Cait
looked back at her in confusion. “I suppose.”
“Well, then, let’s get those filthy things off
ya
. Have you any other clothes to put on?”
“No, ma’am,” said
Cait
.
“Nothing any cleaner than this.”
“That won’t do.” The old woman frowned. “Let Henna take care of this. You climb into that water and wash yourself good, and I’ll be back to help with your hair in just a bit.”
Cait
looked at the warm, steaming tub and then back at the door. The kitchen was so near. What if someone saw her? She decided finally that she didn’t care. She peeled off the filthy clothes of the last two weeks and left them in a pile. She stepped into the water and sighed. It was so warm, so warm.
* * * * *
By the time Henna returned a few minutes later,
Cait
was reclining in the tub, fast asleep. Henna looked down at the exhausted girl. Poor thing, little more than a child, and no idea at all what she’d gotten herself into. She was certain the girl knew nothing of men or what happened on wedding nights, if her blank look earlier meant anything. She wished she could allow her to rest now, but she had to get her washed up and delivered to the earl.
She roused her gently and began to wash the grit and dust from her dark hair. Jet black, she thought to herself as the chalky dirt washed away.
Never seen hair so jet black.
Black as the devil it was. And the eyes, when the girl turned them on her, they took her breath away. They were otherworldly.
So light, so blue.
“Are you scared about tonight, lass?” she asked as she washed out the long wavy locks, rinsing them over and over until they shone like ebony stone.
“Yes,” she said, “but I think this bath is worth it, even if I must be wed to a stranger.”
Henna laughed. “You can have a bath every night if you wish. That’s what the earl does. Had this wash room made special, he did, when the old king gave him this keep.”
“He gave it to him?”
“Aye,” said Henna proudly.
“For valor in battle.”
She gave the girl scented cakes of soap, helping her wash her back. She was so thin and tired. Henna couldn’t wait to get some meat on her bones and fill her out a little. She’d be a pretty thing when she was in full health, not that she wasn’t pretty now. For a thin woman, she had lovely curves, full breasts and adequate hips for bearing babes. Henna knew such things. She’d helped birth the earl and his brother, God rest his soul, and nursed them both from the day they were born.
“Is he the fighting sort then?” asked the girl. “Is he very vicious?”
Henna laughed out loud. “Vicious? Oh, goodness me no, although he can have a temper when he wants. Don’t you believe for a second that he’s the devil they
say.
He’s a fine man and he’ll treat you all right. Otherwise he’ll have me to answer to.”
The girl looked up at her and smiled. “Are you his mother?”
“No, dear, his mother passed a while back. But I was his nurse for many years. I take care of him still, although he would never admit it.”
The girl laughed. Henna smiled at the
tinkly
, light sound of it, but just as quickly the girl’s face grew sober. “I think he doesn’t like me very much. He didn’t look happy to see me.”
“You must understand that he only learned you were
coming
a short time before you arrived. And his last wife...” Henna’s voice trailed off.
“His last wife died, didn’t she?”
“Yes, she died.
During childbirth.
Just a matter of how the baby came out. I wish I could have helped her but her problems were the unfixable kind.”
Henna waited for more questions but they never came. She helped the girl out of the water and dried her off. She was a little thing, she was. All
woman
, but short and tiny-like.
“Are you worried about after the wedding, lass, you know?” Henna asked, not wanting to volunteer any information that might scare the girl.
“I’m just tired,”
Cait
replied after a moment. “I’m just so very tired. I can’t wait to go to bed.”
* * * * *
Connor nudged Duncan as Henna led his bride into the hall. By God, he recognized the dress at once, but the girl wearing it, that was something else altogether. Gone was the dust covered urchin of the courtyard, replaced by an astonishingly beautiful woman.
And she
was
a woman, not a child at all. Lenore’s dress revealed that, even swimming in it as she was. Lenore had been taller so the material pooled at
Cait’s
feet, but the bust and hips of the dress were filled out by delicious curves.
But no, it wouldn’t do for her to wear this dress. Not tonight. Lenore was in his memory enough as it was. He shot a reproachful look at Henna, beckoning her to his side.
“It was the only dress that was suitable,” she insisted.
“It is not suitable. It belonged to my dead wife.”
“The dress does not matter,” Henna argued under her breath. “What matters is the woman inside it.”
“The dress does matter!”
“Why?” asked Henna.
Because I hated her.
Because she made me miserable.
Because she died.
“Because I say so.
She cannot wear Lenore’s dress for this ceremony. Find her another. I don’t care if it’s yours, or the laundress’s, or the cook’s, as long as it’s not Lenore’s.”
“She needs a fine dress for the wedding!”
“Henna, you know I love you well but do not test me on this. Find her another. I order it.
Now.”
He looked over at the girl.
Caitlyn.
Cait
.
She watched them arguing with an anxious look on her face. As if she had not been through enough, he thought. Now he would make her be married in a washerwoman’s dress.
Henna led her from the hall and
Cait
let herself be dragged along without complaint. He could see she was tired, absolutely exhausted. He put his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes. His friend Connor chuckled.
“Duncan, it’s not the end of the world, man. She’s half a comely thing anyway, isn’t she though? If you’ve got to take a wife, it’s nice to have a pretty one to look at.”
“Lenore was a pretty wife,” Duncan replied.
“Ah, well,” Connor sighed.
Duncan sat and sipped from his goblet, trying to school his face from the misery he felt. It was one thing to revile taking a wife, but quite another to announce it to his townspeople by the expression on his face. As he expected, Henna took her time finding a new gown for his young bride, but he didn’t care. The priest was happily getting drunk in the corner with the king’s men, and the crowd was enjoying themselves, getting rowdier and rowdier as they waited for the festivities to begin.
Finally, at long last, his bride reappeared. The dress was passable. It would do. A townswoman’s dress, he guessed. Whoever it was would have been honored to lend it to his bride. He stood and approached her, studying her as he came nearer. Her hair was so black, so long, and gone completely
to
damp, wild curls. Her body, as he’d already noted, was too appealing by far. But her eyes surprised him most. They were so light, almost transparent. The thorough questioning he’d planned suddenly seemed unnecessary. Those eyes could hide nothing from him.
“Hello,” he said, because he had no idea what else to say to her.
“Hello.” She spoke so softly that he barely heard her. She dipped down into a curtsy, bowing her head. He drew in his breath.
Damn it, she was so beautiful. That was really going to complicate things. That was really going to make his life a lot more bloody unbearable than it already was. He frowned deeply, and at the forbidding look on his face, she looked away, suddenly afraid.
And that fear, it both troubled and aroused him. Complicated? No, this was going to be worse than complicated. It would be a bloody mess. He’d been standing next to her for less than a minute and already he felt feelings he’d shoved deep down inside him shuddering back to life. Her vulnerability, her fear response, the sexual pull of her body...
damn
it.
He took a deep breath and grabbed her hand.
So much for talking.
It was time to do the king’s duty. Get married to her so the priest would sign the paper and he could pawn her off on Henna and not set eyes on her again.
For her own good, and for his too.
The priest was mercifully quick. Even holding her hand was excruciating, the way it curled so trustingly in his and yet trembled at the same time. He said his vows but thought the whole time of what she’d look like stripped naked to his gaze. For her part, she spoke the vows true and clear, although she was obviously shy. Her voice sounded light like bells and her lips were so shapely, so luscious. He watched them avidly, picturing them wrapped around his—
No, he wasn’t going to do it. He wasn’t even going to try it. He would just end up reviled by another woman, labeled Devil again. She was far too innocent anyway, that much was plain. If she even realized men had cocks between their legs he’d be surprised. More likely she’d cry and plead for mercy as Lenore had when she’d seen him the first time and realized what he meant to do to her, what all men did to their wives.
Well, no matter. He could take care of his own needs, and he would. Probably fifty times in a row before he put out the fire she’d lit. As soon as the priest blessed them, he dropped her hand like it burned him and beckoned Henna to his side.
“She’s tired. Put her to bed in the room adjoining mine.”
“But my lord—”
“Henna, no argument please.
Just for tonight. I’ll consummate this farce of a marriage when I see fit. Set her up in the adjoining room. And tell her to lock the door.”
Henna’s reproachful look irked him, but better to bear her disapproval than to plow his wife tonight. He might do it eventually, against his better judgment, but he would do it when his desires were under better control. If he had her now, he would do things to her they would both regret. He couldn’t bear to see again that same condemnation he’d seen in Lenore’s eyes.
“Good night, wife,” he said curtly, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. He would follow soon after and let everyone believe he went to her. He strode to
Lochlan
carrying the certificate of marriage for the king. Appearances were everything in situations like these.
* * * * *
Sleep at last.
Cait
was too tired to figure out why Henna was so agitated. The old woman blustered and clucked and muttered under her breath, but
Cait
only wanted to sleep.
“I’m sure he’ll come to you tomorrow, lass. Don’t you
worry.
” She helped her change into a filmy sleeping shift. The thing was so fine and soft, it amazed her. All these fine clothes and furnishings, they were nothing like what she and Erma had in their little cottage. Everything was different now. She lived in a castle on the water and she was married to a powerful man, and now she was going to bed on a soft mattress covered in fine linens, not the simple cot she’d slept on next to Erma in the middle of the woods.
She slid between the soft sheets and pulled the blankets up to her ears. She felt like a new woman in a world of new sensations. The softness of the bed, the silkiness of the shift, the hardness of his body when she’d brushed against it. The roughness of his face when he’d kissed her cheek.
The solid firmness of his lips.
She’d never in her life stood so close to a man, never rested her hand in one’s rough grasp. She’d never been kissed. She hadn’t thought she would like it, but she liked it very much.