An English Bride In Scotland (15 page)

“Oh, aye, that is distressing,” Father Gibson said unhappily. “Very unfortunate indeed.”

“Aye.” Annabel nodded. “Then you will help me?”

Father Gibson blinked with confusion, and then frowned. “Help you with what exactly, my lady?”

“Well, nothing really,” she said with a smile. “You need only stand here and say nothing while I slip away to the stables, fetch my mare and ride out to the village.”

“Oh,” he said, still frowning, and then his expression filled with realization. “Oh! You mean to let the men think you are in here confessing and—Oh nay, I could not possibly.”

“Oh, but Father, they would never know,” Annabel assured him.

“What if something befell you? What if you were attacked again? Nay, I could not possibly be a party to putting you in harm’s way.” He shook his head firmly.

“I would ride quickly, and Jasper will accompany me,” Annabel argued, the words drawing the priest’s attention to the dog at her feet.

He scowled as if just having noticed the animal was in his chapel, and then turned his attention to her and said firmly, “My lady, you presently have two very unattractive bruises on your face from your previous encounters with your attacker. I will not risk being responsible for a third. The next one might kill you.”

Annabel tapped one foot with exasperation as she thought, and then peered at him consideringly. “What if you only waited until I fetched my mare and started out of the stables with her, and then went to tell Gilly and Marach?” When he started to shake his head, she rushed on, “They would hurry after me and I would be sure to allow them to catch up enough that I was in their line of sight all the way to the village. That way I could speak with the woman and be safe at the same time.”

Father Gibson frowned, but at least he was no longer shaking his head.

“Your fine, new,
rich
vestments would be the first thing I ordered done,” she wheedled. “Even before I had gowns made for myself and surely you have heard I arrived without anything but the gown on my back.”

“Aye. Ross confessed that he was so eager to get you away from your horrid parents that he did not even allow you time to pack your things,” Father Gibson murmured.

“Did he?” Annabel asked. She hadn’t realized that was the reason he’d rushed her away from Waverly. Giorsal had said Ross had seen her welts and thought her parents beat her. Apparently, that was why he’d rushed her off so abruptly. The man was just such a surprise at times. Truly, he showed her more care and concern than anyone previously in her life. She was so lucky to—

“Very well,” Father Gibson said suddenly. “I shall watch you to the stables. But the moment you come out with your horse I am fetching Gilly and Marach and telling them you slipped out while my back was turned and when I looked about for you, I spotted you on horseback in the bailey.”

“Thank you,” Annabel said, squeezing his hands.

Father Gibson grunted unhappily, and frowned as he walked her to the chapel door leading into the bailey. He caught her arm there and muttered, “Just promise me you shall wait for the men before riding far.”

“I promise,” she assured him.

“And keep them within sight all the way there,” he added.

“Aye.” She squeezed his hands again. “ ’Twill be all right. I promise.”

“I will pray for you,” Father Gibson announced.

Recognizing the doubt entering his expression, Annabel simply nodded and slipped out of the chapel, afraid if she waited any longer or said anything else, he would change his mind. She crossed to the stables at a dead run. She was a bit surprised that she made it without being stopped or hearing shouts or the sound of running feet behind her. Even so, she didn’t slow but ran straight to the stall holding her mare before even glancing around to see who was about. She was a bit shocked not to have the stable master rushing her way to try to thwart her plan, but the man was nowhere in evidence. In fact, no one was. The stables were empty.

Glad for this good luck, Annabel quickly opened the stall and led her mare out. She glanced around then, relieved when she spotted a stool near the back of the stables. Leading her horse to it, Annabel used it to mount her mare, then clucked her tongue against her cheek and urged the animal to move.

Annabel glanced toward the chapel door as she rode out of the stables. She was just in time to see Father Gibson whirl away and hurry out of sight. Off to warn Marach and Gilly, she knew, and turned her mare toward the barbican and drawbridge, urging her to a run.

The moment she was across the drawbridge, Annabel brought her mare down to a trot, though, and spent as much time looking behind her as ahead. She would move slowly until she spotted the men coming after her, partially because she’d promised Father Gibson she would and preferred not to break a promise. The other reason, however, was that the man had scared her with his worries for her well-being. He was right. She had been lucky so far . . . and she might not be so lucky the next time. Annabel had no desire to sustain another injury or die just to gain an embroiderer.

“I
TOLD YE
, lad, I’ve no interest in being clan chief,” Fingal said firmly for the fourth time. “I’m an old man. I’m content with me life as it is now without the stress and troubles of being clan chief.” “Yer age did no’ seem to bother ye when ye tried to make a claim fer the title four years ago,” Ross reminded him quietly.

“Aye, well four years is a long time at me age,” Fingal said dryly. “The clan needs a strong young warrior to lead it, and I’m no’ young anymore. Hell, I wasn’t young even four years ago, but every year that passes, me sight wanes a little more and I’ve more aches and pains to complain about.” He shook his head with disgust and then added, “ ’Sides, like I told ye after ye killed Derek, I only stepped forward because the whelp was trying to claim ye were too young fer the position.” Disgust covered his features. “As if his being four years older made much difference. He may ha’e been four years older in age, but he was still a lad in every other way. Worse yet, he was a coward, ambushin’ ye like he did and then sitting back waiting on his supporters to kill ye.” He spat on the ground to show his distaste with the tactics, and then continued, “Nay, Ainsley, Eoghann and I had no real interest in the title. We just drank too much one night and decided to muddy the waters by making a claim to it. We were every one o’ us happy to step down when ye settled the matter with Derek.”

Ross sighed. He believed the blacksmith, but wished he didn’t. It would have made things much easier if he were the man behind the attacks on Annabel. He could have resolved the matter right now. However, it looked like he still had work to do.

“Go talk to yer Uncle Eoghann,” Fingal suggested. “He’ll tell ye the same thing I just did. Too much drink and affront at the whelp’s arrogance were the only reasons we stepped up.”

Ross nodded and turned to leave the man’s hut, but paused abruptly in the doorway when a horse and rider charged past.

“Annabel?” he muttered, staring with amazement and then glancing to the dog that now streaked past after her. Jasper.

“Yer wife, Annabel?” Fingal asked stepping up beside him. Staring after the woman and the horse he commented, “She’s a fine rider.”

“Nay, she’s not,” Ross said with a frown. “At least I didn’t think she was.”

“Well, ye thought wrong, lad,” Fingal said with amusement as they watched her jump the mare over a tree stump and bring the beast to a shuddering halt in front of a hut. The stop was so abrupt, the mare reared to achieve it, but Annabel stayed in the saddle. Or not a saddle, Ross realized; she kept her seat on the bare back of the beast.

“Looks like she’s going to see Effie,” Fingal commented as they watched Annabel slide from the mare’s back and hurry to the door of the hut with Jasper on her heels.

Ross grunted and then turned his head to the left as the sound of pounding hooves drew his gaze to Gilly and Marach charging through the village now in hot pursuit. Scowling, he stepped out into the lane and lifted his hand. The two men immediately slowed and had to rein in nearly as sharply as Annabel to avoid running him down. He couldn’t help noticing they did it with a little less finesse than his wife, nearly colliding with each other when their horses reared in protest.

“She tricked us,” Gilly blurted before he could say anything. The man sounded highly offended. “She said she wanted to confess and then slipped out o’ the chapel and snuck off.”

“How did she sneak off when ye were no’ to leave her side?” Ross asked silkily.

“Well, the priest made us leave the chapel for her confession, didn’t he?” Gilly said helplessly. “Made us wait outside the door in the hall, and then she slipped out the door to the bailey.”

Ross arched an eyebrow and then turned to Marach to see what he had to say for himself.

The man grimaced and shrugged, his voice admiring when he said, “She’s damned clever.”

“Aye, she is,” Gilly agreed with some admiration of his own. “And she rides a hell of a lot better than we thought too.”

Marach nodded. “I do no’ think e’en you could ha’e got more speed out o’ her horse than she did on the way here, m’laird. And brave?” He shook his head. “She set the mare to jumping over things e’en I would no’ have dared to jump did we no’ have to do it just to keep her in sight.” His gaze slid to the mare now nibbling grass in front of the hut and he shook his head again. “Looks like she’s getting to speak to the sewing woman after all.”

“The sewing woman?” Ross asked from between gritted teeth. His anger had built with every word out of Gilly and Marach’s mouths. He didn’t know what angered him more, the fact that his men had failed so spectacularly at keeping Annabel in the keep, the risks she’d taken to get here, or his men’s admiration of her for accomplishing it. He wanted to throttle all three of them just then.

“Effie’s a damned fine hand with the sewing needle,” Fingal murmured helpfully behind him.

“Aye, a sewing woman, that’s what she said,” Gilly told him, not having heard Fingal, his voice had been so low. “M’lady said as how she wanted to talk to a woman in the village about working at the castle sewing or some such thing,” Gilly explained and then added quickly, “We told her right then as to how ye said she wasn’t to leave the keep . . . and we were firm on the matter. Weren’t we?” he asked, glancing to Marach.

“Firm,” Marach agreed, nodding solemnly and then frowned and added. “Then she hurried up to yer bedchamber and locked us out. We told her we were to stay with her at all times, but she said as how she was sure that didn’t include while she was bathing.”

“Nay, it doesn’t,” Ross said succinctly.

“I suspected as much,” Marach said and Ross was sure he didn’t imagine the hint of disappointment in the man’s voice at this news. Nor did he imagine the disappointment that flashed across Gilly’s face. It seemed his men had gone from moaning over the fact that he was marrying an Englishwoman to admiring her and hoping to get a peek at her in the bath. He didn’t really blame them—Annabel was beautiful, but he’d be damned if they were going to see just how beautiful.

“Go back to the castle,” Ross said grimly.

The men exchanged a glance and then Gilly asked, “Are ye sure ye don’t want us to wait for yer lady wife? We could see her back and—”

“Home!” Ross snapped.

“Aye, m’laird,” they murmured together and turned their horses back the way they’d come.

Ross scowled after them until he became aware of Fingal chuckling behind him. Turning, he glowered at the man. “What is so funny?”

“Nothing,” Fingal said, shaking his head, but then blurted, “It seems to me I remember a situation not dissimilar to this involving yer sister some time back . . . or mayhap it was yer mother,” he added thoughtfully, and then shrugged. “Anyway, one o’ them was no’ supposed to leave the keep for some reason or other, yet came racing down into the village with MacKay men hot on her trail.” He pursed his lips and then commented, “That was a sight to see too.”

“Dear God, I’ve married a lass just like me sister,” Ross muttered, closing his eyes at the horror of it all.

“Or yer mother,” Fingal offered helpfully and then burst out in a full belly laugh. Ross did not laugh with him.

Chapter 11

“W
ell, that is fine,” Annabel said, beaming with relief at Effie. She could hardly believe it had been so easy. After all the trouble she’d had of late, she’d expected to have to plead and offer the woman the moon and stars to get her to agree to work in the castle. But in the end, Effie had been happy to accept the offer.

“I can start tomorrow, if ye like,” Effie said, beaming as well.

“Oh, that would be marvelous,” Annabel assured her, getting to her feet and patting her leg for Jasper to follow.

“I’ll come up first thing then,” Effie announced, sounding happy at the prospect.

“Come in time to break your fast and I shall have Cook save some pastries for you,” Annabel said as they walked to the door.

“Oh, that would be lovely,” Effie breathed, and then admitted, “While I’m a fair hand with a needle, I can’t cook to save me soul. ’Twill be nice to have something other than burnt bread to break me fast with.”

“Then I shall have Cook put aside pastries for you every day,” Annabel decided. A servant always worked better when they weren’t hungry. At least she always had.

“Oh my, yer a wonder,” Effie said happily as she opened the door for her. “I hope the laird kens the blessing he has in you.”

“The laird kens exactly what he has in his wife.”

Annabel’s smile froze at that deep voice, and her head swiveled abruptly to take in the man on the doorstep. Eyes widening, she breathed with dismay, “Husband.”

“Wife,” he said dryly. Ross then turned to Effie and smiled as he caught Annabel by the arm and drew her out of the hut. “I gather by the fact that yer both smiling that ye’ve agreed to work in the castle, Effie. Thank ye, kindly fer that. Yer well needed.”

“Oh, yer welcome, me laird,” Effie gushed, a blush brightening her old cheeks. “ ’Tis me pleasure.”

Ross nodded. “We’ll see ye on the morrow then.”

“Aye,” Effie breathed as he turned Annabel away to lead her to her horse.

Annabel bit her lip and glanced sideways and up at her husband. His face was expressionless now that they’d left Effie, but she was pretty sure he was angry. She just wasn’t sure how angry . . . or how he meant to handle it, and that worried her. After all, it was perfectly legal for a husband to beat his wife so long as the rod he used was no bigger around than his thumb.

Annabel glanced down at his hands as he grasped her at the waist and lifted her up onto her mare. She then grimaced. Ross had big thumbs.

“Wife.”

Annabel gave a start and shifted her gaze to his face. “Aye?” she asked warily.

“Take the reins,” he said quietly.

“Oh, aye,” she muttered and reached for them as he released her and moved to his own horse now waiting a few feet away.

They traveled in silence at first, which really wasn’t a good thing, Annabel decided. It gave her far too much time to imagine how he would punish her for this flouting of his orders.

By the time they reached the edge of the village Annabel had managed to scare herself silly with the possibilities. It was then she started trying to think of ways to deflect his anger when he let it loose. The only thing she could think might distract him from it was the bedding. But it was Friday now, and the church had decreed no bedding on Fridays, so if he waited until they reached the castle to vent his anger, she would be without what she was sure was likely to be the most successful defense. She needed to bring something about before they reached the keep, Annabel realized and immediately began working on the stays of her gown. She had them undone and was tugging her neckline down to free her breasts when Ross glanced over and drew his mount to an abrupt halt. He then simply stared at her breasts for the longest time before asking with bewilderment, “What the devil are ye doing?”

“I am not sure,” Annabel admitted, blushing furiously. She was so overset, she then blurted, “I just thought—I mean, I understand you are angry at me, and I thought mayhap I could soothe your temper somehow so you would not beat me, and—”

“I shall never beat ye,” Ross interrupted solemnly. “No matter what you do, Annabel, I shall never strike you.”

“Oh,” she breathed with relief.

“Howbeit, I would appreciate it, did ye take yer vows more seriously,” he added grimly.

Annabel tilted her head uncertainly. “My vows?”

“Ye did promise to obey me during our wedding,” he pointed out dryly.

“Did I?” she asked with surprise. The wedding had all been something of a blur for her. Annabel had been rather distressed at the change in her future at the time.

Noting the way his mouth tightened at her words, she said quickly, “Aye, I must have.” But she couldn’t help adding, “But to be fair I did not disobey you. You are not the one who told me I could not leave the keep.”

“Gilly and Marach told ye me orders,” Ross said.

“Aye, but not you, so I disobeyed them,” she reasoned and then added a bit testily, “If
you
had told me I could then have explained why I found the order unacceptable and you could have explained your position on it and we could have come to an agreement.”

Ross scowled at her briefly, then sighed and reached out to draw her from her horse to his. Once he had her settled before him, he then caught her mare’s reins in his hand and urged his mount to move again.

Annabel immediately reached for her stays, intending to do up her gown again, but Ross whispered, “Don’t,” by her ear.

After the briefest hesitation, she obeyed, left the gown gaping open and let her hands drop to her lap.

Ross murmured something that might have been praise then. Annabel wasn’t completely sure, she was a little distracted by his free hand suddenly rising to cup one of her breasts.

“So ye were going to make a grand sacrifice and bed me to soothe me temper?” he murmured, sounding amused.

“A—aye,” Annabel admitted breathily as he plucked at her nipple, and then confessed, “But ’twould not have been a sacrifice. I like it when you bed me.”

Ross rewarded her honesty by reining in and releasing her breast to urge her face up and around for a kiss.

Annabel relaxed in his arms and opened to him with relief, sure he was no longer angry with her. Much to her surprise, she hadn’t liked it when he was angry with her. She liked his kisses though and moaned as his tongue urged her lips apart to gain entrance.

Ross ended the kiss far too soon for Annabel and she blinked her eyes open with disappointment when he did. She peered around with surprise when he suddenly turned them back the way they’d come. “Where are we going?”

“Back through the village,” he answered, and then gave her breasts another caress each before saying, “Do up yer gown.”

Annabel did up her stays and then simply peered ahead, wondering back through the village to where. She didn’t ask again, though. He obviously wanted to surprise her or he would have answered fully the first time.

They did head back toward the village, but not before weaving around a bit in what she began to realize were large circles. It took Annabel several such detours before she realized that Ross was making sure they weren’t being followed. Just as she did, he stopped his evasive tactics and steered the horses through the village.

“We have lost Jasper,” Annabel said with concern as she saw him charge off after a cat that had been sunning itself in front of the cottage next to Effie’s.

“He’ll catch up,” Ross said with a shrug. “And if he doesn’t he’ll show up back at the castle once the cat either evades him or gives him a good swat.”

Annabel frowned, but then noted they were leaving the village. They did not seem to travel long after that ere Ross was reining in by a good-sized cottage and barn.

“Are we visiting someone?” Annabel asked uncertainly as she peered at the shuttered windows on the cottage.

“Nay. This is Carney’s cottage and he’s no’ home. I sent him on a task the day we got home,” he assured her, dismounting.

“Oh.” Her gaze slid to the barn again and she said, “This Carney must be very wealthy to have such a big barn.”

“It’s no’ really his,” Ross said, glancing toward the structure as he moved up beside her mare. “It’s only called Carney’s barn because his home is so close, but everyone helped build it and everyone stores their goods here.”

“Oh,” Annabel said, and then as he reached up to lift her off her mare, she asked, “Why are we here?”

“Because I happen to ken that Carney’s barn has a nice big stack o’ hay in it at the moment.”

Annabel stared at him blankly as he set her down. “Hay?” she asked as she watched him tie their mounts to a pole. She didn’t understand the relevance.

“ ’Tis Friday so we can no’ go back to the keep,” he pointed out, finishing his task. Scooping her into his arms, he then strode toward the barn as he added, “I’ll no’ risk ye out in the open again, but in a nice cozy barn with a stack o’ hay . . .”

“Oh,” Annabel said with understanding and smiled. “Hay is a lovely not-bed.”

“Exactly,” Ross said with a grin.

She fell silent as they entered the barn. It was a large structure, with stone walls and a slate roof that left the interior dark and a bit chilly. Peering over his shoulder, she saw through the dim light that there were several different crops in the building; wheat, oats, peas, beans and barley to name a few.

She didn’t see the hay until her husband suddenly opened his arms and let her drop. Annabel released a surprised squawk that turned into an “oomph” as she landed. She sank down into it a bit and had to climb back out.

Ross chuckled, unbuckling and setting aside his sword as he watched her struggle to her knees in the pile. Annabel had just managed the feat when he then tugged at his plaid and sent it floating to the floor around his feet. Smiling at her expression and the way she stopped to stare, he then quickly pulled his shirt off over his head to stand naked before her in naught but his boots. And he was a sight to see. She would never have thought a man could be described as beautiful, and she would not have said that about Ross’s face, which was handsome, strong, rugged and manly. But while his body was strong and manly too, it was also breathtakingly beautiful to behold.

Ross let her look her fill for a moment in the dim light, and then held out a hand. “Come. If ye’ll stop playing in the hay, I’ll lay me plaid out on it to make it a more comfortable not-bed.”

Since she was presently being poked in several places by the hay, Annabel took his hand and crawled forward on her knees. But stopped when she found her face a mere inch from his manhood. It had been stirring as she’d stared at him, but now with her face so close that her breath was no doubt rippling across it, his manhood hardened and rose to its full glorious state.

For some reason that recalled her to their first time in the woods when he had pleasured her with his mouth, and Annabel suddenly leaned forward to lick it, giving it one long swipe as if it were her thumb and the fruit center of a pastry had squirted out over it. The action brought a hissing sound from Ross and she peered up to see that his head had gone back, his teeth clenched as if in pain. A glance down showed his hands clenched as well.

Recognizing the pose from when she’d touched him for the first time, Annabel suspected he liked that and did it again, this time ending by closing her mouth over the tip and sucking as she drew her mouth away, as she would if she were trying to get absolutely every last drop of fruit center from her thumb.

“Wife,” he growled and suddenly plucked her up under the arms to lift her to her feet. Meeting her gaze then, he warned, “Yer playing with fire.”

“Mayhap I like fire,” she said with a smile and then added more seriously, “Certainly I like the way ye make me burn.”

Eyes widening, Ross tugged her up against his chest and kissed her. Annabel immediately slipped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him eagerly back. Feeling his hardness pressing against her stomach through her skirts, she then shifted her lower body from one side to the other, using her body to caress that hardness.

His response to that was to use both hands to quickly drag her skirts up the back of her legs until he could clasp her bare bottom. Cupping her cheeks, he then lifted and pressed her more intimately against himself. Annabel moaned but more with frustration than anything: her gown was still between them. She was no more pleased, however, when he broke their kiss and set her back on her feet.

“I must make our not-bed,” he reminded her, stepping away and bending to collect his plaid from the ground. Annabel grimaced when she saw the bits of hay clinging to the material. As he shook it out, she glanced around in search of somewhere to place her gown that would not result in it ending up the same way as his plaid. Spotting two posts with a rail between them, she moved over to it and quickly undid her lacings and lifted the gown off over her head rather than drag it across the ground. She was laying it over the post when she felt hands at her waist. Annabel jumped in surprise and glanced over her shoulder, smiling wryly at her husband.

“You startled me,” she admitted with a crooked smile as he pulled her back against his chest. She peered down at his hands as they slid up to cup her breasts, fascinated by the sight of his tanned hands enclosing her creamy skin. When he caught each nipple between thumb and finger and rolled, then pinched them lightly, Annabel moaned. Her back arched, pushing her breasts into the caress, and her neck stretched as she twisted her head sideways against his chest.

When Ross bent to kiss her forehead, Annabel tipped her head back to offer him her lips. He accepted the invitation, claiming her mouth in a kiss that was almost violent. Annabel responded in kind, nipping at his lips with her teeth before he thrust his tongue into her mouth. She was aware when one of his hands slid from a breast to drop down, gliding over her stomach as it sought out places further south. Moaning, she pressed her bottom back into him and then shifted her stance a bit to allow him better access as his lovely fingers slid between her legs.

“Husband,” she gasped, breaking their kiss and clutching at his upper arms as his caresses made her legs go weak. He gave up caressing her other breast then, and wrapped that arm under her breasts to help hold her up as he drove her crazy. Annabel’s world tilted, all sensation narrowing to that point between her legs that his fingers were dancing over and she unthinkingly turned her head and bit into his arm to ground herself, easing her jaw when he grunted. She had just enough sense left in her poor passion-muddled head to feel guilty for unintentionally hurting him, and reached back with her hand, seeking to make up for it by distracting him.