Tyler, Lynn - For Her Honor [For Her] (Siren Publishing Classic) (33 page)

When night fell, she collapsed into bed and went straight to sleep, no longer interested in kissing or bed sport or even cuddling. She would curl up into herself, her back to him and hug a pillow close to her chest. It had gotten so awkward Robbie had taken to waiting until long after she had gone to bed before venturing into their chamber himself.

Sometimes he would wake in the middle of the night to hear her quiet sobs, to see her slight frame shaking with the effort to hold in her emotions. He ached to touch her. Ached to give her the comfort she seemed to so desperately need.

Unfortunately, he had no idea how to go about comforting her. He couldn’t bear the thought of her turning him away. He had no doubt she would reject him, thinking it was his fault she had been kidnapped and had lost the babe, and that if he had just stuck with his initial decision to keep the guards with her at all times, she would never have gone into the forest alone.

Robbie raised his mug for a swig, only to find it depressingly empty. Rising, he stumbled over to the door, stubbing his toes against the doorjamb on the way out. He would pay for his overindulgence in the morning but didn’t care much about tomorrow right now.

Swearing softly at the pain in his foot, he hobbled his way into the kitchens in search of more ale. Grabbing a fresh mug of ale, he gulped it down in one breath and wandered into the great hall where he was greeted by Jamie, who was staring pensively into the fire, grasping a piece of parchment in one hand and a goblet of mulled wine in the other.

“What vexes you?” Robbie grunted.

Jamie looked up in alarm as Robbie swayed dangerously close to the hearth. He grabbed his brother and guided him to the laird’s armchair. “Robbie, how much have you had to drink?” he asked.

Robbie looked curiously at his mug. “I am not quite certain. Four or five, perhaps? What is your problem?” he repeated.

Jamie sighed. “Your Jocelyn will not be pleased with you in the morning,” he said, wandering over to the highboard where someone had left a large wooden bowl. He knew from experience he would soon be holding Robbie over the bowl while he heaved, and he wanted to be ready.

“She already hates me,” Robbie slurred, rolling his head back on his shoulders, the joints in his neck cracking loudly.

Jamie winced at the sound, and Robbie nearly laughed at him. “You should not do that. It cannot be good for you,” Jamie scolded.

Robbie shrugged, uninterested in hearing Jamie’s arguments against his habit. “For the last time, Jamie, what is wrong?”

Giving up the battle, Jamie handed Robbie the paper he had been reading. “I will tell you what it says since the words are probably swimming all over the parchment for you,” he said. “Will has sent a missive. It seems the Dunbar crops are being burned and their cattle razed.”

Robbie groaned and reached across the table to grab Jamie’s goblet. It wasn’t ale or whisky, but mulled wine was good enough. It still had enough alcohol to dull his pain. Burning and razing were common among Highland clans, but it seemed strange the Dunbars hadn’t had any problems until Will showed up to court Sarah.

“Is he requesting our support?” he asked wearily. He would, of course, provide the men if either Will or the Dunbar asked, but he was quite sure his clan was not ready for yet another battle.

He made to place the goblet on the table and overshot his attempt, sloshing wine across the wooden surface.

“Nay, he just wanted to let us know. He wondered if we could send someone to help him find out who is raiding, with the Dunbar’s support, of course. He also mentioned that his courtship of Sarah is progressing…slowly,” Jamie said as he ripped his goblet out of his brother’s hand.

“Go will see if Colin…” Robbie said, frowning when he couldn’t make sense of his own words.

“I will see if Colin will go. He is good with the lassies. Maybe he can give Will some advice.” Jamie shook his head when Robbie tried to rise from the chair and failed. “I think you have had enough. Go upstairs to your wife,” Jamie said with a shake of his head.

Robbie nodded and rose successfully this time, only to feel the horrible churning in his stomach that signaled the reappearance of his supper. Jamie obviously recognized what was going on and grabbed him and led him to the doors. They managed to get to the stairs before he lost his meal on the stone floor. He staggered into the great hall, picking his way over the pallets of the sleeping warriors. Shaking his head, he looked down at the men.

They deserved more than what he was giving him. Starting tomorrow, he would become the laird they had come to expect. And to do that, he had to make Jocelyn happy again. At first light he would begin.

He slowly climbed the stairs and stopped to lean his pounding head against the stone wall. Maybe he would begin in the afternoon.

* * * *

Jocelyn woke to a warm pair of arms wrapped snuggly around her waist. Her back was cradled against his chest, one of his legs thrown over hers as if to pin her in place. She was drowsy and warm and did not want to leave the sanctuary of her husband’s body. This was the first morning since Robbie had left his sickbed she had awoken before him.

Smiling to herself, she snuggled farther into his embrace. She had been so afraid the loss of their child had driven Robbie away from her. More, she was worried that he was angry because she had been stupid and left the keep without her guards, something she had promised him she would never do.

Robbie murmured in his sleep, shifting so that her bottom came into contact with the curve of his hips and thighs. He was so precious to her, and she wanted to show him just how much she had missed him these last six weeks.

She had just seen the midwife the evening before and had been give permission to resume “relations,” as the midwife had called it, with her husband.

Perhaps the easy closeness they had shared would be rejuvenated should they become intimate again.

Turning in his arms, Jocelyn smiled when he opened his eyes blearily. She cupped his cheek and waited for him to focus on her. Something sour wafted up to greet her nose. Something that smelled like alcohol, vomit and sweat.

Frowning, she scanned the room for the source of the smell. Suddenly, Robbie let about a loud yawn, bathing her face in foul-smelling breath. The stench was coming from her husband!

Jocelyn’s good mood vanished instantly. Her husband looked and smelled as if he had spent the night rolling around with alcohol-sodden pigs. And then, he had the nerve to climb into the bed, in between the clean sheets, and align his grimy body with hers.

Her anger spiraled out of control. “Get out!” she screeched, pushing at him ineffectually. She felt a sick sense of triumph when he groaned and gripped his head. Well, she thought, that is what happens when you turn to drink instead of your wife.

“Jocelyn,” he croaked. “Do you think you could berate me later? It feels as if every drummer in Scotland has taken up residence inside my skull.” He rolled to his back and sat up cautiously, allowing the sheets to pool around his lean hips. His chest was bare, and from the bit of thigh peeking out at her, she guessed the rest of him was equally as bare.

Her mouth went dry at the sight he made in their bed. He had taken to coming to bed long after she had fallen asleep and leaving before she woke. The only reason she knew he came to bed at all was because she would often wake from nightmares shaped by her kidnapping to find his bulk beside her. Consequently, she hadn’t seen him unclothed in weeks.

Sweet Lord, she had missed him. She missed his easy smile, his low laugh, his lovemaking, even the rough feel of his whiskered jaw against her skin. But he had been more than clear about his feelings for her. Now that she had lost his child, he wanted nothing to do with her.

Swallowing the tears the thought caused, she turned to anger. “How dare you crawl into my bed and dirty my sheets with your filth!” She took a deep breath as Robbie stared at her, a look of disbelief crossing his face, his scar standing out in sharp relief.

Before he could question her outburst, she started again. “I am your wife! I deserve your respect. Just because you do not want me anymore does not mean you should grace our bed with your dirt.”

“
What
?” he roared, bolting from the bed as she strode across the room, his hangover apparently forgotten. He grabbed her arm, and dragged her over to sit by the hearth before opening the door and hollering for bath water.

She sat quietly, wringing her hands, her anger simmering just under the surface of her calm façade. This was it, she thought. He was about to tell her how unwanted she was in his life. She loved him desperately, with everything she had, and she knew her heart would break into tiny pieces when he finally told her how little she meant to him.

He wrapped a sheet around his waist and knelt before her, gazing at her with concern. His gentle expression brought her to tears, leaving her to think that, if only he were cruel while telling her his feelings, at least then she would be able to turn to anger. He caught one hot drop on his finger and stared at it for a moment. “Tears, Jocelyn?” he asked gently.

She shoved his shoulder in an urgent attempt to get away from the sympathy in his eyes. “Oh, just get it over with,” she snapped irritably. She swiped her cheeks unsuccessfully, mortified when the tears continued. Despite her caution, she had lost her heart to him, and it ached at what he was about to say.

“Imp,” he whispered, smoothing his thumbs over her cheekbones softly. “Why the tears? And what is this about me not wanting you?”

She stood abruptly, forcing him to lean away from her, and walked restlessly to the window. Robbie walked up behind her and caressed her arm, “Jocelyn?” he asked. “Please talk to me.”

A soft knock sounded, and an army of servants filed in, carrying buckets of water. Once the tub was full, she found herself alone with her husband again. She felt a rustle behind her and realized Robbie was preparing for his bath. She turned around to find him seated in the tub, wetting his long black hair. “You want to wash now?” she asked incredulously.

“I thought to bathe away the stench. Would you please help me with my hair?” he asked, holding out the soap.

She swallowed thickly while she hesitated. She wanted nothing more than to bury her hands in his hair, but to do so would certainly be an act of torture. She soaped his hair, catching her breath at the feel of his silky hair slipping between her fingers. “Why are you doing this to me?” she asked, her voice catching on a sob.

He sat up quickly, sending the water splashing everywhere. “Doing what, loving?” he asked urgently. He caught her hand as she tried to turn away.

She struggled to free herself. “Do not call me that,” she spit out. “You do not love me. You do not even want me any longer.”

He tugged on her hand, toppling her into the tub with him, and thoroughly soaking the light shift she was wearing. She pushed at his chest frantically as words poured out of her mouth. “Oh, Robbie. I love you so much, even though you do not return my feelings. Can you not see how much this hurts me?”

Robbie gripped her shoulders and brought her close to him, forcefully tucking her against his chest. “Jocelyn, stop,” he said gruffly. “Loving, I have loved you since the first day we met. I have wanted you every day since.”

She stilled at his confession and glanced up, startled to see the tears glistening in his eyes. “Then why have you been so distant?” she asked.

She heard him sigh. “When you were abducted, I was furious with myself. If I had insisted you take a guard everywhere, you would have been safe. I have never been as relieved as when you came crashing into our camp with Ian.

“But then I found out about the babe, and all I could think about was how much you must have hated me for failing to keep you safe. You see, I was afraid you would reject me if I offered you comfort.”

Incredulously, she leaned back to look at him. She reached up to cup his cheek, running her finger along the pale scar on the side of his face. She nearly cried when he flinched back, obviously self-conscious about the slight flaw that only made her see just how brave he was. “Oh, Robbie. What fools we have been. I love you, Robert MacGillivray, and I will never reject you…unless you come to bed filthy again. I do prefer a clean man in my bed.” She reached over the side of the tub to grab a bucket of clean water and dumped it over his head, rinsing the suds clean.

She giggled at him as he spluttered and tossed his head. He grinned back at her, grabbing her wrists gently and pulling her forward so that she rested directly against him, her soft breasts pressing against his hard chest.

“It has been so long since I have heard you laugh,” he murmured, kissing her quickly. He pulled away when she melted against him. “If you prefer a clean man,” he teased, “then you will have to inspect me yourself. To make sure I am up to your standards, aye?”

After six long weeks, she was more than willing to indulge his playfulness. She grasped the hem of her sodden shift, slowly peeling it off her body. She rubbed against him sensuously, smiling when his eyes darkened and he hardened against her thigh. “I have missed you,” she breathed, guiding his hands so they cupped her breasts.

“And I you,” he groaned, thumbing her nipples into rigid pebbles. She moaned softly and leaned down to kiss him. She reveled in his embrace, loving the feel of him against her. She scattered tiny kisses across his face, grinding her pelvis into his.