She didn’t bother arguing. Situating herselfin the bed, she accepted the crude tray that carried a gutted loafof bread with stew inside it, an apple, a wedge of cheese, and whatappeared to be some manner of a tart. Her stomach again rumbled,letting her know it wanted fed. Uncertain how to eat the stew, shewent for the apple first.
“You need meat,” Lachlan announced. “Notjust a piece of fruit.”
The apple was sweet and juicy. It tastedgood to her. “You didn’t give me any utensils to eat it with.”
“Utensils?”
“You know…utensils.” Maybe that was only amodern Gaelic word and not an ancient one. She didn’t know. “Aspoon?” she hesitantly asked.
“Oh aye—a spoon.” He located the overlylarge wooden thing and handed it to her. “I eat it with my hands. Iforgot that ladies prefer a spoon.”
Only ladies used spoons? Good grief.Veronica didn’t ask for clarification and truly didn’t want it. Shewas too hungry to care at the moment. Digging into the stew withwhat could give a ladle a run for its money, she took a bite andwas pleasantly surprised by its quality. She didn’t know what itwas made from and supposed she wouldn’t want to know anyway as ithad likely been alive at one time. There was only so much she couldhandle in a day. Nevertheless, the stew was warm, filling, andtasty.
“Drink,” Lachlan quietly commanded, holdingout a goblet. “Afore you choke from eating too fast.”
Veronica frowned at the small chiding, buttook the goblet. She downed a tentative sip. “What is this?” Likethe food, it was surprisingly good. “I like it.”
“Mead,” he offered. “’Tis made fromhoney.”
Obviously the honey had been fermentedbecause it took but three sips before a small buzz kicked in. “Ireally like this,” she said, grinning. “Thank you, Laird Kong.”
“Gunn.” He grunted. “Laird Gunn. Leastways,to you I am ‘husband.’”
Oh right. He had no clue who King Kong was.Maybe she’d try to explain it later or perhaps she wouldn’t. Rightnow she was too busy eating and getting her buzz on, the latterbeing something else she hadn’t been able to indulge in for fouryears. The wine aboard ship had been weak by comparison and she’dbeen careful not to self-indulge anyway to stay on the safe,vigilant side of things.
She ate until she was full, which ended upbeing almost everything, and downed the remaining mead. She decidedto save the tart for later.
“Look,” Veronica said to the giant whocontinuously hovered over her, “I will behave however a wife issupposed to behave in front of others.” Lachlan refilled hergoblet. She took another sip of mead. “But you’ve got to compromisewith me here. I’ll sleep next to you, but we’re not, uh,consummating, until I’m ready.”
He frowned. His arms crossed over his chestagain.
“I’m trying to meet you halfway here,”Veronica explained. “But I can only meet you halfway if you give methe same courtesy.”
Lachlan clearly didn’t like her decision inthe slightest. An irritated growl erupted from his throat.
“I need time, Lachlan. My life has been inpure chaos for four years and I’ve had little control over any ofit. The last thing I need right now is more of the same. I’m notsaying we’ll never consummate. I’m just saying not yet.”
“You ken you belong to me?”
“Yes.”
“You ken ‘tis my right to have you wheneverI wish?”
“No.” She downed the rest of the goblet andthen did some arm crossing of her own. “Ikenthat we’llhave sex when both of us want it and not just when you do.”
He harrumphed at that. “A lady never wantsit! You would have me take a mistress?”
For some unfathomable reason, that thoughtdidn’t set well with her. Veronica’s frown turned severe. “If youever want me to want you, you will wait until I’m ready. Nomistress—ever.”
He splayed his large hands. “What am I to dountil this magical eve comes aboot?”
“You have a hand,” Veronica snapped back.“Use it!”
*****
Lachlan realized his mouth was hanging open.It took him a prolonged moment to close it. The wench, now hiswife, was like as naught driving him daft in truth. Mayhap ‘twasher goal. The one saving grace in this farce of a situation was herreaction when he’d brought up taking a mistress. Veronica had beengenuinely angry, which he supposed was something of a boon.Clearly, she wanted no other wenches in his bed.
He tried to remind himself that he had knownof his wife’s existence for much longer than she’d known of his. Hehad worried after her and rooted for her whilst she kenned none ofit. He recalled that women from her time were accustomed to beingthe mistresses of their own fates and that his demands were likelymuch for her to accept all at once.
