She turned her head to look at him.
“I love everything about you. I love your eyes, your soft skin, your gentle natures, and I love all the places on your body that make men desire you. I would never deliberately hurt you. What happened before was something that happens to every woman the first time, but I wish it could be different. It is not pleasant for me either knowing that I am inflicting so much pain.”
“I had not thought of that,” she murmured, feeling ashamed. He put a hand on hers to stop them twisting, and she smiled, embarrassed. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I always do that when I am nervous.”
“I am your husband,” he whispered, then picked up her left hand and kissed it. “And you are my beautiful wife.”
She took her hand back a little too quickly, and he stared at her for a moment before looking away. He was hurt and felt a little rejected.
Robina did not know what had possessed her to pull back her hand. She was not afraid of him now, but she was beginning to be afraid of her own feelings for him. But why should that be? Now that he had shown that he could be a tender and generous man, what was her problem?
He stood up and smiled at her, a rather strained smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “I have much to do,” he said, bowing. “Will I see you at dinner?”
“Yes,” she said, looking outside. “It’s stopped raining,” she observed, but he had already walked away.
When Robina had accepted Alex’s dinner invitation she had had no idea how much of an unusual thing it was for him to do. He ate alone; it had become his custom and his preference, but the request had slipped out even before he had time to think about it. He was early, and was sitting down before Robina came in, dressed in a dark brown velvet dress that emphasized the slimness of her waist and her long white neck. She looked breathtaking and he suddenly wanted to take her in his arms right there and then and kiss her till they were both breathless. He pulled her chair out for her, and she smiled her thanks.
“You look beautiful,” he said huskily. “I cannot wait till we go to our first ceilidh so that I can show you off!”
She blushed. “I will take that as a compliment. Thank you, Alex.”
They sat and chatted companionably while they ate. Alex did most of the talking while Robina preferred to listen; his voice was deep and slightly gravelly, and he had a wry, self-deprecating sense of humor that made her giggle.
He loved to make her laugh, especially when it sounded like the bubbling of a stream over pebbles. Her eyes lit up and sometimes, if she found something very funny, she threw her head back and clapped her hands. She had two glasses of wine and was feeling relaxed and mellow, perfectly content to sit and watch the stars that had begun to twinkle outside.
Alex watched her, wondering if she would come to his bed tonight. He wondered how to ask her, since he feared rejection as much as she did. Eventually she yawned, then finished her wine and smiled at him.
“M'laird,” she said admiringly, “that was a wonderful dinner. Thank you.”
“You do not need to thank me.” His voice was gentle. “This is your home. My bed is your bed. Whatever I have is yours.”
He wondered whether she would take the hint, but as she turned away he saw that she had not. Well, so be it; he was a proud man and he was not going to beg. Damn her. If only he did not want her so much!
They continued in their awkward arrangement for four more weeks, with Alex becoming more and more frustrated and Robina trying to pretend that she had not noticed.
One morning she woke up feeling unbearably nauseous, and hardly made it to the chamber pot before being violently sick. She wiped her mouth, stood up, then crouched down as another bout hit her and she succumbed once more, feeling as though she was vomiting up her entire digestive system.
She called for a cup of ale, but as soon as she had drunk the beer it came straight back up again into the chamber pot.
Rose wiped her face, looking at her anxiously. “Milady,” she said tentatively, “when wis the last time ye had yer monthly flux?”
Robina thought for a moment. “Seven weeks ago, I think...” She looked at Rose in horror as light dawned. “You mean I may be with child? But Rose—it was only once!”
“Disnae matter, Milady,” Rose said resignedly, shaking her head. “Ance is enough.”
“I thought it was all the stress of the wedding,” she murmured incredulously, then shook her head firmly. “Rose, you are mistaken. This cannot be.”
Rose sighed. “Milady, the Laird...did he? Ye knaw?” she mimed the action with her hand.
“Yes,” Robina replied faintly. “He did.”
“Wait a wee while afore ye tell him,” Rose advised. “In case ye have a wee accident...lose the baby. It happens sometimes.”
Robina nodded her head, hardly daring to believe it. “Will you help me, Rose? I do not know what to do.”
“I will, Milady,” Rose assured her with a smile. “An’ Mistress McCallum an’ Mistress MacFine the midwife will an’ a’. Dinnae worry.”
Robina looked at her gratefully. It did not help to know that millions of women had been doing this since time immemorial. It was still the most dangerous time of a woman’s life and she was scared to death.
