Authors: Allison Butler
‘You are most welcome.’
Jeanne eyed her warily and her chin rose a notch. Kenzie offered her a smile. Jeanne frowned and lowered her head.
‘We are sisters, Jeanne. Perhaps while you’re here we could even be friends.’
Jeanne’s frown deepened. She lifted her golden lashes and her blue gaze searched Kenzie’s face, before lowering once more.
Kenzie waited, torn by compassion for her sister’s pain and her own restlessness at what her response would be.
‘Perhaps,’ Jeanne said, looking up, her eyes suddenly hard, ‘as a small gesture in repayment for your kindness, I could help you do something with your hair.’
Kenzie froze as a sinking feeling settled low in her belly. She remembered Lachlan’s delight at running his hands through her hair and testing the silkiness between the pads of his fingers. His sigh when he raised her hair to his face and breathed in the sweet lavender scent brought a genuine smile to her lips.
‘Thank you, but nae. My husband likes it as it is.’
Surprise fleetingly widened Jeanne’s eyes before she once again frowned. ‘You seem happy here, little sister.’ A hint of annoyance darkened Jeanne’s tone.
‘Happy’ was too mild a word to describe Kenzie’s elation. But a bone-deep wariness where Jeanne was concerned tempered her reply. ‘I am content.’ She turned, but stopped before exiting the chamber. ‘Oh, and as there is nae latch inside the door, I suggest you leave it ajar. Sleep well, Jeanne.’ Shaking out her skirts, Kenzie went in search of her handsome, promise-keeping husband.
***
The next two days passed in a similar fashion. Her sister was late to rise and didn’t leave her chamber until around midmorning. This suited Kenzie perfectly, for it meant she got to break her fast with Lachlan and then watch him train with his men.
Once Jeanne emerged, Kenzie shared a bench by the fire with her for the rest of the day. Jeanne spoke more often as time went by, but what she had to say concerned Kenzie’s shortcomings as the lady of the keep and in her physical appearance. Kenzie brushed the hurtful comments aside and often turned the topic to Jeanne’s likes and dislikes.
She discovered her sister didn’t like horses or children, favoured burgundy-coloured gowns and had a penchant for figs. When Kenzie took what she saw as her well-earned break, she’d retired to the kitchens to prepare the day’s loaves, and asked Cook to make a fig pie for dessert each night. He’d happily obliged.
Ailsa was always near to offer a smile or to help in any way. Murdoch too was at hand if she should need anything, and her husband’s four most trusted men were never far from sight.
Only Lachlan was missing from view between midmorning and evening as he honoured her request to be alone with Jeanne. But the nights … Once the evening meal was done and Kenzie showed her sister to her room, the nights belonged to Lachlan and Kenzie alone.
There was a sense of desperation in their lovemaking since Jeanne had arrived. Whether it was due to them being apart for most of every day, Kenzie didn’t know or care. All that mattered was that each night his powerful arms enfolded her and his calloused hands and teasing lips worked their magic.
Night had come. The meal was done.
Her blood sang in anticipation.
‘I bid you all a restful night,’ Jeanne said and stood.
Kenzie almost leaped from her chair as the usual goodnight wishes were exchanged.
Together they ascended the stairs and made their way along the corridor to Jeanne’s chamber. With her thoughts fixed on the night to come, Kenzie stopped outside and waited for her sister to enter.
Jeanne paused at the threshold, turned and, folding her arms, then placing one hand beneath her chin as if deep in thought.
‘Is it not strange,’ Jeanne said, tapping one finger against her cheek, ‘how things turn out at times?’
‘Things?’
Jeanne’s finger stilled. ‘Aye. Things with Lachlan.’ Her hand fell to her side, quickly followed by the other. ‘Don’t you find it most strange to think that if it were not for our father’s greed, instead of being a guest here, I would be Lady Elliot?’
Kenzie studied Jeanne to determine how much wine she’d consumed with the meal. She stared into her sister’s clear, steady gaze and lightly clasped her hands to keep the worry from showing on her face. ‘I cannot give my opinion on something I don’t understand.’
A triumphant gleam entered her sister’s eyes. ‘Oh, Kenzie. Don’t tell me you didn’t know?’
‘Know what, Jeanne?’ Kenzie’s frustration matched her growing apprehension.
‘Perhaps I should never have mentioned it-’
‘Jeanne, just tell me what you’re talking about.’
‘Very well, if you insist.’ A self-satisfied smile curved Jeanne’s lips. ‘When father let it be known I was to wed, one of the many to offer for my hand was your husband, Lachlan.’
Kenzie flinched. ‘Nae. You lie.’ She must be lying. Lachlan would have told her.
Jeanne gave a careless shrug. ‘I have nothing to lose. Why would I lie?’
‘Because—because you have lost your husband and see me content with mine.’
‘I don’t care that I’ve lost my husband.’
Kenzie shook her head in disbelief. ‘But you’ve been grieving for him. You wed Douglas Johnstone willingly.’
‘I only wed him because he was prepared to meet our father’s demands.’ A sneer curled her mouth. ‘Old Douglas would have parted with his entire herd and his castle just to bed me, never mind marrying me.’ Jeanne wrapped her arms about herself, her full lips pouting. ‘You have nae idea how much I suffered when he tried to lay his feeble hands on me.’ Jeanne visibly shuddered.
‘I thought you loved him.’
‘Loved him?’ Jeanne scoffed. ‘He was older than Father. I deserve a young and strong husband, not an old man whose twisted fingers shook as they reached for me.’
Kenzie stared at her sister. The pity she’d felt for her dissolved. Poor Douglas. He’d adored his wife, yet even in death, Jeanne couldn’t find it in herself to honour him or their marriage vows. She pressed her hands to her middle to stop her insides churning. She’d been such a fool. Jeanne hadn’t changed at all. She was as cruel as she’d ever been. The proof rippled in her waspish tone, was stamped on her cold features when she spoke of the man she’d wed.
Lachlan had urged her to have a care around her sister.
Lachlan
… Tears sealed her throat. Her husband had wanted to marry Jeanne but had had to settle for her. Not only was she the unwanted second daughter, she was also Lachlan’s second choice.
A crushing weight filled her chest. The air in the corridor thickened. She had to escape Jeanne’s probing stare without revealing her pain. She pushed all torturous thoughts from her mind and concentrated on simply breathing. She inhaled, exhaled. Inhaled another, released it.
‘You are blessed to have married a young, handsome husband,’ Jeanne continued. ‘His hands must feel warm on your skin, not like cold talons.’
Lachlan’s hands had been more work-roughened of late, most likely due to spending his days working outside, but she loved the feel of them touching her—the new callouses only heightened the sensitivity of her skin. But Jeanne would never know how they felt. Nor would she suspect how much Kenzie was hurting inside.
When she could breathe without thought, she spoke. ‘I am blessed, Jeanne. Now I must bid you goodnight. I’m certain my husband is waiting for me.’
Turning, head high, she marched partway along the corridor and stopped in the shadows as her sense of control slipped. She leaned against the cold stones for support.
Jeanne’s false wishes drifted along the hallway. ‘Pleasant dreams, little sister.’
Kenzie’s stomach roiled as doubt swirled inside her. Uncertainty squeezed her nervous heart. The desire in Lachlan’s eyes when he looked at her was real. As was his touch: hot, gentle and possessive. His concern for her was also true. That he cared for her she did not doubt. But was he simply making the most of what he had?
Second choice or not, she and Lachlan had exchanged vows, were already wed. Kenzie had grown up in the wake of Jeanne’s beauty, been overlooked by a father who weighed a person’s worth by what he could gain from them and a mother who’d allowed her husband to deem her worthless and had ended her own life. Kenzie had survived their neglect and loss without a whisper of protest, had taken to the shadows without questioning why. Her silence meant she’d given up on a life that was rightfully hers.
But Lachlan was her husband, her light. She loved him and refused to give him up without a fight.
Straightening from the wall, she uncurled her fisted hands and clenched them again. Nothing, not her doubts and fears, nor her sister’s beauty, would get in the way of her love for Lachlan.
Drawing a determined breath, she marched the rest of the way along the corridor.
She paused on the landing and peered down the darkened staircase, then turned and faced the double doors. One of the oaken panels suddenly wrenched inward. Kenzie’s heart jolted at the sight of her handsome husband.
‘Good, you’re here,’ Lachlan said wrapping warm fingers about her wrist. ‘I was about to come and get you.’ He pulled her into the room.
The door clicked shut, its solid timber supporting her back as Lachlan’s masculine heat pressed into the front of her body. Large hands cradled her face, tilted her head. Hungry lips swept her mouth. She kissed him back, answering his fierce demands and making her own.
Desire roared between them. Kenzie gloried in the taste of him. He was hers. She would do everything possible to show him she was his.
She slid her hands from his broad shoulders as her unsteady fingers plucked the laces of his vest free and pushed the leather wide. He shrugged the garment from his shoulders. Her palms molded over his wide chest, muscles rippling as she skimmed down his stomach and pulled the hem of his shirt loose.
His hands left her face, his lips lifted. She moaned at the loss as he dragged the shirt over his head. She set her hands on his heated skin and he hissed at her touch. Her belly leaped with excitement at the tormented sound. He claimed her mouth with his as he stripped the gown from her body, stole every thought from her mind but those of him. Scooped her into his powerful arms and carried her to their bed.
Soft furs cushioned her naked back. She wanted his hard flesh against her breasts, her stomach, her legs. Sitting up, she reached for him as he removed the last of his clothes. She closed her arms about him and dragged him down to her.
Her skin tingled as his heated flesh covered hers. Their lips fused, tongues twined. Her body wept with desire—ached with the need to have him inside her.
He took control and she let him, freed her senses to his caressing hands. She shared the joy his touch evoked by giving voice to her mewling cries, opened her heart as he slid inside her, and filled her. She welcomed him, closed about him, moved with him and met every thrust. Opened her eyes to reveal her precious secret, to show him she loved him.
As they rocked, their flesh glistened and panted breaths filled the air. The flames within her brightened, licked higher. He fanned the fire with every powerful thrust. His turbulent gaze locked with hers. Heat rushed through her. Lachlan roared his release.
She surrendered to the white-hot flames and burned.
The sound of deep, rhythmic breathing was the first sign Kenzie’s senses were returning; the weight of an arm draped over her bare chest was the second. Skin tingling, she lifted heavy lids and stared into the velvet darkness as warm air brushed her naked skin.
She slowly turned her head and looked at Lachlan.
His handsome face was partly hidden by the furs beneath him. Firelight danced over his fair hair and the taut flesh of his shoulders, back and firm buttocks. His muscular legs sprawled wide across the bottom of the bed.
She drew a shuddering breath. Her husband was striking enough fully clothed. She curled her fingers into her palms to stop them from reaching out to caress him. The sight of him now lying prone in all his naked glory proved too much of a distraction for her to form a full thought. She loved him, but she needed time and space to think on what she was going to do about it. And time to dwell on another growing suspicion.
Lifting his elbow, she wriggled from his reach. He stirred. She quickly grabbed the pillow her head had been resting on, dragged it to where she’d been lying and lowered his arm. He grunted, pulled the pillow closer and sighed.
She climbed from the bed and went in search of her gown. It lay on the floor near the door where he’d tossed it in his haste to strip her bare. She shivered in remembered delight, dressed and slid her feet into her slippers lying close by. Retrieving her cloak from the hook beside the door, she threw it around her shoulders and reached for the latch.
Iron scraped on iron. She winced and glanced back at the bed. Lachlan didn’t move. She exhaled in relief. Exiting the room, she left the door ajar.
The cooler air in the hallway curled about her ankles as she raised her skirts and crept down the stairs. An uneven chorus of snuffles and snores greeted her as she entered the hall. She paused at the base of the steps and looked toward the small basket and three empty sacks sitting near the hearth. She’d finished the last of the tiny tunics; this was a good time to prepare all for visiting the cottages. Anything to occupy her hands while she sorted out her thoughts.
She placed the sacks in the basket and carried it along the hall’s perimeter. Opening the door to outside, chill air rushed in, so she swiftly left the hall and set the latch.
The frosty night greeted her. She drew it in, clearing her senses, and descended the steps to the bailey. As she crossed to the stables, she peered up into the night. Dawn wasn’t far away—she didn’t have much time. She looked at the flickering torches and the dark shapes of the guards watching from the curtain wall. What they thought of her stroll at such an odd hour, she had no idea. They said nothing and she responded in kind.
The familiar scent of horses met her as she entered the stable. Wondrous memories lived in the darkness here, memories she and Lachlan had created. Smiling, she lowered her burden to the earthen floor, plucked a lantern from the shelf inside the entrance and lit it. Then she started to transfer the garments from the woven basket to the sacks.