finely honed sword or an obedient and worthy steed.”

“For truth, lassie!”

“But that is the truth.” She looked up at him. “Or am I mistaken?”

Duncan’s face darkened. “By the hounds, can you no’ see I am trying to make amends? Have a care lest you taunt me too much. My patience has already been sorely tested this day.”

A rap on the door spared her having to answer. Without glancing at her, Duncan strode across the room and yanked the door wide. Three young pages entered, each carrying pails of water.

A fourth, a wee lad no older than Robbie, carried a small wooden stool.

Two squires followed, one with a large wooden cooper’s tub held before him, the other with a stack of linen toweling piled high in his arms.

“I ordered a bath brought up for you,” Duncan said gruffly. Following the pages to the hearth, he dipped his hand in one of the buckets. “The water has been heated below, but it isn’t overly warm. I’ll stoke the fire so you do no’ take a chill.”

Linnet stifled a laugh. The only thing in the room capable of chilling her was the cold expression on her lord husband’s face.

Arms folded across his chest, his jaw tight, he silently watched the young servants line the tub with a huge length of linen, place the tiny stool inside, and then drape it, too, with a linen cloth, before they began pouring rose-scented water into the bath.

When they were done, he dismissed them with a curt nod.

Heavens, but he appeared chiseled from granite. Linnet wasn’t surprised the lads scurried from the room, anxious to be gone, the older squires not far behind them.

They’d surely sensed the tense atmosphere. It was so thick Linnet could almost taste its bitterness. The ancients have pity on her, even the brisk morning air blowing in through the opened windows wasn’t as chilly as the look her husband wore.

It was a foul expression she’d no doubt put there with her coolness and quick tongue.

In all fairness, he had sought to appease her.

Regret at her harsh words ate at her as she watched him test the bathwater once more. His smile of only moments ago was gone now, replaced by a stony expression that revealed nothing.

“I told Fergus to have Cook add a few drops of the rose oil. I trust that is to your liking?”

“Thank you, my lord. I favor roses.”

“Lady…” A bit of the anger faded from Duncan’s face. “Have you forgotten I’d asked you to use my name?”

“Thank you, Duncan ... sir,” she said, sorely tempted to dive back into the bed and pull the bedcurtains to shield herself from the displeasure she could see thrumming through him.

“Duncan. Just Duncan,” he said, his voice deep. Coming to her side, he gently lifted a handful of her hair. “I am not an ogre, lass.”

Letting the strands slip from his fingers, he cupped her chin. “I offended you last night, and I am asking you to accept my humblest apology.”

“Oh, dear.” Linnet blinked, then met his deep blue gaze, no longer dark and stormy, but now almost the same shade they’d been as he’d whispered tender endearments to her in the night.

The memory of all he’d said, and done, in the heat of his passion, sent a whirlwind of conflicting emotions swirling through her.

Could he truly be sorry he’d hurt her feelings?

Perhaps, but she still doubted he cared for her. At least not in the way she wanted him to care. She swallowed, for her throat had gone dry as cold ash. Let the angels and old ones have mercy on her, she wanted him to love her.

Truly love her.

With all his heart.

Not merely desire her as a convenient vessel for his manly needs.

But was he capable of such emotions? And could he accept her feelings for him as well? Or must she be content with the bits and pieces of tenderness he’d surely grant her while in his arms?

Would such be enough?

She tamped down a sigh. It’d never be enough. She wanted more, so very much more.