This time Alec said nothing—and why shouldn’t she drink herself into a stupor? She knew what was to come from hearing the ribald talk among her brothers of their sexual conquests, all of them strongly built and good-looking enough to tempt any willing maidservant or blushing tenant’s daughter into spreading her legs.
Och, the eldest three had found themselves with pregnant brides that way after outraged fathers had come to Hamish to demand a wedding, but Errol wasn’t like his brothers in that regard at all. He was more interested in training for battle and fighting, and once again his earnest promise flew back to her about making her a happy widow.
Today somehow, Errol, before my enemy husband has his way with me!Rowen near drained the third cup as the great hall seemed to shimmer around her, the copious ale making her feel woozy. Maybe if she got good and stinking drunk, Alec wouldn’t touch her, unless he was of the baseless sort to take a woman when she was senseless?—
“Enough, Rowen.”
Alec pulled the cup away from her mouth and set it down with a thud upon the table, the last of the ale spilling onto the toes of her leather boots.
“Och, look what you’ve done,” she protested with a slight slur, surprising even herself as she wondered if the Mackays’ ale was stronger than the Sutherlands’. “A new pair as well…given tae me by my father.”
“Strange wedding gift. A satin gown and slippers would have suited the occasion better.”
“Better?” she echoed, leaning sideways in her chair and hiccoughing, which startled her, too. “You dinna like my clothes, Mackay? You’d best accustom yourself tae them because I’ve dressed this way my whole life.”
“Aye, Laird, so she has,” interjected Gaira with a knowing nod. “I’ve always imagined how beautiful she would look in a woman’s gown, but at least my prayer that she wed one day has been answered.”
“Och, Gaira, you’ve cursed me…with your prayers that I find a man I could love and marry,” Rowen retorted, slurring her words even more now as the great hall seemed to spin around her. “You’ve gotten your wedding, aye…but no love tae be found, not ever! God help me, Mackay, what sort of devil’s ale have you brewed?”
“It isna the ale, lass, but three full cups drunk all at once that’s knocked you on your arse,” broke in Alec’s father, Rowen slumping in her chair. “Och, man, catch her before she slides off onto the floor!”
Rowen gave a weak squeal as Alec lunged from his chair to swing her up into his arms, Gaira gasping.
“Take care, Laird, she’s eaten and drank so much it’s likely tae come up again!”
“My fear exactly,” came Alec’s wry response as Rowen slumped against him now, her head lolling upon his shoulder.
She could feel his long strides and see through squinted eyes that he carried her from the great hall, everyone staring at her again—always staring, the bastards!
She heard masculine laughter, too, which made her bristle through the bleary haze enveloping her, but she couldn’t muster more than a mumbled curse as she felt Alec lunging up some stairs.
“Dinna sicken, lass…at least until I can get you tae a bucket,” was all he said as he strode with her down a hallway and then kicked open a door.
She belched in answer, which made him curse now, too, and the next thing Rowen knew she was slumped over a slop bucket in a corner and retching up everything she’d eaten and drank.
Aye, into the bucket and down the front of her tunic when she heaved so violently that she doubled over and missed the receptacle altogether—finally collapsing into a limp heap upon the floor.
* * *
“Och,God, so much for the wedding night.”
In the light cast by crackling logs in the fireplace, Alec stared with consternation at his drunken wife who reeked of ale and soured food.
He was no fool. He understood exactly why she had drank herself into a stupor…the canopied bed behind him made up with fresh linen and strewn by the servants with sprigs of dried heather to welcome the bride and groom.
A thoughtful gesture for the daughter of a long-time enemy whom Alec sensed had hoped he would be repulsed by her coarse display in the great hall—aye, well, he was repulsed at that moment. By the smell and the mess as Rowen lay at his feet and moaned softly, though he felt a wave of pity, too.
Neither of them had wanted this marriage and she had more than demonstrated her discontent, but the thing was done. He and Rowen were man and wife…and with clansmen on both sides expecting them to do their part to help keep the peace between the Mackays and Sutherlands.
King Robert, too, was awaiting news of the two clans’ compliance with his decree for he needed their wholehearted support in the battles that lay ahead with the English. He had done much to clear that mutual enemy from Scotland by laying waste to the castles of nobles loyal to King Edward, but word had come through well-placed spies that the English army was making plans for a fresh foray north next spring.
That meant intense training for combat and vigilance in watching the rugged Scottish coastline for any enemy ships and so much more, which made Alec’s current conundrum with Rowen appear insignificant in comparison.
She despised him…that much was clear. So much so that she had purposely sickened herself to keep him from touching her, but he hadn’t intended for anything more this night than for them to get some sleep rather than consummate their marriage.
She needed time to adjust to her new life—and he wasn’t a man to force himself upon a woman. The thought disgusted him even without her long tresses matted with the remnants of her meal and her tunic soiled from collar to hem.
He had tried to hold her hair back when she was crouched over the bucket, but his touch had made her recoil from him and then retch all over herself—och, God, grant him patience with her.
