Chapter Three

 

 

Duncan eyed the priest as if he’d lost his mind, then turned for the first time to face his lady wife.

Trying to keep his expression unreadable, his gaze traversed the length of her body. Seal this unwanted union with a kiss to show the two families joined together with no ill feelings? He’d not do it. All he’d had to do was tell the priest he protested. The ceremony would have gone no further. He couldn’t do it. His clan needed him. Before he left home he’d decided not to stay with this English wife after the wedding, wanting naught to do with a woman his father selected. He planned to leave as soon as he took her to his home. He wouldn’t change his mind now.

He stood resolute—and unable to breathe—for he stared at one of the loveliest women he’d ever seen.

He moistened his lips and watched her proudly stare up at him.

He reached out to touch her face, but drew back at the last moment.

Rimmed with long black lashes, her large brown eyes had golden flecks shimmering throughout. Her lips pressed together to hide her nervousness. Failing, the corner of her mouth trembled. Duncan had the ridiculous urge to take her in his arms and kiss her thoroughly.

He had to slow his breathing as his gaze drank in her every nuance. A sheer wimple flowed down her back and covered her shimmering auburn hair. Seed pearls and ivy formed a circlet atop her head. Her ivory-colored kirtle was form-fitted and draped over well-rounded hips. Hips perfect for carrying a bairn—his bairn. Mayhap even the son he so longed for and never thought to have. He’d always figured Meggie would be his only child.

The sleeves of the woman’s gown were long and loose flowing, befitting her family’s extreme wealth. The côtehardie, cut to show the gown beneath, was trimmed with martin fur.

Give her the kiss of peace? He intended no such thing, although he couldn’t take his eyes from her lips, wondering if they’d feel as soft as velvet. Overwhelmed by her beauty, it took every ounce of willpower to tear his eyes from her face. He turned and left her standing at the altar, a collective gasp from onlookers echoing throughout the chapel as he walked out alone.

He cared not what anyone thought of his actions, but knew he’d hear about it from his sister. Tamara wouldn’t hesitate to tell him he’d just been a cold-hearted, insensitive boor.

He saw his sister from the corner of his eye, her green eyes wide with dismay when he moved past her. She said not a word, but he clearly heard her saying, ‘Duncan, how could you leave that poor woman standing alone?’

Determined not to stay in this hated English house a moment longer than necessary, Duncan returned to his chamber and rang for the chambermaid. Upon her arrival, he told her, “Inform my lady wife we leave within the hour. I expect her packed and ready.”

Observing the maid’s shocked expression, he coolly added, “Inform her any luxuries not down the stairs shall remain behind.” He turned his back in dismissal.

~ * ~

Catherine felt a rush of annoyance and glared upstairs at her unseen husband. When he’d first turned in her direction at the altar, she’d lost herself in the fathomless depths of his blue eyes. She thought him one of the handsomest men she’d seen. She had the urge to reach up and brush the shock of dark hair from his forehead—until the rude man turned and left her standing alone.

She fumed, “How dare he insult me and issue such an order? Does he not plan to partake of our wedding celebration?”

Her mouth firmly set, she stormed upstairs, her mother, sister, and lady’s maid closely at her heels. “That arrogant man may think he won,” she grumbled, “but he doesn’t know whom he deals with yet. He probably believes I shall turn into a hysterical female. Well, I shan’t.”

She turned to the women she held dearest. “With your help, I intend to put my husband in his place.” Her eyes softened as she looked to her mother, who sobbed, her shoulders shaking with the force of her tears. “Mother, please do not cry. I need your help to get through this.”

Determined to show that man he’d wed a force to be reckoned with, Catherine packed with haste.

With time to spare, she stood at the hall’s parlor door seemingly calm and serene in her light brown traveling mantle. She tried to maintain a calm façade. Inside, she seethed.

Her husband approached the staircase landing, probably expecting to see a group of wailing women ready to plead for additional time. Instead, a smile spread over her face when he stopped mid-step. She delighted he saw the woman he’d just issued a ridiculous order to waiting calmly, her traveling retinue around her.

Their gazes met and locked.

She gave a mocking smile. “I thought mayhap you were going to be late, my lord husband.”

A twitch of his lips and a quirked brow seemed to say, And so the battle begins.

~ * ~

With a haughty turn of her head, Catherine reached her hands up and drew her mantle’s hood over her hair.

Walking out the door, she fought the urge to glance back.

She stopped outside and turned to Rowena. “I shall miss you.” She touched the tears freely flowing down the woman’s cheeks. “I would love to have you come with me, but would not subject you to that horrible man...my lord husband.” She smirked, her gaze sweeping to Duncan. He stared right through her, his face impassive, as if her derogatory words meant naught.

Kissing her family farewell, she headed across the courtyard and stood beside the waiting conveyance.

Elizabeth ran to her, throwing her arms around her neck. “I shall miss you. Oh Cat, who shall I spend my days with? Who shall teach me to—”

“Rowena shall care for you, Beth.” Catherine lifted the young girl’s chin and glowered at her new husband over Elizabeth’s head. The hood of her sister’s mantle fell, allowing her sandy brown hair to whip about her face. Lowering her head to her sister once again, Catherine whispered in her ear, “I love you.”

Catherine nudged her toward Trevor.

He gathered Elizabeth in his arms and endeavored to console her. Failing, he raked his fingers through his hair, unleashing it from the leather strap. Trevor attempted a smile. The best he could muster was a crooked grin.

Angered to be placed in this predicament due to the king’s whim and her father’s greed, Catherine impatiently tapped her foot. It was The MacThomaidh’s litter her husband rushed her to, so she wondered how his father planned to return home. It mattered not. She refused to enter it until her lord husband helped her inside.

~ * ~

Duncan watched from the courtyard, readying his horse for the long journey. He rolled his eyes as he watched his new lady’s every movement. The unyielding vixen stood beside the litter and didn’t move. He walked toward her, opened the conveyance’s curtains and extended his hand, waiting for her to accept it.

She shot him a withering glare. Surprisingly, he found her tenacity oddly pleasing.

Sense prevailed and although she glared back, her chin stubborn, she placed her hand in his. After settling her inside the cushioned litter, Duncan jumped atop his stallion.

I misdoubt I shall ever be happy again. Not after being leg-shackled to this English female. At least she was pleasing to the eye, though it would be easier to hate her if she was a crone.

He rode ahead of the litter. What to do with a wife I do not want—other than bed her as is my due as her husband? Merciful saints, she was beautiful. When those big brown eyes looked at him he’d felt an overwhelming urge to pull her into his arms and crush her to him. He’d never felt such an immediate surge of wanting as when he turned to face her. Nay, he couldn’t keep her. He’d continue with the plan he’d made before going to London. He might have to wed her to keep his clan safe, regretted he’d have to take her maidenhood to seal the bargain, but not once had he agreed to stay with her. He’d leave as soon as he took her to his home.

He laughed at the smug expression she’d had on her face when she awaited him in her parlor. Aye, the lass had bested him at his own game. He credited her with not falling apart.

~ * ~

After a hard ride, an uninvited guest arrived at Brentwood, the celebration feast still going on. People were well on their way to becoming drunk. He’d waited for an opportunity like this over seven years. Ever since his bloody laird deprived him of the woman he wanted. Aye, Tory should have been his—as should all of Clan MacThomas.

Finally, this night Duncan MacThomas would die.

Joining the milling throng, Erwin overheard two men talking.

“Gillingham is not pleased the heathen took off after the ceremony. He has grumbled all night about the fête’s expense, but I misdoubt he will complain to the king.”

Erwin swore, slinking into the shadows. “I missed MacThomas again!” He surveyed the gathered crowd, reached down to adjust his dark brown over-tunic, and muttered, “For this I wore leggings? I feel like a bloody court jester. How can men wear these loathsome things?” Tomorrow he’d be back in chausses. He’d been embarrassed the last time.

The next time he searched out MacThomas, he’d plan better. The man would pay.

Erwin headed out the door to return to town. “Mayhap I should not be so quick to kill him, should make him suffer before I end his life. He deprived me of the woman I wanted—twice. Now that he is wed, mayhap I should strike where it will hurt the most.” He laughed mirthlessly. He needn’t rush, would take his time and plan MacThomas’ downfall carefully.

~ * ~

Catherine glanced around the inn, her eyes growing accustomed to the dim light. The large room, cluttered with wooden tables and chairs, appeared clean, free of vermin. Exhausted, every bone aching, she reached up to remove her mantle.

Beside her, Duncan informed the innkeeper, “We have traveled long this day. I require your best room and rooms for my men as well. Also, have a tub sent up to mine.” Turning, he gave Catherine a smile.

The first smile she’d seen upon his face, Catherine blinked surprise. She’d thought him handsome before. Without the perpetual grim lines bracketing his mouth, he was beautiful. Her heart pounded in her chest and she found it hard to see anything but Duncan.

His eyes roamed over the blue côtehardie, the long garment’s skirt girdled at her hips. “I am certain after the dusty day’s ride, my lady wife would relish a warm bath.”

Catherine’s hand shook as she situated the mantle around her body, her spirit almost breaking for the first time this day. He pretends to care. She closed her eyes against a wave of pain.

As if the brute had regard for her feelings. She’d thought he never planned to stop. Having been tossed from side to side in the litter, she’d be surprised if her entire body wasn’t bruised. At the very least, she should kick him a time or two to make him hurt.

She reached down to brush dust from her mantle, giving her time to regain her composure. Two could play whatever farce he engaged in. Catherine plastered on a come-hither smile, and faced her knave of a husband. “I appreciate your kindness, my lord.”

Before anyone could utter another word, or tears gave away the truth, she headed upstairs to the only room with an open door. She went inside and firmly closed it.

~ * ~

Leisurely soaking in the tub filled with buckets of warm water, Catherine peered around the room. It had a bed and a small table that looked like it would collapse if anything was placed atop it. Elsewise, the room was as stark as the common room downstairs. She stretched out an arm to lather it when the door opened and Duncan entered.

She squealed in shock realizing she’d not placed the wooden bar through the latch! What had she been thinking? Did this man make her forget all sense?

Outraged, she sank lower in the water. The bubbles thankfully covered her. Quickly she crossed her arms over her chest.

“What are you doing here? Get out!”

“We were wed this day,” Duncan answered. “I have every right to be in this room.”

“But...but I bathe,” she said as if he were an idiot.

His eyes lowered to take in the tub.

She wanted to wipe away the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when he announced, “Och, aye, I see that.”

Seeing the gleam in the depths of his blue eyes, she slipped lower in the tub. “Get out!”

Ignoring her, Duncan closed the door. “To grant you a measure of privacy, I cleaned up with my men, but this is our room. And I plan to sleep here this night.” He unbelted his sporran and placed it atop the small wooden table beside the bed. Unfastening the brooch from his blue and green tunic, he folded it and set it on the floor. All he now wore were his white linen undershirt, leggings, and shoes.

Her eyes widened at the sight of him removing his clothes. “What are you doing?”

“Do your eyes not work? They told me not you were blind. No wonder they were so quick to wed you to a Scot.” He chuckled and relished teasing her. “Since you are sorely afflicted, shall I describe my actions?”

Catherine gulped. “Odious man! I can see what you are doing! You are ta...taking off your clothes.”

His eyes danced with mischievousness. “Och, the lass is not blind after all, and is perceptive. A fine quality in a lady wife. Have you other afflictions or deformities I have not been told about? You have been so silent, I feared you were addled.”

Flustered at the sight of his disrobing, Catherine ignored his jibe. “Why?”

“Why did I think you addled?”

“Why do you remove your clothes?” Her breathing quickened at the sight of him.

“I told you, my lady wife. I intend to spend the night here.” Duncan walked to the bed and sat, pushing on it to test its comfort. His eyes never leaving her, a hint of a smile lifted the corner of his mouth.

Catherine’s trepidation grew at the implied threat of his actions.

“Have the decency to turn your back while I don my n-nightrail.”

She wanted to scratch his handsome face when laughter appeared in his eyes. Rising from the bed, he placed his shoes and leggings beside his folded plaide. He looked around the room, then headed to the small bench. Muscles in his strong legs rippled when he bent to retrieve the green chemise. All he had on now was his linen shirt. Her mouth went dry.

He held the garment out to the light of the fire, appraising the thin material.

“This?” He arched his brows.

Catherine nodded.

“Fine material, almost transparent.” He wiggled his brows, mocking her.

She gulped.

“Turn my back? Why? You are my lady wife, are you not? Your family bought me as one might a blooded stallion.”

Ashamed and furious that he should make such a comment, heat flamed up Catherine’s cheeks.

“Aye they did, and considering your rudeness it appears I have gotten the worst of the bargain.”

Duncan shrugged, but she heard the edge to his voice. “I shall be more than happy to hand you the chemise.”

He extended his arm, held out the garment. She reached over the tub and tried to snag it without rising. “How dare you treat me thusly?”

Duncan’s lips curved upward at the fury on her face. He stepped back.

“Give me my nightrail!” Catherine shouted in frustration.

“Why, I am, my lady wife.” His lips held a hint of a smile. Crooking a finger, he beckoned her over.

Catherine’s eyes widened in shock.

He tried to hold back his laughter when she grabbed for the garment one more time. Failing, she didn’t need to voice the unladylike thoughts swirling through her mind. Her smoldering eyes told him all.

His face impassive, he watched her every reaction. Och, she is a spitfire. Not the least cowed by my actions. For reasons he couldn’t explain, that pleased him. Nothing like he’d expected, she was beautiful and spirited.

His body tensed in surprise when she threw the bar of soap at him. He did laugh then.

He caught his breath and forced himself—really forced himself—to look at her face. He didn’t know what he’d expected when hearing of her, but it wasn’t this.

She was beautiful—and she was his. Only what was he going to do with the endearing woman? She’d already gotten under his skin.

Knowing the king would demand it, he’d planned only an obligatory mating, but now…

Duncan closed his eyes to stop his lustful thoughts. She’d drive him daft if he kept this up.

He wanted to stay with her forever. Love her forever. Feelings he hadn’t had in a long, long time.