Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] (6 page)

Meg held her breath.

“I will,” the young man beside her said firmly.

“Have you a ring to give her, sir?” the friar asked.

“Nay, for I do not wear one.”

“’Tis of no consequence, as the only thing that matters is your promise before God,” the friar said.

He turned then to Meg. “Lady Margaret, do you plight your troth to take Sir Walter as your wedded husband, to have him and to hold him through all the ills and pleasures that life brings you, to obey his commands, and to be bonlich and buxom in bed and at board till death parts you from him?”

“I do,” Meg said, pleased that her voice sounded as firm as Sir Walter’s.

With those words and another brief prayer, the ceremony was over.

Meg thought it sadly flat. A wedding, she decided, ought to have more to it.

“Well, that’s done,” Sir Iagan announced with satisfaction. “Next, we’ll see to the bedding, and then we can eat.”

The thought of what lay ahead shot a bolt of panic through Meg, but Lady Murray said calmly, “Forgive me, my lord, but mayhap I misunderstood you. Believing your intent was that our midday meal be their wedding feast, I ordered it served as close to the usual time as possible. It is ready now to serve.”

“Aye, well, that’s a—”

“I do hope you are not vexed,” she added. “I did not expect these men to stand idly by whilst our daughter and Sir Walter consummate their marriage. Or is it required that we ask them to bear witness to it?”

“Nay, we needna—”

“Doubtless, you are hungry yourself and just striving to do the thing properly. Still, I suspect you would prefer us all to eat first, so Sir Walter’s men can load the sumpter ponies whilst he and his bride enjoy a brief respite before they must depart.”

Meg glanced at the man who was now her husband but found naught to reassure her in the way his lips pressed tightly together. A muscle in his jaw twitched, just as the one in Amalie’s jaw did when she was angry or frustrated but believed she would do better to hold her tongue than to speak.

Wat would have liked to strangle Sir Iagan Murray, because had the man plotted and schemed to destroy a marriage before ever it had begun, he could not have done better. The only thing that could make it worse would be if the old devil did insist on letting everyone watch the consummation.

He had heard of fathers who did allow it, to prevent the bridegroom from complaining later that the bride had not been a maiden. So he continued to watch Murray in trepidation, praying that he would not dig in his heels and do just that.

However, Lady Murray was giving orders to the servants, and residents of Elishaw who had not come to watch the ceremony were hurrying into the lower hall now to take their places at the trestle tables.

In what seemed to be no time at all, Wat stood beside his father-in-law at the high table with the friar on his right. Lady Murray and her daughters lined up on Murray’s left, so the bride stood in what was doubtless her usual spot, three places away from Wat, between her mother and the lady Amalie. Rosalie was at the end.

At other wedding feasts Wat had attended, the bride and groom had occupied the central seats at the high table. But evidently Murray or his lady, or both, had decided to prevent any discourse between him and his bride. Realizing he would soon find himself bedding a woman whose only words to him thus far had been her declaration that she had no more wish to marry him than he had to marry her, Wat wondered if when the time came he would be able to perform his duty.

As soon as the friar had said the grace-before-meat and they had taken their seats, Murray said heartily, “Well, now, lad, how does it feel to be a married man? I warrant ye’re fair straining at the leash to have at her, are ye no?”

Meeting the older man’s taunting gaze, Wat said with feigned interest, “Is that how it was with you, sir? Were you straining at the leash on your day of days?”

Hearing a hastily smothered noise beyond his host, he leaned forward and looked past him.

Lady Murray’s attention was on her trencher. If she had heard the exchange—and Wat was certain she must have—she gave no sign. Beyond her, the lady Margaret held a hand over her mouth and stared intently at the table before her.

Wat heard Murray chuckle but watched Margaret until she turned her head enough for him to see her almond-shaped eyes dancing beneath lush dark lashes. He was able to discern enough of their color to guess that they were gray or a soft blue.

Before, he had always seemed to see her mouth first. Now, with it covered, her eyes commanded attention. He wished she would look right at him as she had earlier, but even as the thought stirred, she looked back down at the table.

“Bless us, lad,” Sir Iagan said, startling him out of his brief reverie and still chortling as he gestured to his carver to begin carving the roast. “Ye’ve recalled that me own marriage were arranged for me just as I’ve arranged yours for you. Och, though, not precisely as I’ve done it,” he amended with another laugh. “Still, if ye can do as well wi’ your lady as I’ve done wi’ mine, ye’ll be content. Five sturdy bairns mine has given me, and four more that died young. See if ye can do as well.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.” Nodding to the gillie offering to ladle hare soup from a basin to a wooden bowl, and to another about to fill his mug from the ale jug, he added, “I’d count myself lucky to sire such a family.”

“First ye ha’ to bed your bride, aye. And later, ye’ll no be forgetting our Rosalie,” Murray went on. “She’ll need a husband one day, too, so if ye’ve any young noble friends as would like to try raiding my herds, ye can send them along to Elishaw when she’s older.”

“Perhaps you will explain something to me,” Wat said amiably. “You have a fine herd of your own, so I must wonder why you raided mine. Reivers usually raid because they seek beef or milk for their families. You need nowt that I can see.”

“Some seek adventure,” Murray said with a twinkle.

“Do you think that’s what I did? In troth, sir, I was ale-shot and angry, and came only to reclaim what was mine. My lads named you as the likely thief—forgive me if the word is harsh—but the tracks led us straight to Elishaw.”

“Aye, sure,” Murray said cheerfully. “I thought ye might come, for I’d seen ye at the races. I did think my lads would ha’ to lie in the heather at least one night for nowt, though. Sithee, I’d seen how much ye’d been drinking and thought ye’d sleep a night first. And then mayhap . . .” He shrugged.

Wat frowned but lowered his voice as he said, “Did you mean this to happen then? To trap me into marrying the lady Margaret?”

Murray’s frown matched his. “Nay, then. ’Twas later I decided to offer ye that. I’d ha’ hanged ye, for ye’ll no deny ye’d ha’ taken my beasts along wi’ yours.”

“But why should I not have, if only to teach you not to take what was mine?” Wat heard his voice rising and warned himself that a battle, even of words, would gain him only more trouble. When Murray chose not to reply, he said more calmly, “I beg your pardon, sir, but surely you understand my confusion. You still have not said why you took them in the first place.”

“’Tis a simple matter o’ sharing the hardship,” Murray said soberly. “When trouble comes, ye who live at a distance from the line ha’ fair notice and can easily move your beasts and families out of harm’s way. My beasts, on the other hand, nearly always serve to feed the invading army or raiders that precede it. This time, I chose to exact help from men who dinna keep a close eye on their beasts. Ye’d left yours untended in Rankilburn Glen.”

“Theft is hardly a way to share trouble,” Wat said indignantly.

“But ’tis only fair, ye’ll agree, that the same folks shouldna ha’ to feed the English army each time merely because they ha’ the misfortune to lie in their path.”

“If you thus provide them with more beef, I suspect some would say you’re supporting them, not just falling victim to them,” Wat said, knowing Douglas would certainly say so.

“Ah, but ye see, they simply take what they want, as they will,” Murray said. “This time my lads will drive my beasts north, leaving yours for the English to find so they willna go looking for mine. Ye’ll just be sharing the hardship this once.”

“The plain fact is that many who find themselves in Hotspur’s path or that of any other English warriors do manage to move their beasts and families out of harm’s way, and without stealing from their neighbors, or from folks who live nearly twenty miles away.”

“Aye, well, mayhap ye can raise the matter at the next wardens’ meeting,” Murray said. “But for now, lad, though I’ve enjoyed our discussion, ye should eat your dinner. I canna doubt ye’ll be needing your strength to see to your duty.”

Resisting the urge to grind his teeth or growl at his host, Wat fixed his attention on his food.

Since the moment Sir Walter had leaned forward and caught her eye after his audacious retort to her father’s teasing had nearly made her laugh aloud, Meg had caught no more than a glimpse of one hand or arm as he dealt with his meal. She heard his low-pitched voice and her father’s, but except for a word here and there, the general din in the lower hall made it impossible to hear what they said.

Having detected what she suspected was an answering gleam of humor in his eyes, she wished she could watch as he talked with her father. However, at one point, she heard his voice rise on a note of displeasure if not outright anger, so perhaps it was as well that she could not hear them clearly.

She had little appetite, and for once her mother spoke not a word of criticism. Nor did Amalie make any effort to converse, other than making an occasional polite comment about the food. Meg had expected both of her sisters to plague her with questions, but other than to ask if Amalie would serve her another slice of lamb from the platter, even Rosalie remained silent.

Abruptly and in a tone no one could fail to hear, Sir Iagan said, “Well, lad, ye needna put it off any longer, for I warrant your lady wife is as eager as ye. So ye’d best be getting on with the bedding.”

Meg’s hand froze halfway to her mouth, the slice of apple between her fingers hovering unnoticed, her breathing likewise stopped, as she waited for Sir Walter’s reply. Inside, organs roiled, making her wish she had eaten nothing.

“He will get on with it shortly, my lord,” Lady Murray said with a smile. “First, you men must both give our Meg time to prepare herself. I shall go to her bedchamber with her myself to see that all is in readiness there.” When she added as a clear afterthought, “Amalie, you may come, too,” Meg realized that her mother had still not said whether Amalie was to accompany her to Rankilburn.

Exchanging a look with her sister, she arose to follow Lady Murray, pausing only long enough to give Rosalie a hug.

“May I not come with you then?” Rosalie asked. “I want to see, too.”

“Dearling, there is naught to see,” Meg said. “I am only going to get ready to leave. I will see you again afterward, so you can bid me farewell.”

Although Rosalie looked eager to debate the matter, a wary glance at their mother resulted in nodding obedience instead.

Lady Murray turned and strode from the dais, bringing minions in the hall hastily to their feet, to bow and curtsy as she passed.

Hurrying after her without casting even a glance in the direction of her father or her new husband, Meg caught up with her mother at the stair hall. “Prithee, madam,” she said, “is Amalie to go with me then?”

“She is, aye,” her mother said. “I thought your father must have told you he had decided she should go.”

“No, he didn’t,” Meg replied, remembering something that he
had
said. “He won’t set anyone to watch us whilst we bed, will he?”

“Nay,” her ladyship said. “He’ll be content with the evidence of the sheets.”

“Evidence?” Meg said.

Chapter 5

“To fondle, or kiss her, I’ll never be fain . . . But cats they are all alike gray in the dark.”

H
aving endured Murray’s annoying comments with grim dignity, Wat approached the connubial chamber with what he hoped was similar and proper decorum. His nemesis bore him company right to the chamber door, making him wonder if the man did intend to watch.

Murray rapped three times, whereupon Lady Murray emerged.

“Is she ready?”

“She is,” her ladyship replied. “I have already sent Amalie to wait in my solar. We should perhaps join her there.”

“Aye, sure, unless ye think I ought to say a few words to our Meg first.”

“I believe I have said all that is necessary,” his lady replied. With a condescending nod to Wat, she added, “I am sure you know what to do, Sir Walter.”

“I believe so, thank you,” Wat said, hoping he spoke the truth and glad that his men were not there to witness the exchange. If they had been, he’d never have heard the end of it.

He wished his in-laws would go away, but both Murray and his lady lingered. At last, fearing they might decide they had better stay if he looked the least bit reluctant, Wat opened the door.

The chamber was dim despite the glow of several candles. It was chilly, too, without benefit of a fire to warm it. A dark curtain covered the lone window, but curtains framing the cupboard bed in the wall to his left stood open.

The bed looked empty, so he stepped inside. As he shut the door behind him, he shifted his gaze to his right.

She stood near a side table. She had taken off the gray mantle but she still wore the flimsy kirtle and the ugly crimped and fluted headdress. The latter looked too heavy for her slender body, as if a sapling bore a too-heavy crown.

“I thought you would be in bed,” he said quietly.

She shook her head. “My lady mother thought you would prefer to . . .” She hesitated, but he waited, not moving, just watching her until at last she said, “She thought you would prefer to unwrap me yourself.”

He liked the pleasantly musical sound of her voice, but her solemnity put him off. He cocked his head to one side. “Do you never smile, lass?”

“Aye, sure, I do,” she replied, still somber. “But there has been naught today to make anyone smile.”

“True enough,” he admitted. “Although I did think at one point . . .”

She met his gaze then, and her lips twitched.

He saw the twinkle reappear and noted again the beauty of her eyes.

But she said only, “I was surprised you would speak so to my lord father.”

“I think you approved, though,” he said.

“I should not have done that,” she said. “One should not laugh at one’s father.”

“Nay, but I own that I am occasionally tempted to laugh at mine.”

“Are you? My mother told me Buccleuch is a fierce man.”

“He is, aye. I said only that I’d been tempted to laugh. Better sense and stern childhood training always serve to prevent my actually doing it.”

“Are you afraid of him, then? Should I be?”

“The answer to both questions is no,” he said. “I respect him, and you will, too. I cannot deny that at times when I was younger I did fear him, but only when I knew I had angered him and deserved punishment.”

“This will anger him,” she said on a note of certainty.

He couldn’t deny it. The thought of that anger tightened his stomach, but he could not in good conscience let her believe she should fear Buccleuch. Nor would he lie to her.

“’Tis true our marriage will displease him,” he said. “But he will ken fine where to place the blame, and he will not lay an ounce of it on you.”

“It may be otherwise with your lady mother,” she said.

He hesitated, then said, “I did not think about that. In general, my father’s state of mind concerns me more than my mother’s, but you are right to consider hers. You will spend more time with her than I do, and she is aware that plans are in train for my marriage to a Douglas cousin. She approved of Fiona, because the lass is a kinswoman of hers, too, so this will not please her. She will resign herself to it, though, and she will not be inhospitable to you or to your sister.”

“You know then that Amalie is to go with us.”

“Aye, your father told me.” With a smile, he added, “He suggested that I might also have the honor of taking your youngest sister as well.”

“Mercy, I hope you refused,” she said.

“I told him I’d liefer not, but I’ll confess I feared he would insist. However, it occurred to him then that your mother might not like to lose you all at once.”

Again, she gave that solemn nod, and he wondered if he had been mistaken in suspecting she possessed a sense of humor.

That was the least of his worries, however, because he did not feel the slightest stirring of sexual desire for her. The thought of fondling her or kissing her put him off, especially when she stood woodenly before him, gazing so steadily at him. Her eyes looked darker and larger than before, her lashes longer and thicker than any others he had seen. In truth, she did have beautiful eyes, but he would have felt more comfortable had he been trying to imagine himself hugging a post.

“What must I do?” she asked.

“Did your mother not tell you?”

“She said only that I should do whatever you say.”

To his surprise, a tingling sensation stirred below at the notion of having her wholly at his command. That he could tell her to do anything he liked, that she would have to obey him . . .

He pondered a future of such total obedience. Then the image of her as she had spoken her first words to him intervened, looming large in his mind’s eye.

The young woman who had said she had no wish to marry him had not struck him as subservient. That young woman had known her own mind.

Even so, if they were going to accomplish what they had to accomplish, perhaps he ought to explore the possibilities a little further.

“Did your mother say aught else?” he asked.

“Only that no one would watch us because my father would judge the results by the sheets. I do not know how that can be so, but mayhap you do.”

He did, and he realized that he ought to have expected some such test. True consummation of a man with a maiden usually did provide certain expected results. Moreover, they were both young and healthy, and he was normally virile. They should be able to achieve those results without such hesitation and shuffling about.

A memory stirred then of a favorite tutor who had introduced him to some of the lesser-known works of Greek and Latin scholars, including Plutarch’s
Conjugal Precepts,
in which the great moralist had written that “when the candles are out, all women are fair.”

“
Do
you know what my mother meant?” Margaret asked bluntly.

“Aye, and I’m thinking we’d best get on with it,” he said. “It would be as well to get into bed, perhaps.”

“Will you unwrap me, then?” she asked.

Since the kirtle’s bodice laced up the front, he nearly asked if she could not undress herself before it occurred to him that touching her might stimulate him. She was female, after all, and only a bit plain-looking, not hideous.

He stepped nearer, eyeing the horrible headdress. “Is that thing on your head pinned to it in any way, or does it just lift off?” he asked.

“There are two pins,” she said. “But I’ll pull them out for you if you like.”

He nodded, watched her do so, and then lifted the headdress carefully, half-expecting it to catch in her hair. But it came off easily, and he saw that one reason for its mass was the amount of hair wrapped around her head underneath it.

As she reached to deal with the pins keeping the mass of hair in place, she said, “I’m glad to have it off. That coif is very tight.”

“Then my first command as your husband is that you must never wear it again,” he said.

“Pray, sir, do not be silly. I do not have so many that I can simply discard one, especially my best one. It was a dreadful price when my mother had it made, being so elaborate. ’Tis called a nebula and was so dear because of all those turned-up ruffles and the rows and rows of crimping and fluting required for its veil.”

“I don’t care about the price,” he said, watching in fascination as she went on to remove what seemed to be dozens of pins from her hair. Clearly, it took many, many more to confine the tresses beneath the coif, than to hold the coif itself.

She stared at him in similar fascination and said, “Do you
never
count cost?”

He grinned. “Do you imagine yourself becoming a great spendthrift, my lady? I warn you, I can be as tightfisted as any man when the occasion warrants it. Nevertheless, my wife will be dressed as befits her station. If I think you are growing too costly, I will tell you so. Until then, you must tell me what you need and I’ll pay for it. But I do not want to see that headdress again.”

Although her eyes widened, she said nothing. She still held both hands close to her head, controlling the heavy coils of hair with a seemingly magical pressure of fingers and forearms as she plucked the last pins away. Her movements were deft and well practiced but nonetheless enthralling. He could not tell how she managed to pull out pins, hold them all, and yet keep the coiled tresses in place as she did.

He had never watched a woman do such a thing before. The lasses he had hitherto known in any physical sense had been willing maidservants and their ilk, with their hair simply veiled or hanging in loose plaits.

She lowered her hands at last, releasing the coils of hair, and the thick mass of it tumbled down around her in a flow of smooth, dark, shining waves that shimmered with golden highlights in the candles’ glow. The long tresses cloaked her from the crown of her head to a few inches below the outward flare of her hips.

Obeying an irresistible impulse, he touched her hair, finding it silky soft and warm from its confinement. He stroked it gently, nearly pulling back his hand when he recalled that she was a lady, and then continuing, reminding himself that she was his wife to treat as he pleased.

Hoping again that lust would awaken in response to opportunity, he reached for the long, narrow band of embroidered linen that rested low on her hips and served as a girdle to belt the skirt of her kirtle where it flared out below her tight-fitting bodice. The girdle’s flat knot was easily untied, as was the bow that fastened the bodice’s tight laces. He began nimbly to unlace it.

She stood unmoving until he shifted the long strands of hair hanging down the front of her gown back out of his way and pulled the silk bodice-laces from the last two aglets at the top. She drew a deep breath then, and the two sides of her bodice fell open to reveal the loose kirtle top and plain linen shift underneath. Both had simple white-ribbon ties, and he dealt with the kirtle’s first.

Cut lower than kirtle or bodice, the shift revealed more décolletage than he had expected. The lass had breasts!

Her tight bodice had deceived him, and he proceeded more eagerly, pushing the kirtle and sleeveless bodice off her shoulders and tugging the kirtle’s tight sleeves down her arms and off over her hands until the stiff bodice and flimsy kirtle fell together in a crumpled puddle around her feet.

Returning to the ribbon that gathered the top of the shift, he untied it and spread the gathers to slip it off her, whereupon the shift followed the rest and she stood naked before him in the candlelight.

She was reed-slender, to be sure, but her soft breasts and hips rounded as they should. Her breasts sat high with impertinent tips. Their globes were large enough to fill a man’s hands, and her waist was small.

Both breasts bore red marks from their tight confinement beneath unavoidable wrinkles in the kirtle, but they look softly inviting nonetheless, and the candles’ glow turned her skin to pale gold.

She had not said a word, and he wanted to hear her voice.

“Do you ken what men and women do to couple?” he asked.

“Aye, in general I do, but I have never watched anyone coupling.”

“Go and get into bed,” he said.

She turned and walked away from him without comment, her carriage as graceful as it had been in the hall when she was fully clothed. Her hair in back was a bit longer, covering her to the tops of her thighs, and he was sorry it did. He would have liked to watch the movement of her buttocks.

Still, his body was no more than half-awake. He knew of things she could do to awaken it further, but he hesitated to give such commands to her.

As he reminded himself again that she was bound by her vows to do his bidding, it occurred to him that he did not want to command her every time the urge to couple struck him. He decided he’d do better to introduce her to sexual activities in a way that would persuade her of their pleasures, if only for his own benefit.

Accordingly, he stripped off his clothing, snuffed all but one of the candles, and strode toward the bed.

Sitting up with the covers to her waist, Meg reached back and swept her hair forward over her left shoulder so she could plait it and keep it from entangling her in bed. As she did, she watched him undress. When he snuffed the candles and moved toward her, she wondered if he could detect the tumultuous pounding of her heart or the way her nerves tingled, or when the breath stopped in her throat.

She had seen from the start, well before he had tidied himself, that he was handsome, lithely muscled, and broad shouldered. But she had not realized until he stood beside her while they recited their vows that he was a head taller than she, as if some of his forebears were Norse instead of the usual Borderer’s Pictish ones.

And whether it was from Norsemen or Picts that he had inherited his temperament, she thought now that her mother had likely been right in assessing his demeanor as stubborn but wrong in calling him implacable. He had submitted to the marriage, after all, if only to protect his men and the boy.

She liked his infectious smile. His teeth were strong and white, and his body in movement had the feline grace of a man whose every sinew and muscle was ever ready for battle. He also seemed kind, though, and she had not expected kindness.