“Ye certainly are a wee one, arenae ye,” murmured Knobby. Gillyanne gave him what she hoped was her best scowl, even as she began to think there was no such creature as a short male MacEnroy. “If ye wish to see your next saint’s day, it might be wise to keep that opinion to yourself.” “Ah, as ye wish. Strange, I hadnae noticed that ye have red hair.” “That is because I dinnae. ’Tis brown,” she muttered as she brushed off her skirts. “Nay, m’lady, with the sun on it, ’tis red. And, I hadnae guessed that ye have green eyes, either.” “I shall tell ye a secret, Knobby. When my eyes are this color, ’tis wise to tread verra warily around me.” She nodded when he took a small step away from her. “Now, where has everyone disappeared to?” “To the great hall, m’lady. ’Tis a feast they will be having to celebrate the laird’s victory and safe return.” “How nice,” she said between tightly gritted teeth. This was far more than she ought to be asked to bear, Gillyanne thought as she stared at the hard-packed ground of the inner bailey. She finally had a husband, and still she was ignored. Hand in hand with her anger was hurt and the two emotions fed on each other, strengthening each other, until she felt nearly ill with emotion. Gillyanne slowly began to count, fighting to grasp some control of her runaway feelings. If she went after Connor now, she feared she would make such an utter ranting fool of herself, the MacEnroys would probably think she was a mad woman and lock her up. “Er, m’lady?” Knobby called, his voice softened with unease. “What are ye doing?” “Counting,” she replied, feeling a brief urge to weep and using her anger to ruthlessly quell it. “Counting what?” Knobby frowned as he studied the ground she stared at. Gillyanne took a deep breath and slowly unclenched her fists. “I am just counting. My cousin Avery says that ye can often get your temper under control if ye just count verra slowly.” “Is it working?” “Nay. Instead of just counting and calming down, I find I am counting all the ways I can hurt and torture that fool I have just married.”
She saw color flood his narrow face and wondered if she had just angered the man. After all she had heard about the MacEnroys, there was a good chance his clansmen held him in very high regard indeed. A moment later, she realized the man was not furious; he was struggling mightily not to burst into open laughter. Gillyanne sighed in resignation. It seemed that, if men did not ignore her, they found her amusing. It was no wonder that any hint of vanity she might have once had had withered and died long ago. “I believe I am ready to go to the great hall now,” she said. “Aye, and ’tis best if ye hurry,” Knobby said in a slightly choked voice. “The food will disappear verra fast.” As she walked toward the tall iron-banded doors of the keep, Gillyanne idly wondered if Knobby was so thin because he was slow to get to the table. She glanced over her shoulder and was not really surprised to see him nearly bent over with laughter as he led Connor’s horse to the stables. It would amuse a man to hear someone as small as she was threaten a great tree of a man like Connor. Of course, those men were only the ones who had never met a Murray woman. After using nearly all of her strength just to open the heavy doors and get inside, Gillyanne followed the sounds of many voices to the great hall. She stood in the doorway and looked around. Her husband sat in a big chair at the head of a long table centered amongst all the others. It was obvious he was regaling his clan with tales of all that had happened at Ald-dabhach, the men who had been with him readily adding their views on it all. Not one of them noticed that the woman who had brought them this bounty was not seated next to her husband. Some of the anger she had managed to tamp down surged to life again as she saw that there was not even a place set for her at the table. She took a few deep, slow breaths to restore her calm then strode into the great hall. First she would grab something to eat and drink, and then she intended to have a few words with her new husband. The lands he was so pleased to hold were her dower lands. If she left, if the marriage was ended, he would lose those lands. That gave Gillyanne some small measure of power and she intended to use it.
Seven It was almost impossible to get her food past the hard knot of fury in her throat, but Gillyanne tried. She reminded herself that this was no love match. Connor had wanted her keep and lands and she had wanted to stop any bloodshed over them. Passion had not brought them together. The unwary disclosures of the king had set them on this path. That, and the greed of men. Connor had simply appeared to be the best choice out of three fools. Gillyanne could not believe she had been so utterly wrong. All that good sense did little to ease her growing rage as she covertly watched Connor nearly smile at the fulsome maid Meg. The way the woman so openly fondled him was quite bad enough. The occasional triumphant glances Meg sent her way were far, far worse. The only place most women wielded any power was within the household itself and Meg’s confident, contemptuous looks told Gillyanne that she might never gain that prize. Gillyanne took a long drink of the thick, tart wine and tried to wash the bitter taste of humiliation from her mouth. It was hard, hard to accept that she was little more than a deed to this man, and very hard to accept that he had obviously forgotten her from the moment he had gotten her safely behind his gates. She would have had to dismount by herself if not for Knobby’s aid, had had to trail after him, his family, and his men long after they strode off to the great hall, and had even had to fight for a place at the large table as well as for a share of the food. Such callous disregard was probably for the best, she tried to convince herself. She had married the man in the hope of buying time, time in which her family could come and extract her from this mess. It should not matter what happened now as long as she was not harmed, but it did. What Gillyanne could not understand was why it hurt and why she could not convince herself that all she suffered was badly stung pride, just as in the past when she had been ignored by men. This man was, after all, her husband. They had been wed by a priest and the marriage had been duly consummated. Not painfully, true, but, as far as she was concerned, hastily and not very well. Gillyanne was still completely astonished that such a beautiful man could be such a poor lover. But then, she mused sourly, perhaps he had not been at his best because he had considered the act no more than the signing of a deed. The fact that he obviously intended to give Meg some of his best, if he had any, made Gillyanne grind her teeth.
Meg moved to stand behind Connor, draping her plump arms around his neck and nearly enfolding his head in her ample bosom. Connor briefly laughed and the lusty chuckle acted upon Gillyanne like spark to tinder. She cursed and surged to her feet, ignoring the sudden silence as she strode to her husband’s chair. “Best move those,” she hissed at Meg as she placed her hands on Meg’s full breasts and shoved the woman back. “I have need of my husband’s ears for the moment.” “Ye overstep, lass,” Connor said quietly, but he was a little astonished at the fury he could see on her small face and the way her anger enlivened her wide, faintly mismatched eyes, making them an interesting shade of green. “Nay lass. Wife. Recall me? The woman whose tower house and lands ye so covet? The one ye dragged afore a priest and so ineptly bedded?” She ignored the loud unified gasp of his men and family, interested only in the flush of anger that colored his high-boned cheeks and savoring it. “A husband has the right to beat his wife.” “Try it. Ye refuse to see the trouble ye have tempted by what ye have done, but ’tis there, fool, and will soon be clamoring loudly at your gates. ’Twill land on ye tenfold if my fither sees but one wee bruise on me. Ye tempt that rage e’en now by treating me with so little respect.” “A mon has a right to his pleasures.” He struggled to hide his surprise over the vicious curse she spat at him “Does he now.” She straightened up. “Then surely it must follow that so does a woman.” “ ’Ware, lass.” Gillyanne ignored him. She knew the cold fury in his voice should make her hesitate, but she, too, was furious, too furious to be cautious. After a quick look around, she grabbed Connor’s brother Diarmot by the arm and yanked him to his feet, as surprised as he looked at her surge of strength. Gillyanne started to drag him out of the great hall, a little piqued by the look of utter horror on his handsome face. “Jesu, lass, ye will get me killed,” Diarmot stuttered, too shocked to fight her pull, and too concerned with keeping an eye on his brother who was slowly rising from his chair. “Nay, not you,” Gillyanne replied, refusing to look back at the man she could hear rapidly approaching. “Me, aye, mayhap, but nay you. He might knock ye around a wee bit, but from what little I have seen thus far, ye must be used to that.” She released a soft cry of surprise when Diarmot was suddenly ripped from her side. Gillyanne got one
brief glimpse of the young man sliding across the floor on his backside before a strong arm circled her waist. Connor carried her out of the great hall like a sack of grain, that one strong arm all the hold he needed. Gillyanne briefly considered sinking her teeth in his thigh, but her hair was in the way. She also decided it might not be wise to further aggravate him. After stomping up the narrow stairs, he kicked open a heavy door and tossed her onto a wide bed. Gillyanne scrambled to her feet just to see him start toward the door. Cursing softly, she leaped off the bed, raced by him, and slammed the door shut. She stood in front of it, arms crossed over her chest, and glared up at him. Although she was not sure what she wanted from him, it was certainly not to be left in a bedchamber while he returned to fondling Meg. “Move, lass,” Connor ordered. “The name is Gillyanne,” she snapped. “And I willnae allow ye to return to your adulterous rutting.” Connor stared at her, torn between anger and a sudden urge to laugh. She was little, delicate, barely reached his armpit, yet faced him as if they were equals. Other than his sister Fiona, no woman had ever cursed him, insulted him, or scolded him. He frowned. Women were supposed to be docile, to heed a man’s word, especially highborn lasses. Connor began to wonder just what sort of family Gillyanne had been raised in that she had obviously been allowed to ignore that truth. “Your husband has ordered ye to move,” he said. “Och, so now ye recall that ye are a husband. Does this mean that ye will start to treat me like a wife?” “Curse ye, I am treating ye like a wife.” Gillyanne blinked, her anger vanishing beneath a wave of confusion. The way Connor said those words told her he meant them, wholeheartedly. That made no sense. “Are ye now. Might I ask just how ye believe a wife should be treated?” Gillyanne asked a little too sweetly. “He certainly doesnae let her rut with another mon. Any fruit of your wee body will be mine and mine alone.” “It would have been close. Diarmot is your brother after all.” She found the look of shock upon his face utterly satisfying. “Now, how do ye believe a wife should be treated?” Deciding she had to have been jesting about Diarmot, Connor replied, “Gently.”
She frowned when he said no more. “And?” “He is to see that she is weel fed.” “Oh? Then mayhap the husband might pause a moment to see that she has a seat at the table and a full plate before her ere he turns his attention to playing with his whore.” He had to concede he had failed there. “I am nay used to a wife yet. And her name is Meg.” Her name is Meg the Mutilated if she does not cease her games, Gillyanne thought, but just drawled, “How nice for her. Next?” “A husband is to see that she is weel clothed or at least warmly dressed.” Gillyanne simply glanced down at her dirty, wrinkled gown, then looked back at him, one brow raised. “We have only just arrived here. I dinnae carry ladies’ gowns about with me and there was nay time to collect yours ere we left Ald-dabhach.” He was beginning to sound defensive and Gillyanne thought that a hopeful sign. “Fine. Next?” “A lady is to be gently bedded and carefully tended ’til she carries a child.” “Ye make me sound like a thrice-cursed garden.” Connor was very sure ladies were not supposed to curse, but decided to ignore that for now. “Ladies must be treated with care and respect for their modesty. A mon reserves his rougher passions for maids like Meg. Such things would shock a lady.” “What pig muck.” She ignored his look of surprise. “Who told ye such utter nonsense?” “My uncle Sir Neil MacEnroy. He is an expert in the ways of gentle-born ladies.” “Is he now?” she muttered, making no attempt to hide her scorn. “Kens all the ladies, does he, that he can speak with such assurance?” Forced to consider the matter as he searched for an answer, Connor realized he had none. He was not sure when or where his uncle had met any ladies. The man rarely spoke of any. That was not something he was about to admit to the angry little female standing before him, however. “He taught me all I ken,” Connor said and was sure the fleeting look he glimpsed upon her face was one
of utter derision. “Your uncle was taught differently from me,” Gillyanne said as, confident he would not try to walk away now, she moved to sit on the bed. “He was right about food and clothing and a place to live.” “Ah, a place to live. I have given ye that.” He was pleased that he had done one thing correctly. “Aye.” She decided not to point out that he had dragged her from a perfectly good place to live to bring her here. “But, as a gentle-bred lady myself, I must take exception to what else he said.” “A lass doesnae argue with a mon. His word is law.” Gillyanne stared at Connor, cursing her continued inablity to read him in any way. She did not really want to think him dimwitted enough to believe such nonsense. He was sorely in need of education. His uncle, she mused, was sorely in need of a sound beating. “This lass argues,” she said. “I have begun to notice that.” She looked utterly adorable sitting on the edge of his great bed, her small feet several inches off the floor. Connor felt desire stir and tried to tamp it down. It was not easy when he could all too clearly recall the beauty of her lithe body and the warm, tight feel of her when he had been inside her. He had seeded her as is a husband’s duty, but he had been left wanting. The restraint he had practiced had stolen some of the pleasure from the bedding. That was why he had turned to Meg, yet, he had to admit, Meg had not sparked his lust at all. That could prove to be a problem for, if he did not satisfy those heartier urges elsewhere, he might try to satisfy them with his wife and she was a lady. She was also so small, so delicate, he feared he could easily hurt her. “This argumentative lass is telling ye that a husband doesnae go sniffing about another woman’s skirts. That is adultery. That is a sin.” “Then there are a lot of sinners in this world.” “Too many, but that doesnae make it right. Such things may be winked at in this world, but will nay be winked at in the next.” “A mon has some hearty desires, lass, which need a lot of feeding. A lady cannae tolerate it. That is what lasses like Meg were made for.” “Bollocks.”
“A lady shouldnae use such crude language.” “Keep speaking such utter nonsense and ye will soon see just how crude I can get.” She sighed and flopped back on the bed. “Oh, go and rut with your whore. I dinnae ken why I should care. Ye werenae verra good at it anyway.” Gillyanne was not surprised when he suddenly loomed over her for, deciding that reasoning with him was not gaining her anything, she thought goading him might work. He certainly looked thoroughly goaded now. “I was verra good,” he snapped. “I took your maidenhead with barely a wince from ye. I didnae hurt ye.” “Nay, ye didnae. Didnae give me much pleasure, either.” He was staring at her as if she was the oddest creature he had ever met. She stared back, but got nothing, no sense at all of his thoughts and feelings. It was frustrating, but she began to get the sinking feeling it was definitely one of the reasons she had chosen him. “Ladies dinnae want pleasure, cannae feel it. They expect their mon to take such crudities to his leman.” Gillyanne propped herself up on her elbows, bringing her face so close to his as he leaned over her that their noses almost touched. She was feeling heartily cheated. Circumstances had forced her into marriage with this beautiful man and she had thought she might at least, finally, taste some of that pleasure which put such a sparkle in her cousins’ eyes. Instead she got a man who treated her as if she would break beneath a passionate caress. There had been such promise in those first few kisses, and she was determined to see if that promise could be fulfilled. If not, well, she would let him go his way, and she would wait for rescue. She ignored the whisper in her mind which told her she would never be able to follow that plan. That made no sense at all. “I shall make a bargain with ye,” she said. “Show me these rough pleasures, these hearty desires. Treat me just as if I was your leman, nay your wife. If I cannae abide it, I will trouble ye no more about your whore. I will make but one rule — dinnae shame me by parading your lovers afore my eyes and your people. Ye do that and ye leave me exposed to the scorn of your clan. That I willnae tolerate, nay quietly. So, come, show me what I am supposed to be so revolted by.” Connor straightened up and reached for the laces on his doublet. He was tempted to accept her bargain. He wanted to give her the fullness of the desire he felt for her, wanted to see if he could bring the warmth of desire into her beautiful eyes. He wanted to touch every silken inch of her without worrying she would be shocked, wanted to kiss her perfect little belly hole, feast on her raspberry colored nipples, and kiss her slender white thighs. It startled him a little, but he even wanted to kiss those soft reddish brown curls between those beautiful legs, something he had heard about, but had never felt the urge to try. And why not, he decided as he began to remove his doublet. It might frighten or disgust her, but she had
given him permission to indulge himself at least this once. Unless she swooned or started to fight him, he would heartily indulge himself. If, afterward, they returned to a genteel, occasional seeding of her womb, he would at least have one memory to cherish. The way her eyes started to widen as he shed his clothes made him wonder if her courage was already fading. Gillyanne felt increasingly hot as her husband took off his clothes. She had seen very little of him before. He was all smooth, golden skin and lean, hard muscle. A thin line of hair began below his navel, thickened around his groin, and dusted every inch of his long muscular legs. He was beautiful and very manly, she mused as she looked at his groin again. It was probably a good thing she had not had a clear view of him before the consummation of their marriage. If she had seen the size of what he had intended to put inside her, she doubted she would have been quite so sanguine about it all as she had been. She had not seen many manhoods in her time, and most had been in what her cousin Avery laughingly called the bored position. She was sure, however, that Connor was particularly well blessed in that area and he was most certainly not bored. “Afraid?” he asked as he tugged her to her feet and began to remove her clothes. “Nay, I was just noticing that ye are, er, nay bored,” she murmured, trying not to be too discomforted by the amount of light in the room as he undressed her. “What do ye mean?” “My cousin Avery calls a monhood at rest one that is in the bored position.” “Just how many have ye seen?” he demanded, pausing in the unlacing of her chemise to scowl at her. “Weel, I dinnae go about trying to peep at any mon’s,” she said, vaguely insulted by his unspoken accusation. “But, in a crowded keep and with a multitude of male cousins and brothers, a lass does glimpse one now and again. Avery gave a name to the various . . . weel, positions it can take. There is bored, a wee bit interested, and not bored at all.” “Lasses shouldnae be looking at monhoods and they shouldnae be naming them things.” “So many rules,” she murmured. “I best tell Avery to cease calling her husband’s Sir Draigon, I suppose.” He tossed her chemise aside and stared at her linen braies as he fought the urge to laugh. It was a puzzle how she kept doing that for he was not a man much given to laughter. Except for the occasional brief chuckle, he could not recall the last time he had really laughed. It was not the sort of thing a laird should do. If he went about grinning and laughing, he would soon lose control of his people. It was strength which held them all together.
“Ye are still wearing those braies,” he said. “Aye, I am, and I mean to keep doing so.” “They are a mon’s clothes.” “And ’tis just like a mon to protect his nether regions whilst expecting a lass to endure the cold and risk chafe whilst riding. And, no matter how careful and modest a lass is, some fool will be trying to peek under her skirts. Weel, what is under my skirts is for no eyes but mine and my husband’s. So, dinnae think ye will get me to stop wearing them.” The mere thought that some man might catch a fleeting glimpse of her treasures was enough to make Connor decide that braies were really not such a bad thing for a lass to wear. He unlaced them and, the moment they fell to her feet, he picked her up and set her on his bed. She looked unsettlingly small lying there in his big bed. Delicate and easily bruised. Gillyanne felt herself blush beneath his steady gaze. When he frowned, her embarrassment changed to unease. She knew she was small, but so were most of the women in her family and their men seemed well pleased. One quick glance at his stout manhood told her that Connor’s frown was certainly not born of a lack of interest. “Are ye just going to look at it or do ye mean to use it?” she finally drawled, unable to bear that unwavering stare for another moment. “Use it,” Connor replied and he sprawled on top of her. She murmured in delight when he gave her another one of those kisses which held so much promise. Gillyanne wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close. He was big, warm, and heavy, but she enjoyed the feel of his body against hers. At the first tease of his tongue against her lips, she parted them. As he stroked the inside of her mouth, she felt that delicious tingling warmth begin to flow through her veins, and that strange yet delightful tightening low in her belly was back. Now she would know what it was all about, would learn what put that look in lovers’ eyes that could make even her blush. Connor could feel those beautiful nipples harden against his chest as he kissed Gillyanne. He wanted to take immediate, greedy advantage of that, but firmly told himself to go slowly. It was not simply because, despite exposing her to the less genteel side of passion, he wanted to try to avoid completely disgusting her so that they might be able to do this again. He was not sure why, but he wanted to do more with Gillyanne than he did with women like Meg, more than a little mutual touching, some kisses, then pounding away until he spilled his seed. And that last, he thought, almost smiling as he kissed her long beautiful throat on his way toward those lovely breasts he so craved, was the very best thing about having a wife. He did not have to pull away at the last moment, spending himself outside in the cold. If,
along with the pleasure of staying warm and snug inside her when he found his release, he could have Gillyanne like some of the loving, too, he might actually find something approaching contentment. When he inched his way down to her breasts, he propped huimself up on his elbows and covered them with his hands. They nestled into his palms as if they belonged there. Partly because of his size, he had always chosen bigger women to bed, fulsome, heavy-breasted lasses, yet he did not think he had ever felt anything as perfect as holding Gillyanne’s small, firm breasts and feeling her nipples brushing against his palms as she breathed. He slid his hands to the sides of her breasts, and, after a moment of enjoying the sight of those dark pink nipples so hard and inviting, he slowly licked each one. The soft cry Gillyanne gave made him hesitate, dismayed that he had shocked her so quickly. Then he felt her arch closer, rub herself against him, and tremble. He did it again and her reaction was much the same. Pure astonishment gripped him when he realized that she was heatedly appreciative of the caresses. Then he shook himself free of that surprise and proceeded to feast upon her, licking, nibbling, and suckling until he had to grip her firmly by one slim hip to still her movements against him. Knowing he was close to losing control, he kissed his way down her belly. Even as he kissed her navel, tickling it with his tongue, he slid his hand between her legs. Only his firm grip upon her kept her from bowing up right off the bed. This time he knew what her reaction meant for he could feel it beneath his fingers as he stroked her, could feel the heat and damp welcome of her. He pressed his face into her stomach, fighting the urge to kiss her there, right on those pretty curls. It was too soon. Instead, he satisfied himself by breathing deeply, savoring the smell of her clean skin and the warm musk of feminine arousal. It was almost too much and he lifted himself up. Even as she clamped her slim, strong legs around him as if to keep him from escaping, he eased into her. The tight, hot feel of her made him groan. She spoke his name, her voice thick and shaking with the force of her need, and he felt the last of his control snap. As he began to move, every inch of her slender, clinging body encouraging him not to temper his thrusts, he kissed her and tasted her wild greed. He felt her release grip her and plunged deep inside her, shuddering from the force of his own. The way her body seemed to drink of his, the way her nails grazed the skin of his back, and even the way she drummed her small heels against his backside, only added to the intensity of his pleasure. Finally, he collapsed against her, keeping just enough of his wits about him to fall slightly to the side, his face buried in the pillow. Gillyanne began to stroke Connor as she slowly came to her senses. She murmured in regret when he softened and slipped free of her body. This was what it was supposed to be like, she mused as she rubbed her feet up and down the hair-roughened skin of his strong calves. Now she fully understood all those long glances and soft sighs. She was just not sure what this meant for her and now was a poor time to try to sort it all out. She had to be certain Connor now understood that he did not have to take his rougher passions elsewhere. “I am still alive,” she said, meaning to jest but not really surprised to hear a touch of wonder in her voice.
“I think I am, too,” he muttered, sneaking a look at her and feeling disgustingly pleased with himself over the lingering flush of pleasure he could see upon her face. “And I wasnae disgusted at all.” “Nay, ye werenae, only that was just a wee taste of what a mon’s hearty loving is like.” “Only a wee taste?” “Aye. I may yet do something to disgust you.” “Humph. Just go ahead and try.” He intended to, Connor thought, and actually grinned into the pillow. It was hard for him to accept that his uncle had been wrong. It was easier to decide that Gillyanne was a rare find, but one in a thousand. Perhaps her family had raised her to see no wrong in enjoying the loving with her husband. A lot of questions filled his head, but he bit back every one. For whatever reasons, Gillyanne enjoyed lovemaking, freely and wildly. Her cries of pleasure had been sweet and true. And loud, he thought, and did smile a little. He would not be surprised if everyone at Deilcladach had heard her cries. Only a fool would question such a gift and Connor MacEnroy was no fool.
Eight Connor opened his eyes and studied the breast his nose was touching. It was a lovely breast — pale, silken soft, firm, and inviting. It was his little wife’s breast. He briefly savored a strong sense of possession. No other man could kiss that breast, tease that raspberry tinted nipple to hardness, or feel that delicate, perfectly shaped breast warm his palm. At least, not without risking a long and intensely painful death, he mused, and then wondered why the mere thought of another man touching Gillyanne should make his innards twist with rage. Having a wife was not the simple matter he had first thought it would be. Of course, it could be just this particular wife, he decided, as he circled that pretty nipple with his finger and felt Gillyanne twitch. He was just about to kiss that breast when someone pounded on the door. “God’s tears,” he muttered and looked up to see Gillyanne watching him, noting that her eyes were cloudy with sleep and budding desire. “ ’Tis morning,” Gillyanne murmured and clutched the sheet to her chest as Connor sat up, forcing her to do the same if she was to remain covered. He nodded. “A fine time for a tussle.” He scowled at the door. “But, I see, nay this morning. What?” he bellowed as the pounding continued. “Uncle Neil is here,” Diarmot bellowed in reply. “He wants to see you. Now.” “Tell him I am begetting my heir.” “Told him. He isnae pleased ye got married without telling him. Wants to see the wife.” “Keep him fed. I will be down in a few minutes.” Cursing his uncle all the while, Connor washed, dressed, and headed out of the room, calling back over his shoulder, “Best ye hurry down to the great hall.” Gillyanne did not even have the chance to reply before he was gone. She flopped back on the pillows. That was a somewhat abrupt and rude awakening, she mused. A flicker of hurt, even insult, came to life
in her heart, but she quickly smothered it. She could hardly expect the man to turn into some sweettongued courtier after but one night of loving. Connor was as new to the art of being a husband as she was to being a wife. He was going to need a lot of training. She climbed out of bed to begin her morning ablutions. There were other things she could not be sure of, she realized. Despite the gloriously passionate night they had just shared, Gillyanne could not feel certain she had changed any of Connor’s strange attitudes concerning the treatment of wives, nor that he would be faithful now. In truth, all she had proven to him was that at least one gentle-born lady could handle what he called a man’s rougher passions. That was not exactly a large step forward. There was also the fact she had entered into their marriage simply to end a battle, to gain time for her father to rescue her. As she started to don her sadly worn clothes, she shook her head and scolded herself about lying to herself. Those reasons had been there, but so had a strong lusty attraction for Connor, even a greed to finally grab a chance to learn how passion tasted. What she had done was snatch an opportunity to see if that attraction meant Connor was the mate of her heart and, if he was, could she make him share in that feeling. And, if not, she had the chance to get her father to help free her. “And, until that is all decided,” she muttered as she tied back her hair with a strip of leather and started to leave for the great hall, “I shall behave as if this marriage is built on firm ground, as sacred as the vows spoken and as unbreakable.” Suddenly, she recalled that Uncle Neil was the fool who had filled Connor’s head with all those alarming notions about women, and she moved a little faster. It was not wise to leave her husband alone with that particular man for too long. * * * “Uncle Neil,” Connor said as he strode into the great hall. “Weel met.” As he went to his seat and had a scowling Meg pour him a tankard of goat’s milk, Connor studied his uncle. The greying man was filling his tankard with ale despite the early hour. Connor had always known that his uncle drank too much, yet, for some reason, it was a truth that struck him particularly hard this morning. He also wondered where the man had been which allowed him to join them to break his fast. Neil looked as if he had suffered through a particularly rough night, yet instinct told Connor the man had not ridden hard or far. And, just where had Neil heard that he was married if not from Diarmot? “So, ye got yourself married, lad,” Neil said, looking little pleased by the news. “Why?” “Diarmot did not tell you?” It troubled Connor that he should suddenly feel so conflicted about his uncle, should suddenly feel any need at all to question the man who had been such a guiding force since the deaths of his parents. “The lad just said ye was upstairs with the wench when I asked where ye and the wife were.”
“How did ye ken I e’en had a wife?” “Near everyone twixt here and Edinburgh kens ye now have a wife, lad. Three belted knights and lairds making fools of themselves trying to grab one lass is the sort of tale that travels fast.” Connor wondered why he felt so dissatisfied with that answer then shrugged aside his doubts. News could indeed skip over the heather and hills with astounding speed. And, no matter which direction his uncle had come from, he would have traveled over lands where near every man, woman, and child would have heard the whole story. “I won the game, secured the prize, and now Ald-dabhach is under my rule,” Connor said with some pride. “Thought the lass chose you.” “She did, but only after each one of us had tried and failed to take Ald-dabhach and showed signs that we were prepared to try again, harder and, mayhap, with less care about the land and its people. She is a crafty wee lass, but soft of heart. She wanted no bloodshed. Once her trickery failed to send us on our way, she decided to quit the game.” “ ’Twas nay trickery,” Gillyanne protested as she entered the hall in time to hear Connor’s words. “ ’Twas strategy.” Neil looked at Gillyanne and scowled. “God’s toes, lad, couldnae ye have waited ’til she grew a wee bit?” As Gillyanne made her way to the seat next to Connor, she decided it would not be wise to pause by her husband’s uncle and clout the man offside the head. “I am done growing.” “Och, ye didnae do a verra good job of it. And by the looks of the rags she wears, she be a poor lass as weel.” “She brought Ald-dabhach to the marriage, Uncle,” Connor said, hiding a sudden anger he felt over his uncle’s blunt and somewhat unkind words. “Naught else is needed. And, her cousin will soon bring her things here to her. There was no time to collect them and I felt it best to get her secured here.” “Ye think the others will try to take her from ye?” “I believe they might, aye.” “So, the fighting will begin all over again.”
That alarmed Gillyanne and she tried to concentrate on the porridge and bread a young boy had just set before her. She had surrendered and allowed herself to be married in order to prevent bloodshed. It was appalling to think that, by saving the people of Ald-dabhach, she may well have started anew an old feud. “Nay,” Connor said firmly. “They may try some trickery, mayhap e’en a kidnapping, but there will be no resurrecting the old feuds and hatreds. Robert and David dinnae want that any more than I do. All three of us spent our youths doing naught but cleaning up the mess our fathers left behind. We are weary of it.” Meg arrived to set a plate of bread before Connor. The woman rubbed up against him and cast him such a sultry look that Gillyanne felt a sudden craving to bury her eating knife in the woman’s heaving bosom. Connor leaned away from Meg and waved her off. Gillyanne nearly choked on her porridge when he gave her a brief wink, but then she frowned. If the oaf thought he ought to be praised for obeying vows given before God, he had better think again. “Shouldnae be so cool to your leman, Connor,” advised Neil. “The lasses have their ways of making a mon pay.” “Meg is nay longer my leman.” “Ah, got a new one? Who? Jenny? A fine, buxom lass, that one.” “I am a wedded mon now, Uncle.” Connor was still not sure he agreed with or even believed a lot of what Gillyanne had said last night, save for one thing. It was wrong to flaunt his mistress before her and his clan. It would indeed rob her of all respect, making it hard if not impossible for her to take her place as the lady of Deilcladach. That could not be allowed. And, if Gillyanne continued to accept and return his passion as she had during the night, he really saw no need to take a mistress. He was a lusty man, but he had never really craved a continuous, ever-changing assortment of women. All he required was that the lass be warm and willing and Gillyanne showed great promise of being both. He glanced at his little wife and was not really surprised to see her glaring at his uncle, although she tried hard to hide it. It was a little inconsiderate of his uncle to mention such things in front of her. “What has being a wedded mon got to do with taking a leman?” asked Neil, filling his tankard yet again. “If Connor trots after other mares now, ’tis adultery, and I believe that is a sin,” murmured Gillyanne. “A mon needs a warm, willing lass now and again.” When Gillyanne softly snorted in obvious contempt of his opinion, he demanded, “Just who are ye, lass?”
“Gillyanne Murray of Dubhlinn, daughter of Sir Eric Murray and Lady Bethia.” “Sir Eric Murray?” Neil stared at her for a moment then looked at Connor in alarm. “He is a king’s mon.” If the man’s name alone made his uncle look so uneasy, Connor began to think Gillyanne’s warnings about what her father would do might not be such empty threats. It was, of course, completely unacceptable for a wife to threaten her husband and he was going to have to explain that to her, but first it might be wise to get her to tell him a little more about her father. He had assumed that there would eventually be an angry father to treaty with, perhaps even a small bride price to be paid to soothe the man’s annoyance, but his uncle’s reaction to the man’s name signified it would, or could, be far more than that. He did not need another laird to watch out for. “The king himself directed us to Ald-dabhach and its maiden,” said Connor. “In truth, the king was the one who suggested that one of us marrying the lass was the best way to stop all our fretting o’er those lands.” “Ah, weel, that should help ye. I suspect Sir Eric will have been told all that ere he charges o’er here seeking his bairn.” Gillyanne spread some thick honey on a slice of bread and slowly ate it as she studied Connor’s uncle. He was the man who had shaped far too many of Connor’s attitudes. If the way he was swilling ale at such an early hour was any indication, he was also a drunk. The gossip he began to relate slowly revealed a subtle but deep-set contempt and mistrust of women. There was something about the man that made her very uneasy and she could not blame all of that feeling upon those two flaws. She sensed in the man a deep guilt and anger which he could not drown with all the drink he so recklessly poured down his throat. Sir Neil MacEnroy was a man with secrets, she decided. Dark, ugly secrets he was terrified someone might uproot. Gillyanne was tempted to dig them out, but, after a brief glance at Connor, she was not sure that would be kind. She decided to simply watch the man closely to see if he really was the danger she now felt he was. If he was, then all consideration for Connor’s feelings and all fears of hurting her marriage with unwanted revelations would have to be cast aside. Her attention was caught when Neil began to relate some court gossip which she suspected he did on purpose. It did not surprise her to hear her cousin Payton’s name followed by a long recitation of his affairs and she inwardly winced. Then Neil spoke of her father and, after only two short tales indicating that he walked the same lecherous path as Payton, anger brought Gillyanne to her feet. “Ye insult my fither, sir,” she said. “Insult?” Neil looked at her in astonishment. “I but tell the lad of what a fine lusty mon your father is.” “He is a fine mon and I suspect he is lusty, but the gossip which sets him in the beds of other women is
naught but lies. My fither is no adulterer.” “Now, lass, ye being his bairn, ye just dinnae wish to see the truth.” “I ken weel the truth,” she interrupted him. “My fither would never betray my mither.” She clenched her hands into tight fists and ached to hit the man when he rolled his eyes. “He loves her. If that carries no weight with ye, then closely heed what else he says. He freely admits to being much akin to my cousin Payton whilst still in his youth, but nay now. As he says, he spoke vows afore God and he feels retribution for breaking those is nay worth risking just for a rutting with some wench. Fither also says that, if naught else, Mither is the woman who risked her verra life to give him bairns, who tends his hearth and comfort, and who will stand by him e’en when he is old, scarred, and crooked. For all that, he can at least be faithful. So, if ye dinnae believe in his finer sentiments, ye can heed his practicality. I will nay hear any more ill talk about him.” With a nod to Connor, Gillyanne did not wait to be formally excused, but strode out of the great hall. Her proud exit was slightly marred by the need to elbow her way through the knot of Connor’s five siblings crowded in the doorway. As she passed through them, she briefly met Fiona’s gaze and decided she needed to do something about the girl. First, however, she intended to vent her anger by giving Connor’s bedchamber a thorough cleaning. * * * “The lass ye wed doesnae understand the ways of the world,” Neil said, nodding a greeting to the rest of his nephews and his niece. “Mayhap not,” agreed Connor, “but I think she understands her own family verra weel.” “Are ye taking her side?” “I dinnae see a side in all of this, Uncle.” “The lass certainly looked furious,” murmured Diarmot as he sat down next to his uncle and reached for the bread. “I was but entertaining Connor with some tales I heard at court,” said Neil. “The lass is just too sensitive, doesnae like hearing how men behave.” “She said naught when ye told me of the lusty adventures of her cousin,” Connor reminded his uncle. “ ’Twas the tales ye told of her father that made her angry.” “ ’Twas naught but the truth I was telling. Foolish bairn just doesnae want to think her father behaves
like other men.” Connor did not wish to argue with his uncle over this yet felt a strong need to defend Gillyanne’s anger. “Weel, whether that is true or nay, it was a wee bit unkind to repeat such tales about her father. We both ken that much of the gossip one hears, especially that whispered about at court, is nay true.” Neil studied Connor for a moment then said, “Ye dinnae believe the gossip about her father is true.” “ ’Tis nay my place to believe it or nay. Yet, the lass believes in all she said, and so fiercely, it must have been bred somewhere. The words she claimed her father said also have the ring of truth. As she said, heed the practicality if not the sentiment. So, nay, I am inclined to believe it all lies, mayhap lies intended to hurt the mon so close to the king that he inspires jealousy. E’en if all true, ’tis still nay the sort of tales to repeat to the mon’s own daughter.” “Connor has the right of it, I think, Uncle,” Diarmot said. “Lady Gillyanne has a fair amount of pride in her father. Ye can hear it in how she speaks his name. Aye, and in the way she thinks just mentioning the mon’s name to Connor is as good as wielding a club. To be fair, no one really likes to hear bad about their father. Handsome mon, is he?” “The lasses think so,” grumbled Neil. “He and that cousin of hers. They both have the women fair to tripping o’er each other to lure them into their beds. ’Tis the cousin ye hear the most about. The men, or most of them, seem torn atween liking and respecting the lad and wishing he would suffer some gross, disfiguring injury, for they hate his ease with the lasses. The women speak of the youth as if he is all that is beautiful and good in a mon.” Neil made a harsh noise of disgust and took a drink. As his brothers pressed for more tales, Connor sat back in his chair and tried to sort out his feelings. He had actually argued with his uncle over something concerning his wife, however mildly. It might be that it was exactly what a husband should do, yet it carried the taint of softness. He would have to guard against that sort of thing more vigilantly, especially, he mused as he watched Fiona slip away, since little Gillyanne apparently had a true skill at gaining allies. * * * “What are ye doing?” Gillyanne looked up from the hearth she was scrubbing, a little surprised to see young Fiona seated in a chair watching her. Since first setting eyes on Connor’s sister, she had seen the glint of curiosity in Fiona’s lovely violet eyes, yet this was the first time Fiona had really approached her. Gillyanne wished she knew if it was because Fiona wanted to learn from her or if the younger girl simply found her an odd creature demanding of further study. It was hard to get any exact sense of what the young girl felt. That tight guard on one’s feelings was obviously a MacEnroy trait.
“I am cleaning the laird’s bedchamber,” Gillyanne replied then glanced behind her to see the plump maid Joan rolling up the carpet on Connor’s side of the bed. “Nay, Joan, take the draperies, tapestries, and bed linens — hangings and all — first. Oh, and have one of the women come up with some more water and whate’er else may be needed to scrub this floor.” “This is Meg’s job,” Fiona said and quirked one brow in a perfect imitation of Connor when both Gillyanne and Joan snorted softly in amusement heavily weighted with derision. “Meg does whate’er she wishes to, true enough, but ’tis really her place to do the cleaning.” “ ’Tis verra clear that she has no intention of doing it. I dinnae ken how she could abide staying in this room, although I did notice that the bed was clean.” Gillyanne stared at Connor’s bed, thought of him tangling beneath the sheets with another woman, and wanted to burn it. “Meg was ne’er in that bed. None of Connor’s women have been. Not that he has had so verra many. He is verra particular about that bed. I was surprised to hear ye were in it, but then ye are his wife and verra clean. He has the linens changed every week.” Fiona frowned. “I am nay sure when mine were last cleaned.” “I shall tend to your room next then. Come, help me put the mattresses o’er the window sill so that they might air,” Gillyanne said as soon as Joan left. “Then, as they are put back onto the bed, I have found herbs to sprinkle between each layer.” “To make the bed smell pretty?” Fiona asked as she moved to help Gillyanne carry each mattress to a narrow window and force it to drape over the sill, half in and half out. “That is some of it. The herbs will also hold back the damp and the bugs.” “I would ne’er have thought Connor had any bugs in his bed.” “None that I noticed, but the herbs will insure that they ne’er steal into that warm nest. We can flip this mattress o’er in an hour or two and let the other side air. I suspect Connor’s liking for clean linens has helped to keep the bedding fresh.” “I think Connor is so particular about his bed because we spent so many years in damp, filthy hovels as we rebuilt this keep.” Gillyanne nodded with approval when Joan returned to take the rugs away for a hearty beating. The woman brought along her young cousin Mairi armed with a broom, a bucket, and something to scrub the floor with. She idly wondered if Connor would even notice the changes made by a thorough scrubbing then inwardly sighed. He might, but she doubted he would say anything. She returned to scrubbing the hearth and sternly told herself she needed no approval or praise from her husband. The quiet satisfaction of a job well done should be enough.
“Is there anything I can do?” Fiona asked a little timidly. “Ye could take one of those rags and, using the water from one of the buckets, wash the walls. Are ye sure ye wish to, though?” “Aye, tedious as it sounds. I am a woman now and I finally faced a hard truth. I cannae be a warrior, nay as my brothers are. My fate is to wed a mon and give him bairns. ’Tis good I ken how to fight at my mon’s side, but he will also expect me to ken how to keep his hearth.” Fiona started to wash the walls. “Ye have been taught none of the womanly arts?” “What would Connor, my uncle, or my brothers ken about a lady’s ways? Dinnae mishear me. I have no complaints about how I have been raised. Connor did the best he could when, as little more than a lad himself, he was left with an infant girl to care for and so much to be rebuilt. ’Tis for him, too, that I now wish to learn a lady’s ways. I willnae shame him, myself, or my husband with my ignorance.” “Although many of my kin would howl with laughter o’er me teaching a lass the ways of a lady, I shall do my best.” They all worked quietly for a while, but the moment Mairi left, Fiona said, “I suppose I shall have to learn to wear a dress.” Gillyanne laughed. “Aye, I fear ye will. When my cousin James brings me my clothes, I can give ye one of mine.” She quickly looked Fiona over. “Twill need only a wee bit of fitting. Now, I have heard some tales of all that happened here, all the fighting and the death, but could ye tell me the whole of the tale as we work?” Fiona took a deep breath and began the long dark tale of years of battle, destruction, and death. When Mairi returned to polish the wood, she occasionally added to the sad story. As the horror of it all was told, Gillyanne began to understand what forces had made the man Connor was today. At barely fifteen Connor had seen the brutal slaughter of much of his clan, including his parents. The lands had been devastated, leaving little food or shelter for the shattered remnants of the clan he was made laird of. There followed years of hardship as he led the rebuilding and protected his siblings and clan. It was an accomplishment to be proud of, but Gillyanne had to nod in agreement when Fiona said she felt Connor still suffered some guilt over not fighting and dying at his father’s side. It explained so very much. The burden placed upon Connor’s young shoulders would have broken many another, but he had steeled himself to do what was needed. Gillyanne now knew why she could sense so little of his feelings. They were buried deep within him, rigidly caged by years of discipline and the struggle to survive. There had been no time, no room, for the softer emotions. She suspected his intense
need to appear the strong leader his battered clan required was another reason he had so fiercely subdued feelings such as joy, tenderness, and anything else he feared might carry the taint of weakness. Now, even though all was peaceful, and all but the loved ones lost had been restored, he still clung to that hard man. And it was going to take an awful lot to crack that shell, Gillyanne thought with a sigh. After so many years she could not even be certain there was any joy or softness left inside Connor. He still clung to the need to protect all those under his rule, no matter what the cost to himself. Gillyanne wanted to believe that a man who made love to a woman as Connor had to her had to have some remnants of the softer emotions inside of him, yet she also understood that it could be no more than lust behind those stirring kisses. She faced a hard battle if she was to find in her marriage any of the beauty or joy her cousins had found in theirs. What chilled her blood was the fear that she did not know how to win such a battle, nor if she had the right weapons.
Nine “She didnae bring the hot water up again.” Gillyanne glared at the empty tub and told herself Fiona did not deserve to feel the lash of her simmering anger. After five days of nights filled with passion and days spent ignored by her husband, Gillyanne had come up with a plan. It was mostly an extension of what she was already doing in taking on the role of the lady of Deilcladach. Unfortunately, cleaning the place properly was taking a lot longer than she had anticipated and Connor had not really noticed much yet. So, she had tried to think of all the small comforts a wife could give her husband. One of those had been to have a nice hot bath ready for him at the end of the day. That decision had been made three days ago and she had yet been able to enact it. The problem was that it was Meg’s duty to bring the water to the laird’s chamber. Gillyanne had expected some trouble when she had discovered that, but never this blatant disobedience. And, this time, she refused to do it herself or have someone else do it. If nothing else, it was unfair to ask the other women to help do work Meg should be doing. They had plenty of their own to do. In Joan’s case, it was rather unkind for most of the women knew that, while Joan did Meg’s work, Meg was probably bedding Joan’s husband. Meg’s utter disregard for any order given by the laird’s wife was also weakening Gillyanne’s position in the keep, more so than did uncle Neil’s open contempt and dislike. If the women Gillyanne dealt with were not so understanding and Meg was not so heartily disliked, she suspected she would be little more than a jest to the people of Deilcladach. “Just why do ye want a hot bath brought up here each night?” asked Fiona. “I am verra tired of being almost completely ignored by my husband every day,” Gillyanne replied. “And ye think a bath will change that?” “Nay, ’tis nay just the bath. Although, I like a hot bath at the end of the day and I believe Connor does as weel.” Gillyanne sat down on the bed next to Fiona. “Connor calls me wife and shares his bed with me yet this isnae really a marriage yet. We share verra little else. Aye, he now holds the seat next to his for me at the evening meal, but he talks mostly to your brothers, your uncle, and his men. I thought to make my mark by cleaning this place, but I begin to think Connor is one of those men who willnae realize
what has changed until the whole place gleams and that willnae be any time soon.” “Och, nay.” Fiona shook her head. “I hadnae realized how filthy the place was until we scrubbed my bedchamber clean.” “I have seen filthier. There was cleaning done here, but nay enough, and nay often. Not for several years, I suspect.” “Ah, weel, several years ago Meg became the one who gave the orders to the women.” “Oh. One of those clever monly decisions.” Gillyanne suddenly frowned. “She has been Connor’s leman for that long?” “At that time she was my uncle Neil’s. I think she has been with each of my brothers as weel.” Fiona shrugged. “Ye were explaining why the bath is so important to ye.” “ ’Tis one of those small comforts a wife can give her husband. I thought that, if I filled his life with a few of those, he would soon notice me outside of the bed. And, if he bathes here ere he dines, he will have to spend a wee bit of time with me, time that might include some talking so that we may learn about each other. He just might get used to it.” “Aye, or he just might take ye to bed afore he dines.” Gillyanne sighed and nodded. “There is that possibility, but he could still grow accustomed to bathing in the comfort of his own chambers and, mayhap, to being helped at his bath by a woman.” “He is already being helped by a woman.” Fiona gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth. “Let me guess,” Gillyanne stood up, clenching her hands into tight little fists. “Meg.” “And Jenny and Peg,” Fiona said, watching Gillyanne warily. “The three sluts of Deilcladach. ’Tis no wonder Meg wouldnae get me the water. She has the perfect opportunity to seduce Connor back into her bed at the end of every cursed day. Weel, nay more,” she snapped and strode out of her bedchamber. “I dinnae think ye ought to go to the bathing shed,” Fiona warned as she hurried after Gillyanne. “There will be naked men there.” “I have seen a naked mon before.”
Fiona inwardly cursed her loose tongue as she followed Gillyanne. She was not exactly sure what her brother’s wife expected of him, but had known that Gillyanne would not like him getting his back scrubbed by Meg. A squawk of surprise and protest escaped her when, as she trailed Gillyanne through the kitchens, Joan grabbed her by the arm “Ye told her, didnae ye?” Joan sounded more resigned than annoyed. “I didnae mean to. It just leaped out of my mouth,” Fiona replied. “She certainly looked furious.” “Aye, which is why I have to go with her.” “Wheesht, to protect that bawd Meg? What for?” “Depending upon what she finds, it may not be just Meg she sets after. And, she is such a wee lass, e’en if she just goes after Meg, she could be hurt.” Joan smiled as she released Fiona. “Oh, if it comes to a battle atween those two, I think I would be wagering my coin on her ladyship. Aye, I would indeed.” Fiona left Joan and the other women, wondering why they were all laughing. Instinct told her Gillyanne could probably take care of herself, but that confidence did little to still her worry. She had not wanted to admit it in front of Joan and the other women, but Fiona was a little concerned about how her brother might react to being confronted by an angry wife in front of his men. Seeing that Gillyanne was almost to the door of the bathing hut, Fiona ran to catch her up. Her heart told her this marriage could be good for Connor and she was increasingly afraid that he was going to fail at it in some way, perhaps even badly enough to drive Gillyanne away. * * * Gillyanne cursed softly as she neared the bathing house and heard the laughter of men and women. She did not fully believe Connor was bedding down with Meg again, but her inability to sense what the man felt or thought stole her confidence in her own opinions. If she was being played for a fool, she wanted to know it. She admitted to herself that it was more than a fear of Connor’s faithlessness which spurred her temper. The passion she and Connor shared, as well as the vows she had spoken, compelled her to try and make her marriage more than heated lovemaking at night and tending the man’s keep all day. After a great deal of thought, she had finally come up with a plan and Meg was ruining it before it had even been tested. It was far past time that she and Meg had a confrontation.
The sight which greeted her inside the bathing house brought Gillyanne to an abrupt halt and had her clenching her fists so tightly her nails were sinking into her palms. She was only faintly aware of the other men, most of them naked, and that moment when they suddenly noticed her, grew still, then scrambled into the tubs. All her attention was fixed upon her tall, beautiful husband. He was not yet naked. He stood there in his fine linen breeches. Right in front of him stood a coyly smiling Meg, her hands untying the laces on those breeches. Gillyanne tried to decide which one of them she would kill first. Connor was just about to unlace his breeches when Knobby began to relate an amusing tale about the blacksmith and his wife. He paid little attention to Meg when she sidled up close to him and pushed his hands aside, taking over the chore of unlacing him. Then Knobby grew abruptly quiet, his eyes growing so wide Connor suspected it had to sting. Before he could ask what was wrong, all the men started to leap into the tubs, even the ones who still wore braies or breechclouts. A few men grabbed drying cloths and wrapped themselves up in them, looking remarkably like outraged maidens. The hairs on the back of Connor’s neck rose uncomfortably as he slowly looked in the direction where all his men were staring. The moment he saw Gillyanne standing there, her eyes green with fury and a worried Fiona at her side, Connor became painfully aware of Meg’s fingers brushing against his skin as she finished unlacing him. He told himself he was doing nothing wrong yet shoved Meg away and clutched the now open front of his breeches. It astonished him that he had to bite his lip to stop a flood of excuses and explanations. He had done nothing wrong, he reminded himself, yet he still felt as if he had erred in some way. Then he realized what his wife would have seen before his men had all scrambled to cover themselves. “Ye shouldnae be here,” he said, hurriedly relacing his breeches. “There are naked men here.” “I have seen naked men before,” she snapped. “Weel, ye werenae married then. This is no place for a woman.” “There are women here now.” “Ah, aye, weel, they have seen all of us, havenae they?” “And sampled ye too, I suspect.” The way his men nearly gaped at him told Connor that sudden tingle of heat he felt in his face was indeed a blush. He felt embarrassed and just a little ashamed yet he did not understand why. After all, he had not even known Gillyanne when he had been enjoying the freely offered favors of Meg, Jenny, and Peg. He had had every right to indulge himself. Then he inwardly grimaced. It was awkward to have three women he had bedded all lined up in front of his new wife. When he realized those three women were giving his wife smug, insolent looks, he glared at them so fiercely even Meg moved away.
“Now I understand why ye wouldnae bring me the hot water I requested,” Gillyanne said, glaring at Meg who was twining herself around a burly man wrapped in a large drying cloth. “She wouldnae bring ye the water for your bath?” Connor sincerely hoped he was not going to be dragged into the middle of some female quarrel yet he could not really stand by and allow Meg to be disrespectful to his wife. “Actually, it was your bath I tried to have prepared. I had thought ye might like to have your bath in the comfort of your own chambers with your wife to assist you. ’Tis one of those many things wives should do for their husbands.” “It is?” Connor thought he might enjoy that. “Aye, but ’tis clear that ye enjoy this monly gathering.” Gillyanne noticed that Meg was caressing the man she was with, her pale hand beneath his draping, and the man was beginning to respond with evident interest. “Meg, do ye think ye might rein in your bawd’s ways until Fiona isnae here? She kens ye are a whore, but she is a wee bit young to see ye behave so.” She then recognized the man. “And ye are Malcolm, Joan’s husband. Ye should be thoroughly ashamed of yourself.” “A mon has his needs,” Malcolm protested, although he did try to move away from Meg’s grasp. “Oh? I see. Joan refuses ye her bed,” Gillyanne said, knowing full well the woman did not. “If she denies ye your husbandly rights then I suppose she deserves the deep, painful humiliation she suffers kenning that ye rut with Meg and that all here ken it.” “All?” croaked Malcolm. Gillyanne ignored him, idly wondering how the man could be so stupid as to think only a few knew of his faithlessness. “And, ’tis probably a just punishment that Joan not only do her own work, but that left undone by the woman ye betray her with. Aye, each time she does Meg’s chores because Meg is probably busy rutting with you, Joan should be properly chastised for failing ye as a wife. Harsh justice, but necessary, I suppose.” Malcolm looked positively ill and Gillyanne was pleased. She looked at Connor who was frowning at Malcolm. When he finally met her gaze, however, the frown had faded and, for one brief moment, there was a gleam of amusement sparkling in his lovely eyes. Her anger had cooled a little and she decided now was probably not the best time to vent her displeasure with Meg or Connor. Gillyanne suspected she had made it clear enough already. “Weel, since here is where ye choose to bathe, I shall leave ye to enjoy it,” she said, pleased with the sweetness of her tone.
“Och, weel, aye.” Despite the camaraderie of the bathing house, Connor had to admit that bathing with his wife held far more attraction than sharing a big wooden vat with other naked men while three whores scrubbed their backs and occasionally frolicked with one of the men. Gillyanne turned to leave then looked back at Connor, her expression one of gentle sorrow with a hint of repentance. “I ken ’tis verra wrong, so I feel I must confess. Being such a sensitive, gently bred lady, I fear I will find it verra difficult to touch those parts of ye touched by another woman.” She gave a delicate shudder. “Aye, it could be many a long night ere I could banish the sordid, painful image from my poor, tormented mind.” She gave him a fleeting, teary smile, grabbed Fiona by the hand, and walked away. “Ye certainly do have a way with words,” said Fiona, staring at Gillyanne in amused awe. “My mither says ’tis a gift from my fither.” Gillyanne sighed as they approached the keep. “Dinnae tell Joan about Malcolm.” “He looked near to emptying his belly.” “Aye, but a mon’s guilt and shame can be such fleeting things. He may e’en try to make amends, but it too could be fleeting. I just cannae believe the fool didnae think that his wife kenned it all. Do men think we women ne’er speak to each other?” Fiona grimaced. “The men dinnae notice, but those three women do seem to think that spreading their thighs for the men of Deilcladach makes them important. Not only do they boast about having bedded another woman’s mon, but they havenae done their share of the work for a verra long time. They wait upon my brothers and that blinds those fools to how little those women actually do. I think e’en they ken that Connor wouldnae be pleased to learn how they neglect their share of the work.” Fiona looked at Gillyanne. “Do ye think Connor will come to have his bath in your bedchamber now?” “I dinnae ken, but I intend to have one myself.” “So, ye didnae get pummeled,” Joan said as Gillyanne strode into the kitchens, “and since ye arenae covered in blood, I suspect ye didnae pummel anyone yourself.” “Nay, though the temptation was there,” replied Gillyanne. “I would have thought the temptation would be seeing all those MacEnroy men naked,” said Mairi and sighed. Gillyanne laughed. “ ’Tis sorry I am I didnae take too much notice ere they all scurried to cover themselves.”
“We filled the bath for you,” said Joan. “E’en if the laird doesnae join ye, I thought ye might be wanting one.” “Thank ye, Joan, I do.” As Gillyanne started out of the kitchens she suddenly recalled which of the MacEnroy men Mairi had shown a hint of interest in. “I believe I may have seen more than I thought for an image or two does linger in my mind. Knobby.” “Ye saw Knobby naked?” asked Mairi, her eagerness to hear about it far too evident. “Must have for I was just thinking of how he is as long and thin without his clothes as he appears with them on. Weel, except for one place. And, there, oh my, he certainly is long, but he isnae thin. Nay, not thin at all.” For a moment all the women in the kitchen silently contemplated young Knobby, obviously trying to envision the plain, too thin man possessing something many women would heartily appreciate. Then they all glanced at each other and laughed. Mairi sighed again, looking a little forlorn. “Now I understand why Jenny is always after him and complains so because he doesnae succumb to her wiles verra often. I just wish he didnae succumb at all.” Mairi shrugged. “Still, he is just a mon.” “True, but if he shows some restraint when he isnae betrothed or wedded, nay e’en wooing a lass, he is better behaved than most men. What I see here is a lass who wants a lad but is too shy to let him ken it and a lad who probably doesnae think any lass would be interested in him.” “And so it will have to be the lass who girds her timid loins and takes the first bold step,” said Joan, starting an argument between the two cousins. “I think I will stay and listen to this,” said Fiona. “ ’Tis an old argument, but I dinnae want to miss the moment when Mairi finally agrees with Joan. And, who kens, Connor might come up to have that bath ye told him about.” Gillyanne headed to her bedchamber and her waiting bath. She was not all that sure Connor would show up. In a way, it was not really other women she needed to worry about, but the men of Deilcladach. Connor, his brothers, and the other men were as tightly bonded a group of men as she had ever seen. It was understandable, she supposed, as they had all been boys when the feuding had stopped, mere youths faced with all the responsibilities of grown men as well as the daunting task of rebuilding. Boys forced to protect women and children, to keep them all fed and sheltered. The ties were strong and Gillyanne feared she would never be able to find a place for herself. Even sadder was the growing knowledge that she not only wanted to, she needed to. * * *
“I think my wee wife just threatened me,” Connor finally said after watching Gillyanne disappear into the keep. “Oh, aye,” agreed Knobby as he waved Jenny away and tended to his own bath. “Ye stay here to be bathed by these lasses and ’twill be a cold bed ye rest in tonight and mayhap a few nights after that. ’Twas verra clear.” “A wife shouldnae threaten her husband.” “Laird, your wife found ye down here with your leman’s hands on your breeches and two other lasses ye have bedded down with standing by. Now, I dinnae ken all that much about women. Dinnae think any of us do since we spent most of the last twelve years rebuilding and just staying alive. Yet, I think I can see why the lass was angry to catch ye bathing, attended by three women ye have rutted with, and her all prepared to give ye a nice private bath afore the fire. I am thinking ye are lucky all she did was threaten ye with chilling your bed.” Connor frowned in mild surprise when most of the men muttered in agreement. “So, ye all think I should bow to her blackmail.” “Weel, ye could go, get your bath, and sternly lecture her on speaking so disrespectfully to her husband.” A smile briefly curved his lips when the men laughed. He obviously had their approval for following Gillyanne and would lose no stature in their eyes by bending in this. As he reached for his clothes, Meg stepped up to him, and caressed his back. Connor stared at her, suddenly recalling a few other things Gillyanne had said. “If your wee wife is fool enough to turn from ye, ye ken where to come for some warmth,” Meg said, tensing with obvious insult when he stepped away from her touch. “I am a wedded mon. For now, I mean to hold to vows spoken. My wee wife has given me no reason to do otherwise.” Connor looked at Malcolm who stood slumped against the wall. “In truth, I believe ’tis past time I make another rule. I cannae and willnae try to control the morals of my clan. So long as the rules ye break are nay mine and dinnae affect the safety or prosperity of Deilcladach, then ’tis upon your own soul. Howbeit, it appears some of my people are being hurt and that I cannae allow. So, within these walls, ye women willnae bed down with the wedded men. I ken ’tis nay all your doing, but ye will now learn to say nay once in a while. If ye must rut with a wedded mon, ye will do it elsewhere and ye will at least attempt to maintain some discretion.” Connor heard no objection from his men, did in fact see many nods of approval and agreement. “And, one more thing. Ye women can consider this a warning, a verra strong warning. Spreading your legs for the men isnae considered your work. It seems ye have begun to think your freely offered skills make ye
