An English Bride In Scotland (19 page)

It was time to wake her up, Ross decided, and lowered his head to claim her nipple again. He suckled more insistently for a moment, and then let it slip from his mouth and moved further down her body, running his tongue over her creamy flesh as he went. He paused briefly at her hipbone to nibble and lick there, and then continued on to bury his face between her legs.

A
NNABEL WOKE GASPING
for breath, her body arching and writhing in the bed. Her groggy mind was slow to understand why her whole body seemed to be on fire with pleasure. Then she became aware that the pleasure was centered between her thighs and she raised her head to look down. The sight of Ross’s head buried there, along with the sensations he was causing as he apparently tried to make a meal of her, held her in thrall for a moment and then it struck her . . . Ross was awake.

That realization hit just as her orgasm did, or perhaps the joy that washed over her at the realization helped push her over the edge. Whichever the case, all of it together had Annabel sitting up sharply in bed, screaming his name in a voice that sound racked more with pain than the pleasure she was experiencing.

Fortunately, her convulsive pleasure also had her unable to keep from squeezing her thighs on either side of Ross’s head, covering his ears and preventing his eardrums being shattered by the shriek. By the time Ross eased her thighs apart to free himself and then sat up on his knees between her legs, thumping could be heard from outside the bedroom door. It sounded like a stampede of horses.

Annabel didn’t bother to turn her gaze from Ross. She didn’t care what the sound was, she was just too happy to see her husband awake and well. Chest still heaving, and body still pulsing from her violent release, Annabel opened her mouth to say that, but what came out was, “I love you.”

Ross’s eyes widened, and then his head shot around to the door as it burst open and what seemed like the whole castle tried to cram their way into the chamber at once. Gilly and Marach were in the lead, uncles Eoghann, Seonag and Fingal right behind them with at least two dozen servants and warriors at their back that she could see, and every single face held a fear and dismay that she didn’t understand, until Father Gibson’s voice rang out.

“What has happened? Is your laird dead? Is Lady MacKay—my lady?” the holy man ended uncertainly as he reached the front of the crowd and took in the tableau.

Suddenly free of the shock that had held her in place, Annabel glanced around wildly for the linens and furs that were not there, and then simply threw herself off the far side of the bed to use it as cover.

“Lady MacKay? Lord MacKay? ’Tis Sunday. Surely you were not . . .” Father Gibson sounded injured and even a little bewildered at such betrayal. Annabel was not absolutely positive, but suspected that what Ross had been doing was probably right up there with the original sin in the church’s eyes. They did lecture on about carnal acts being meant only to procreate and certainly Ross couldn’t plant his seed through his tongue.

Would that he could, Annabel thought wryly and then closed her eyes on a sigh. Coward that she was she also stayed right where she was rather than face the priest. Ross did not make a peep either, though that may have been because he didn’t get the chance. Uncle Eoghann was pretty quick to say, “Well, surely ye see that Ross is on his knees, do ye no’, Father? The man was obviously praying. No doubt he was giving thanks for being alive.”

“Aye, and who would no’ do that with a wife as sweet as Annabel?” Fingal asked wryly. “Praise the lord, if I had a wife like Annabel, I’d be praying meself at the moment. In thanks,” he added, but Annabel could hear the devilment in the man’s voice and caught the double meaning when he said praying.

Wicked old man, she thought.

“But Lady MacKay was—
She
was not praying,” Father Gibson said firmly. “And that scream. Nay. This was—”

“My wife was asleep until the moment before she screamed,” Ross interrupted. “ ’Tis why she did not leap immediately from the bed when ye entered. I’m sure she would ha’e recovered from her shock at this intrusion more quickly had she been awake more than the moment it took ye all to charge up here.”

Hearing movement, Annabel glanced around to see him getting off the bed.

“Now, if ye’re all done gawking, I’d appreciate it did ye leave our bedchamber.”

“But she screamed,” Father Gibson said with suspicion. “ ’Tis why we came up here. We feared you had died.”

“Obviously she screamed in shock when she woke up to find him awake and well,” Uncle Eoghann said, taking the preist’s arm and turning him toward the door.

“Aye, and what we mistook for a cry of mourning at finding him dead was actually rapture,” Fingal added. “Rapture that he yet lived, I mean.”

The wicked old man was going to get them a lifetime of penance did he not stop helping, Annabel thought with dismay.

“I suppose that could be the case.” Father Gibson did not sound at all sure that was the case, but it appeared he was willing to let it lie for now, because he allowed the two older men to usher him out of the room. However, Annabel had no doubt he would have some pointed questions for her the next time she went to confession. She decided then that confession could wait a while, and wondered if not confessing a sin for a decade or so was as bad as the sin that had taken place here this morning.

The click of the door closing drew her from these thoughts and Annabel turned to peer over the bed, relieved when she saw that they were alone once again. But then she noted that Ross still faced the door, his hand on it and head bowed slightly as if in deep thought. Or pain, she worried, and forgetting her nudity, stood to move around the bed toward him.

“Husband?” Annabel asked, pausing behind him. “Is your head paining you?”

Ross gave his head a shake and turned to face her, worry evident on his expression. “What happened?”

She stared at him uncertainly. He should know what had happened. He’d made the world shift for her this time with his attentions, and as he’d said, she’d only woken up just a moment before she’d screamed with her pleasure.

“Annabel,” he said quietly. “I woke up in bed, but do no’ recall how I got there. The last thing I remember is . . .” He paused and frowned, and then said slowly, “I talked to Fingal . . . I think I finished talking to him . . . but . . .” He shook his head.

“Oh,” she breathed, beginning to understand. He didn’t recall fetching her from Effie’s, making love to her in Carney’s barn, or the attack. He’d woken up, but without some of his memories. She had heard of that happening before. Sometimes the victim of such a loss regained their memory and sometimes not. But that was a small loss, for he was awake, she reminded herself.

“Come,” Annabel said, quietly taking his hand to lead him to the bed. Seating him there, she asked, “How is your head? Does it hurt?”

“Nay. Should it?”

Annabel bit her lip. Her head had hurt when she’d woken up after getting knocked out. But she’d only slept hours. Ross had slept a day and a half, mayhap he’d slept through the pain.

“Annabel?” he prodded when she remained silent. When she focused on him he raised his eyebrows in question and said, “Tell me what happened.”

Nodding, Annabel settled beside him on the edge of the bed and announced, “We were attacked. You were knocked out and have been asleep for a little more than two nights and a day.”

“What?” Ross turned on her sharply.

Annabel nodded. “We have all been very worried and waiting for you to wake.”

Ross considered that briefly and then said, “So when ye screamed, everyone came charging up here because . . . ?”

“Because they feared you had died, I would guess,” she admitted solemnly.

“Damn,” Ross muttered, and then said, “Tell me everything ye ken from the moment I left Fingal. I did leave Fingal’s hut? We were no’ attacked there, were we?”

“Aye, we left there, and nay that is not where we were attacked,” Annabel assured him and then tried to decide where to start.

Chapter 14

“W
ife?”

“Aye?” Annabel glanced up at Ross as they paused at the top of the stairs. She had told him everything that he could not remember about the day he’d taken the blow to the head, not leaving out a single detail even to spare herself. It had been an experience. Ross had got angry all over again at the risks she’d taken in slipping away from her guards. But he’d given a startled laugh when she’d admitted to baring her breasts in a bid to lure him into a “non-bedding” to appease his anger. But the laugh had died quickly and his eyes had begun to glow as she described what had followed. That was where her narrative had fallen apart. Ross had interrupted her telling of the tale to kiss her and relive almost exactly what had happened that day in Carney’s barn, but with the bed in place of the hay pile.

Annabel supposed she should have reminded him it was Sunday, but they had already broken that rule once. Besides, really, it had been worth whatever future penance they suffered for it.

Afterward, Annabel had picked up the tale again. He’d listened silently, but she suspected by the expressions that flashed across his face and the way he’d nodded occasionally that her telling had helped pull out some of his own memories.

They had cleaned up and dressed to head downstairs after that, and Annabel had found herself wishing she’d finished telling him about the attack before they’d made love. The mood now was too solemn for her liking, where he had been smiling and much lighter of spirit after their romp.

“Ye neglected to mention why me uncle and Fingal are here in the keep,” Ross said, drawing her attention back to the trestle tables below.

She smiled wryly as she noted the two older men talking and laughing with Gilly and Marach at the table. Everyone was finished breaking their fast now and the four men sat alone, no doubt awaiting Ross’s arrival, she thought and murmured, “Ah . . . well, you see we tried to get to the bottom of these attacks while you were sleeping. Gilly and Marach said that you had spoken to Fingal and planned to speak to your uncle Eoghann too. We had no idea what had come about from your talking to Fingal, so we decided we should speak to them ourselves, and Gilly went down to the village to ask them to come to the keep so we could speak to them.”

“I see,” he murmured, and then said, “And?”

Annabel shrugged helplessly. “And once here, they would not leave. They seemed to think that as you were low and unable to keep me safe, it fell to them as family to ensure nothing befell me until you woke and could take over the task once more.”

“Hmm.” Ross turned his gaze back to the tableau below as he asked, “And what conclusion did ye come to after speaking to them?”

“They are not behind the attacks,” she said with certainty. “They both respect your skills as a laird, and appreciate what you do for your people, and—”

“And?” he prompted when she stopped herself.

Annabel hesitated, but then said, “In truth, I do not think they have a mean bone between them. And while both claim to be useless with a sword, I suspect they would each take an arrow or sword blow for you . . . and mayhap even for me.”

Ross studied her for a moment and then the beginnings of a smile curled one side of his mouth and he said, “Ye like them.”

Annabel smiled wryly and nodded. “Aye. They are good-hearted men. A little wicked with their sense of humor,” she added dryly, “but good men.”

“I’m glad,” was all he said, and then he took her hand and placed it on his arm to continue down the stairs.

“Ah, good, ye’ve finally dragged yerselves down to join us,” Uncle Eoghann said when he spotted their approach. “What took ye so long? We were beginning to worry ye’d
both
fallen unconscious this time.”

“Aye, lad, but we did no’ want to check in case ye were prayin’ again,” Fingal added with a grin and then laughed and added, “Ah, aye, ye were too. I can tell by the pretty blush yer wife just donned.”

Annabel grimaced, wishing she could control the telltale color, but since she couldn’t she merely shook her head and settled at the table, hoping that if she did not respond he would let the matter go.

She should have known better, Annabel supposed as Fingal continued, “And on a Sunday too. Tsk tsk, yer a naughty little nun.”

“Nun?” Ross echoed with confusion.

Annabel’s eyes shot wide as she realized there was one thing she had yet to tell her husband.

“Belly? You never returned last night like you promised.”

Two things, Annabel corrected herself, stiffening at that complaint from behind her. Turning, she watched Kate approach from the stairs in the borrowed pale yellow-and-white gown that hung so badly on her.

“Wife?” Ross said in question, drawing her attention again.

“Belly,” Kate snapped the moment she turned away from her.

Sighing, Annabel rubbed her forehead and forced a smile for her husband. “I shall explain everything, I promise,” she assured him, getting to her feet again before adding, “later.”

Turning then, she moved the few feet to join her sister and said, “I am sorry, Kate. I did mean to come back. I intended only to take a short nap, but I guess Seonag forgot to wake me as promised. I slept clear through the night.”

“Nay,” Seonag announced, drawing Annabel’s confused gaze as she approached from the general direction of the kitchens. Pausing next to them, she clarified, “I did no’ forget. Ye did no’ sleep but moments the first night fer watching over the laird. Ye needed yer sleep last night, so I did no’ wake ye as ye asked.”

“Oh,” Annabel said faintly, unsure what to do with that. The woman had been looking out for her well-being. Besides, Annabel wasn’t that sorry that she’d missed revisiting with her sister. The first visit had rather put her off. And really, while she’d wanted to be awake for Ross when he first opened his eyes, the way it had turned out . . . well, she could hardly be sorry for the way he’d woken her instead.

Although she could have done without the whole castle bursting in on them, Annabel thought. And the man hadn’t said a word about her stupidly babbling that she loved him either. Not that she wanted him to say anything, Annabel assured herself. She wasn’t even sure where those words had come from. Certainly she liked her husband, and enjoyed his company and his bedchamber skills. And yes, she respected him. He was a good leader to his people and—

“Belly.”

The snapped word drew Annabel from her thoughts to peer at her sister with a bit of irritation. She absolutely hated that nickname, but all she said was, “Aye?”

“You cannot allow such insolence,” Kate said grimly. “I wanted to talk to you last night and instead sat about bored and unhappy. She ruined everything by not waking you. Punish the old crone.”

Annabel’s eyes widened at the demand, and then narrowed. While Seonag’s not waking her had not upset her, her sister’s words did. Somehow the girl seemed to just get under her skin. She had never met anyone so . . . so . . .
spoiled
.

“I am not punishing her,” she finally said, her voice quiet but firm. “And her name is Seonag. Please call her that in future.”

Kate’s face screwed up with rage at the mild setdown, so it was a relief for Annabel to turn away from her and glance to the table when Ross said, “Wife?”

At least it was until she noted his expression. He did not look happy as he asked, “Who is this woman?”

“Oh!” Kate gasped, and her anger with Annabel apparently forgotten, she pushed past her to rush to Ross. Once she’d reached where he sat on the bench, she gave a sort of exaggerated shiver and gushed, “You must be Ross. It is such a pleasure to meet you
at last
.”

Annabel stilled, her eyes narrowing on her sister, but Ross merely arched an eyebrow as he looked Kate over and then asked, “Who are ye? Another new embroiderer?”

Kate’s head went back as if he had slapped her, but she recovered quickly and released a tinkling laugh as she said, “Oh, goodness no. Although, in this gown you could be forgiven for confusing me with a new servant.” She peered down and held it out to the sides, emphasizing how large it was and somehow making the neckline drop indecently low at the same time. “ ’Tis borrowed of course. From Annabel,” she added in case he hadn’t realized. “But then she is far larger than me. I fancy you could fit two of me in here.”

She laughed away at that and glanced over her shoulder as if expecting Annabel to join in laughing at the joke. She didn’t.

“No’ to worry, lass,” Uncle Eoghann said, mildly drawing Kate’s attention back to the table. “Ross has the best cook in the highlands working fer him here. He’ll soon feed ye up and ha’e ye looking less sickly.”

Kate stiffened briefly, but otherwise managed to ignore the comment. Annabel, however, felt better for it and cast the man a grateful smile.

“I still do no’ ken who ye are,” Ross pointed out quietly.

“What?” Kate asked with surprise. “I should think you could guess by now. Or did Annabel not tell you of my arrival?” Kate asked, sounding amazed, and then she shook her head and settled on the bench next to him, saying, “She probably just worried you would be disappointed at having her foisted on you in my place.” Leaning toward him, she ended in a throaty voice, “I am your Kathryn.”

“My
Kathryn?” Ross asked, eyebrows arched.

Reaching out to caress his arm, she said huskily, “Well, I was always meant to be yours.”

And apparently had decided she was willing to be his now that her grand romance with the stable master’s son had failed so miserably, Annabel thought unhappily, her hands clenching at her sides as she watched the couple worriedly.

“She’s yer lady wife’s sister, Kate,” Fingal announced abruptly, and then, just to be helpful, Annabel was sure, added, “Ye ken . . . the lass who kindly ran off to toss up her skirts with the stable master’s son so ye were able to marry our sweet Annabel in her place.”

While Kate had managed to ignore Eoghann’s earlier comment, this one she couldn’t. Turning her head sharply, she stared daggers at Fingal. Honestly, Annabel was surprised not to see blades sticking out of his eyes. Fingal, however, grinned back at her like the cat who ate the cream, and said, “We’re forever grateful fer that, lass. Our Annabel is a true lady.”

“You nasty old bas—” Kate began, and that was when Annabel stepped forward and caught her sister’s arm to urge her off the bench. Kate bit off the rest of what she’d been about to say and turned furiously on Annabel instead. “What are you doing? I am not done here, Belly.”

“Aye, you are,” Annabel assured her solemnly and dragged her toward the stairs.

She got her halfway there before Kate tugged her arm furiously free and stamped her foot. “I will not be manhandled. I am going to break my fast as I planned.”

She whirled away to start back toward the tables. Annabel did not give chase or grab her back, she simply barked, “Kathryn Jane Withram!”

Kate paused and turned reluctantly back, her expression petulant. “What?”

“This is
my
home,” Annabel said firmly. “And
I
am lady here. I suggest you take yourself up to your room now, else I shall order the men to drag you there.”

Gilly and Marach rose as one at those words, apparently more than happy to do it.

Kate’s eyes narrowed and her mouth tightened, but then she shrugged and moved back toward her. “Very well.”

Annabel waited until she had passed, offered her husband an apologetic smile and then followed her sister upstairs. Both of them were silent as they mounted the stairs, but the moment they were in the bedchamber and the door was closed, Kate rounded on her.

“How could you let that man speak to me like that? You reprimanded
me
for unintentionally insulting a servant, and then acted as if I was the one in the wrong when that man as good as called me a whore. Me, a lady, and your
sister
.” Turning then, she threw herself on the bed and burst into sobs.

Annabel stood by the door, shifting her feet uncertainly and rather confused. She’d followed Kate up here intending to reprimand her again, and more firmly for her behavior below, but instead now felt like the one in the wrong. How had that happened? And was she in the wrong? Fingal hadn’t called her a whore . . . exactly. Truthfully, he’d just bluntly stated what Kate had done, though she supposed the way he’d said it could have been more . . . er . . . or well less . . . er . . .

“Oh bullocks,” Annabel muttered and then walked to the bed and settled on the side of it to stare at her sobbing sister uncertainly. Finally, she said, “I apologize if Fingal’s words offended you. He could have been more diplomatic in his phrasing.”

“They did offend me,” Kate snapped, crying harder.

“Aye, well, perhaps I should have said something,” Annabel muttered. But recalling how Kate had leaned up against Ross, petting his arm, talking all husky, and being all skinny and sexy, she added, “I suppose I was just set aback by the way you were flirting with my husband.”

“Flirting?” Kate gasped, rising up and whirling to eye her with outrage. “I was not flirting with him. I would never do that. I am the one who did not want him in the first place. That is why he is your husband. Besides, my heart is broken right now. Grant is all I can think about.”

“But you were leaning into him, and—”

“I was being polite to my sister’s husband,” she said staunchly. “If you thought it was anything else, then perhaps it is because you feel ugly and jealous of me. You always did, Belly.”

Annabel blinked in amazement at that. She’d been seven when she was sent to the abbey, too young to know enough to be jealous of anything. And as she recalled, she’d adored her sister. She’d followed her around like a mooning calf, looking up to her and—hell, she’d wept every night in bed for a year after leaving Waverly because Kate wasn’t there to laugh and talk with.

Nay, she hadn’t been jealous of her then. She might be now though, Annabel admitted fairly. All right, aye, she was. She wished she were as pretty as her sister, wished she’d been trained to be a proper wife to Ross as Kate had no doubt been. Annabel never would have tossed him aside for the stable master’s son . . . who she was sure was a lovely man, but, really, he could not be as wonderful as Ross, she thought.