Winnifred put her stays on while the girl talked, but there was nothing for it but to bare her back for the girl to help her with the dress. Her cheeks burned. Would Sheena notice the bruises and scratches from Sin? The bite marks? How could she not? Would she understand just how Winnifred had earned them?
She lifted her chin. What did it matter? Her abigail would have to become used to them. She didn’t foresee her and Sin’s manner of intercourse changing, and truly, it was no one’s concern but theirs.
If Sheena noticed them, she didn’t comment, instead prattling on about Summerset’s hair, and wondering how long it took him each morning to get the curls just so.
“Thank you, Sheena.” Winnifred gave her hair one last adjustment, cutting the girl off mid-sentence. She turned for the door, not knowing how much more gossip before her morning tea she could take.
Sheena dipped a curtsey and skipped from the room.
Winnifred followed more sedately. She gripped the bannister tightly as she eased down the stairs. She stood in the door of the breakfast room, an odd flutter that had nothing to do with hunger tickling her stomach at the thought of seeing her husband. Which was foolish. She and Sin had come to an agreement of sorts, albeit a nonverbal one. They would allow themselves to act in a frenzy when it came to their bed sport and maintain their friendly companionship through the rest of their marriage. A harmonious union. Nothing that should cause any flutters. She fiddled with her fichu, ensuring it covered any marks before pushing through the double doors.
Into an empty room.
“Hm.” She twisted her lips. She knew Sin wasn’t still abed. Her stomach twisted. He wouldn’t have left for Glasgow without saying goodbye. Would he?
A footman entered carrying a tray of cold meats. He bowed to her before setting the dish on the end table, exchanging it for an empty tray.
“Do you know where the marquess and his guests are?” she asked.
“Yes, milady. I believe Laird Dunkeld and the others are in the west tunnel.”
Her shoulders drooped with relief. Still at Kenmore. And making another attempt at badger-removal.
Her stomach growled again, and she quickly loaded up a plate. As no one was around to see her, she ate quickly, licking grease from her fingers. She’d heard that most fine houses had abandoned the tradition of serving a substantial breakfast, instead only having light breads and cakes for the morning meal. She popped another bit of beef into her mouth. Thankfully, Sin still served a good country breakfast.
Gulping down the last of her tea, she rose to search for her husband. Not wanting to walk through the dark tunnel again, she exited a side door and wrapped around to the mouth of the tunnel.
No sounds emerged. No flash of a lamp. But she felt its presence, knew its beady eyes were staring at her.
A shiver rolled down her back and she stepped back. She walked around the castle, waving at Jock as he helped a young boy carry a bale of hay to the stables. Voices rose from the shed next to the stables, and Winnifred followed them to stand at the open door.
Sin stood with his back to her, his jacket nowhere in sight, his back a quivering line of tension.
“Are we ready to go back in?” Sutton’s voice sounded exhausted, resigned. He shifted on his legs, the only part of him Winnifred could see.
“Yes.” Sin swung a length of lead pipe that he held. The back and forth made an ominous swishing sound in the air. “I’m going to beat its bloody head in this time. He won’t slip past me again.”
Summerset stepped into view. The coiled locks that Sheena had sighed over were sticking up in all directions, and a small trickle of blood ran down the side of his neck. He held up a burlap sack. “Or we can capture it in this sack,” he said, his voice a lazy drawl.
“And then I’ll beat its head in.”Swish, swish. Sin nodded. “Thereby containing the blood to the sack. Smart plan.”
Summerset blinked. “This badger has really gotten under your skin.”
“Kill it. Capture it. Who cares?” Sutton’s hands stretched into view over Sin’s head. “I’m just tired of rolling about with it.”
“Agreed.” Summerset plucked a shovel from its spot on the wall. “I have other things I could be doing, like rolling about between a woman’s thighs. Is Widow MacGregor unmarried still? She was always an eager one.”
Heat bloomed on her cheeks. Winnifred cleared her throat. “Good morning, gentlemen.” She couldn’t quite meet her husband’s eyes when he turned. Her belly quivered at memories of the rolling about betweenherthighs he’d done. “I see the badger hunt has begun anon.”
“We almost had him earlier.” Sin clenched the pipe. “Brought Banquo in on a lead to help flush him out.”
She examined the dirt streaking the front of his shirt and trousers. Sweat had dampened the linen across his chest and stomach, making the fabric cling to his muscles. “What happened?”
Summerset snorted. “The mongrel snapped his lead in two in his eagerness to escape.” He shook his head. “Really, Dunkeld, I thought you said those dogs would fly into battle beside the family.”
Winnifred finally looked into Sin’s face. His eyes were focused on her, cataloguing her face, her breasts and hips. His gaze was possessive, knowing, like every wanton act they’d ever performed was running through his mind, as well. “Their ancestors did. Something went wrong with this litter.”
She licked her lips, attempted to slow her breathing. Now was not the time for these improper thoughts. “Might I speak with you, husband?”
