“No, I didna touch her,” Alec answered with some discomfort, knowing what was expected of him and Rowen by their respective clans and their king. “She needs some time tae adjust?—”
“Och, man, you’re not truly wed until you’ve bedded her! Dinna delay too long or her kin will catch wind of it and mayhap come back tae claim her—and then what will we tell King Robert? She’s as bonny a lass as any I’ve seen, Alec, do you not desire her?”
Remembering all too well his near painful erection at the tempting sight of her naked body, Alec gave a low “Aye,” to which his father clapped him hard on the shoulder.
“Then get on with it and see the thing done! She’ll fight you and probably hate you all the more, but she’ll have tae settle down once she’s got a bairn growing in her belly. Your mother wasna too keen on our wedding night, either, mayhap frightened or unprepared for what happens between a husband and wife, but afterward she purred like a kitten?—”
“Och, Father,” Alec cut him off, which made Donald snort out a laugh.
“Your bride will do the same, I vow it! The fiery-tempered ones pose a challenge, aye, but a good tumble in bed will soothe her and make her eager for more, you’ll see.”
Laughing again, Donald turned to mount his horse while Alec cast a glance at the keep where Rowen still lay sleeping.
At least that was what Gaira had reported to him—and why wouldn’t Rowen lie abed well into the morning after what she had gone through yesterday? She hadn’t stirred when he arose just after dawn to dress and then leave the room after throwing fresh logs on a fire that had burned down to glowing ash.
Her breathing soft and steady. Her tousled red hair spread out like silken flame upon the pillow and the covers still pulled up to her chin—och, even in her sleep, she had kept herself at the very edge of the bed.
Rowen’s face even more lovely in repose, which had made his breath quicken as he indulged himself for a moment to stare down at her…her soft feminine scent stirring his senses?—
“You see, Alec?” Donald’s voice cut into his musing, a knowing look in his father’s eyes. “You want her, that’s clear. Aye, you canna stop thinking about her. Mayhap you’re right and a few days of wooing will ease the lass’s wild temper before you bed her—och, tae be young again when a simple shared glance can make your blood burn hot! Good luck tae you, son.”
Alec stepped back as his father veered his stallion around and rode toward the yawning gates, his men falling in behind him.
Hooves thundering, the wolfhounds barking and bounding after the horses, a whoop of exhilaration bursting from his father that made Alec smile to himself and shake his head.
He stood alone now in the bailey muddied from yesterday’s rain, though today had dawned clear and not as cold. The wind had died down, too, the sky a startling blue studded with only a few clouds.
A rare day, indeed, for November so far to the north, Donald’s words echoing in Alec’s mind as he glanced again at the keep.
Wooing? He hadn’t considered that giving Rowen some time to become accustomed to her new role as his wife might be used for such an endeavor, but why not give it a try?
He had wooed women before, well, never really in earnest but to satisfy the carnal urges felt by any young man—and older men, too, Alec smiling again at his father’s lusty whoop.
Yet he sobered quickly enough when Gaira burst through the door to the keep and hastened toward him, holding up her skirt from the mud.
“Laird, Rowen is awake and demanding tae see you! She’s upset—och, she willna wear any of the pretty gowns her father had made for her, but wants her tunics back. I didna pack them for her at Laird Sutherland’s request, ah, God, she’s in a frightful mood! What are we tae do?”
Do? Alec heaved a sigh and gestured for Gaira to follow alongside him, though she was no match for his long strides as he left her trailing behind.
Wooing? Was his father mad? Rowen had already bitten him, his thumb still smarting, and punched and pummeled him, and no doubt considered impaling him with a poker during the night.
Mayhap he would have more luck taming a cornered wildcat showing its fangs than his new bride, but damn it all. If he was to have any harmony in this marriage, what other choice was there for him?
* * *
“I canna believemy father would do this tae me,” Rowen murmured as she sat on the bed to catch her breath. Her chest heaved beneath her nightgown after storming around the bedchamber when she’d discovered she had no tunic to wear.
No, not even the garment she had retched upon yesterday, a wide-eyed Gaira telling her the soiled tunic had been taken downstairs to be washed and wasn’t fully dry yet—and there were no others, no, not a one!
Only women’s gowns in the two sacks Rowen had thought were packed with her things—men’s tunics especially made to fit her slender form, leather belts, another pair of boots, and an extra cloak. Now she stared with disgust at the silk and satin gowns in an array of colors scattered upon the floor, and she thought wildly again about casting the whole lot into the fire.
What a fine blaze the garments and matching slippers would make, aye, why not? Rowen had never known Gaira to lie to her, but she just could not make herself believe that her father had bade the wardrobe to be made without her knowledge—and then ordered her nurse to pack those garments instead of her own clothes.
With a muttered curse, Rowen launched herself from the edge of the bed and swept up the nearest garment from the floor, a blue silk gown with delicate embroidery in gold thread.
It must have taken a seamstress days to stitch such a garment, but that didn’t stop Rowen from balling up the gown and dashing toward the fireplace?—
“By God, woman, what are you doing?”
