Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] (13 page)

But that notion sat ill with him, and he realized he had developed respect, even liking, for this wife of his. He would do better to show her that he had other delights in store for her before he indulged himself.

On that thought, he lay back against the pillows and drew her close. With her head resting in the hollow of his shoulder, he realized how comfortable he felt and decided that some aspects of his unlooked-for marriage were very pleasant.

He was ready neither to sleep yet nor to exert himself more, and as she lay silently beside him, he recalled her odd dream and gave it some thought.

A few moments later, he said, “Tell me more about that dream you had.”

“I’ve told you all I can remember of it,” she murmured.

“But the lady Amalie was there and then not there?”

“Aye, and the earring likewise.”

He did not care about the earring. It was neither real nor truly lost. Amalie, on the other hand, was both real and living right there at the Hall.

“It seems a strange dream to have about your sister, as full of darkness and pain as it was,” he said. “What has she done to stir such feelings in you?”

“Why, what
could
she have done?”

He waited.

At last, with a sigh, she said, “I should not tell you all she said to me.”

He rose onto his side again, shifting so he could look at her. He eased her head to the pillow as he did, but kept his forearm under her shoulders. “On the contrary,” he said, looking into her eyes. “You will tell me, because I am your husband. When I ask you a question, I expect an answer—a truthful answer.”

“But surely—”

“You need not worry that I may betray your confidence, because I won’t. Recall, too, that before Holy Kirk, we are one now, and that one is the husband.”

She gazed at him for a long moment before she said, “She is unhappy because she does not feel comfortable here. I have assured her that I welcome her company, but she . . . she feels as if I am the only one here at Scott’s Hall who does.”

“Aye, well, now that Jenny is here, I expect that will change.”

Her expression remained sober, and he felt her stiffen. “What?” he demanded. “Don’t tell me that you do not like Jenny, for I shan’t believe it.”

Her incredible smile appeared then, not as wide as before but still startling in the way it altered her features in the flickering candle glow.

“I’ll not tell you any such thing,” she said. “You were right about Jenny. I feel sure we will become fast friends.”

Satisfaction filled him, stronger than he might have expected. He savored it for a time before he realized she still had not answered his question satisfactorily.

“I’m glad you like her,” he said. “Is it Amalie who does not? Because if that is the case, the best way to deal with her is to send her back to Elishaw where she can be happy again. I’m not sure why she wanted to come here with us at all.”

“She came to bear me company, so I’d not have to travel alone with so many men. It was kind of her, and thoughtful. I don’t want her to leave until she wants to go. And at present, she does not.” Taking a deep breath, she added, “What she does want is to leave Scott’s Hall. So I was wondering how much progress you’ve made at Raven’s Law. When can we move there?”

Knowing he had done almost nothing to prepare for that move, he felt a stab of guilt and a stronger one of annoyance with himself. Sex with her had proven so welcome a duty that he was already looking forward to the next time. If he got her properly settled at Raven’s Law, he could enjoy her every night if he willed it so.

As it was, he said, “Not yet, lass. I have much yet to do there. And with things still as unsettled in the Forest as they are, and Douglas likely gathering his army soon, it is far safer for you and Amalie to stay here for now.”

He saw her jaw set, and he did not want to fratch with her over a decision he had no intention of changing. Before she could fling another argument his way, he said gently but firmly, “You have not told me everything yet, have you?”

When she grimaced, he added, “It does not make sense that your sister would feel unhappy here and would not feel so at Raven’s Law, which will never be as comfortable as it is here or at Elishaw. So tell me the rest.”

“I can’t,” she said. “I know you and the Kirk think I must, but I just can’t.”

“You can, Margaret. I know you can keep your own counsel. God knows you have with me. You’ve not even blamed me for this marriage of ours, although I’m sure you have much you’d like to say to me. But if you are going to keep secrets, we will soon be at outs. For a wife to keep secrets from her husband is a sin.”

“What about a husband keeping secrets from his wife?” she murmured, gazing at him, not as if she challenged him but as if she expected . . . what?

It occurred to him that Murray probably kept any number of secrets from his wife and daughters, especially if Lady Murray was the threaping sort Gib had named her. He said, “There are things you’ve no need to know, that have nowt to do with you or with Raven’s Law, but I’ll not keep things from you that you ought to know.”

“But you will decide what I should know and what I should not. And you likewise want to decide how much
you
should know about me and Amalie.”

“Aye, sure I do. I am responsible for you both. I am also involved in matters that concern many others, not just my own family. Other men’s confidences are not things I mean to share with my wife—or with anyone else, come to that.”

“I understand that,” she said. “I shan’t ask you about such things.”

“Good, then we understand each other,” he said. “So, tell me.”

Meg was not sure they did understand each other, but she was coming to know him and doubted she could resist him long. If he knew what his touch did to her, she’d have no chance now. He had only to ask her while his fingers and lips teased her to distraction, and she would tell him anything he wanted to know.

She tried to think of an answer that would make him drop the subject. She knew he meant to keep his word, but she did not know if he could resist offering advice to Amalie or otherwise revealing his awareness of her unhappiness to her.

Meg could not imagine how he had deduced that there was more. She was unaccustomed to anyone caring enough about her thoughts to try to read them, but reflection reminded her that he was a warrior, used to reading opponents in battle.

Doubtless, then, his skill in judging another’s thoughts had developed much as her own had. Hers had done so while seeking peaceful coexistence with her family. Did such a goal not match that of any warrior fighting to survive battle?

She lay close enough to feel the warmth of his body and feel his gaze boring into her even when she managed to look away. If he moved closer or touched her . . .

He stirred. His left hand moved to her right arm, stroking it gently first, then grasping it firmly and jarring her a little as he said, “Tell me, lass. Now. It will be easier than you think, I promise. What’s amiss with Amalie?”

Again he loomed over her, determined and intense.

She remembered her marital promises to be meek and obedient and her private determination to please him. But this was something so personal to Amalie that she felt as if she would be betraying her.

“You have no reason yet to believe me when I say you can trust me,” he said. “But I swear you can, and if there is a way I can help, I will. You have my word.”

She could not see how he could help, but he meant to have an answer. That left the choice either to anger him by defying his command or to obey it and pray she could trust him. And she, too, had given her word, not just to him but to God.

“Someone has taken advantage of her,” she said at last.

“Who?”

“She will not tell me. But when I asked if it was someone here, she said no.”

He frowned, and she waited for him to say that he’d get the truth out of her in a trice, but he shook his head, saying, “It would not have been anyone here. Our lads may not be angels, but they have healthy concern for their skin, and my father would take a man’s off him for such as this. Did the devil get her with child?”

Meg nearly denied it out of shock that he would ask the question and impulse to defend Amalie. But then, remembering, she said, “I don’t know. I don’t think she knows. But she has complained of being tired ever since we arrived. And Jenny said— She doesn’t know about Amalie, but she said she was so exhausted at first, herself, that she just wanted to sleep all the time. So it is with Amalie.”

She expected anger then, but he said only, “We’ll know soon enough, I warrant. Are you sure she would not prefer to be at Elishaw with your mother?”

“Nay, she is terrified of being found out. She says no one will want to marry her when the truth comes out.”

“If she were well enough dowered, such a truth would not matter.”

Meg grimaced. “As you know yourself, sir, my father is not fond of dowries for his daughters. And my mother will be just as furious as Amalie fears she will.”

“Then we must persuade them to be practical,” he said, smiling.

The tension Meg had felt since Amalie’s disclosure began to ease. She smiled softly at him. “I thought you would be angry,” she said.

“Why? It was none of your doing—or hers, I’ll wager.”

“If we do find out who it was and my parents learn of it, they will want to force the man to marry her,” Meg said.

“If the lass would agree, that
would
be the best solution.”

“I’d think it would be a reward to him for his villainy,” she said grimly.

“We’ll think of something.” He bent and kissed her, lightly at first, then more deeply, clearly savoring the taste of her, because he moaned deep in his throat.

His hand moved to her breast, and all thoughts of Amalie disappeared as he showed her that he could make her feel more than she had imagined.

When Wat awoke, the room was silent but light enough to let him know he had slept later than usual. He had also slept more deeply than he had in a long while. Remembering why, he reached for Margaret only to find her gone.

To have slipped out of the cupboardlike bed with him sleeping on the outside, blocking her against the wall, she had to have moved like a wraith, and the thought stirred niggling annoyance. He grimaced then, wondering if he had become such a coxcomb that his wife’s managing to get out of bed without his permission had somehow become an act of willfulness.

With more pleasant thoughts of the night before and how different it had been from his imaginings, he got out of bed and relieved himself in the night vessel before pouring cold water from the ewer into the basin to scrub his face.

Rubbing it dry with a towel, he wished he had brought his razor. He hadn’t, though, so as soon as he had dressed, he left the room in search of food.

Downstairs in the great chamber, which his sister insisted on calling the solar, he found the women gathered around the family table, chatting.

Even Amalie was there, sitting quietly but nodding at something Jenny had said. A quick assessment as he strolled toward the dais revealed that the lass did look a bit pale but otherwise showed no hint of her distress or much else.

“Good morning,” he said to everyone in general. “I heard you were here, Jenny, so I came along to keep you out of trouble.”

“How thoughtful,” she said, grinning as he bent to kiss her. “Rand sends his felicitations on your marriage,” she added. “I think them well merited, don’t you?”

Her laughing eyes teased him to deny it.

He looked at Margaret, sitting primly beside her, and recalled her delight and her consideration for him during their activities the previous night.

“I do, indeed,” he said, smiling at his wife rather than at Jenny.

To his delight, Margaret smiled back. She looked different by daylight, certainly, but the plain gray kirtle she wore showed off the lines of her body better than her more fashionable attire. The simple white veil looked well on her, too, because its narrow lace trim softened and widened the lines of her face.

Her smile, as always, altered her features extraordinarily.

His mother said, “I warrant you have not yet broken your fast.”

“I’m starved,” he said. “Is there food here, or must I go down to the hall?”

“I told them you would be along here soon, sir,” Margaret said.

“She did, indeed,” his mother agreed. “And young Sym dashed off to fetch your food the minute he caught sight of you in the doorway.”

He had not noticed Sym, but the lad brought his food swiftly.

Wat joined the others at the table, and as he ate, the conversation flowed merrily on. Chatting with them, hearing Jenny and Amalie call Margaret “Meg,” he found himself looking frequently at his wife, trying to reconcile his lusty images from the night before with the neat young woman sitting there at the table.

He liked the name Meg. It suited the lass he had discovered in his bed.

To his astonishment and no little dismay, his cock came eagerly to life again.

Shifting forward on the bench so no one else would notice, he focused on his food, wondering why that had happened. That he was so attracted to Meg sexually astonished him. He recalled again his thoughts when he’d first had to bed her. But there she sat now, a sleek gray cat. Wondering if she had claws, he stirred again.

“Don’t you agree, Wat?” Jenny asked, wrenching him from his reverie.

He looked blankly at her, having no idea what they had been discussing.

Noise of booted feet thudding up the main stairway came as a welcome diversion. He turned to see his father stride into the chamber with another man at his heels. The latter snatched off a battered cap when he saw the ladies.

“This lad has come from Elishaw,” Buccleuch said to Wat, his demeanor making it clear that he was irritated. “He says he brings an urgent message for you.”

The man bowed, clutching his cap to his stomach. “Beg pardon, Sir Walter,” he said. “Ye’ll no remember me, but Sir Iagan said I should speak only to ye, to tell ye we’ve been besieged and to bring as many men as ye can raise, straightaway.”