Bride for a Knight Page 16

  Aveline nodded. “It stands in the clan burial ground and guards the entrance to St. Maelrhuba’s chapel.”

  “’Tis but a few paces from my cottage,” Hughie spoke up, looking over at them. “The churchyard is a hoary old place, with the chapel half in ruin.”

  Aveline looked at him openly now, but his blue eyes were twinkling again and he continued to eat his pastie with relish, sharing bits of the meat filling with Cuillin and his castle dog friends, seemingly unaware of any reason he should feel uncomfortable at the mention of the stone. Or the little churchyard with its sad row of nine burial cairns, Celtic crosses, and mist.

  Far from it, the look he sent her way was anything but sad.

  Not that she had time to think about it, because Lady Juliana was bearing down on the window embrasure, the look in her eye brooking no refusal.

  She meant to see the MacKenzie sisters to their beds.

  Proving it, she drew up in front of Gelis. “You are a sly one,” she said, planting her hands on her hips. “You know all about the Macpherson’s Na Clachan Breugach stone. We discussed it some nights ago when Morag recounted the stone’s deeper past. How it is said to be the last remaining stone of a sacred Pictish scrying circle once known as the Stones of Wisdom. And, too, how it might just be the Lying Stone as later Christians dubbed it.”

  Juliana folded her arms. “You’ve no need to hear the tales again. You do need come abovestairs and get some sleep.”

  Gelis frowned. “It is still early and—”

  “It is late for you.” Juliana jerked her head toward the nearby stair tower. “Say your good nights and come along.”

  Arabella rose dutifully to her feet.

  Gelis stood as well, but not without casting a longing look at the comfortable embrasure bench with its maze of soft, embroidered cushions and the deep-set window arch, gilded silver with moon glow and rain.

  “Aveline saw the ghosts of two of Jamie’s brothers near the Na Clachan Breugach stone,” she said, gathering her forgotten stitching patterns.

  “Many Highlanders see a bogle or two in their lifetime,” Juliana minded her, guiding her by the elbow away from the window embrasure.

  “He’s seen them, too,” Gelis blurted, dragging her feet as they passed Hughie’s stool. “Aveline said so.”

  “She spoke true.” Hughie looked up from his second meat pastie. “I have seen the lads a time or two. Often enough to ken they are well and content where they are.”

  Aveline doubted Gelis heard him for Juliana was herding the girls at a fast clip toward the stair foot. But she’d heard him and it took her several moments to notice what was wrong when she glanced over at him.

  Cuillin was gone.

  Even though Hughie Mac still clutched a goodly portion of his meat pastie in his hand.

  E’er ready for a handout, Cuillin would only have left the old man’s side for one reason.

  Jamie had returned.

  Aveline spotted him at once, even clear across the hall. He stood before the wall laver in the hall’s shadowy entry arch and was washing his hands. Cuillin, apparently of far keener senses than her own, was pressing himself against his master’s legs, his plumy tail wagging.

  But even if she’d spotted him second, her pleasure in seeing him was no less exuberant. Not even Munro’s scowling face and demonstrative departure dampened her excitement. Already her heart was pounding and the desire to be pulled into his arms and kissed again proved almost overwhelming.

  He spotted her then, too, and grinned, lifting his hand in greeting. But the instant she started forward, a vivid image rose up before her, blocking the way.

  Transparent, shimmering, and vibrant, the vision-woman hovered in the aisle between the trestle tables.

  Aveline blinked, but the image didn’t fade.

  Instead, she glowed all the brighter. A tall voluptuous woman with a luxurious spill of long glossy black hair. Her heady, musk-like perfume wafted around her like a dark, sensual cloud.

  Even worse, she was naked.

  Quite happily naked, judging by the seductive curve of her full red lips.

  The smoldering heat in her midnight eyes.

  Aveline stopped where she was, the hall and everyone in it spinning wildly around her. The floor even seemed to pitch and sway, but when the wheeling and dipping finally stopped, the frightful image was blessedly gone.

  Better yet, she found herself where she’d yearned to be.

  Jamie must’ve flown across the hall, because he stood holding her, his chin resting on top of her head.

  “Saints, lass, I thought you were going to swoon,” he said, tightening his arms around her. “You went chalk white and swayed. You would’ve hit the rushes if I hadn’t run to catch you.”

  Aveline drew a shaky breath and pulled back just enough to look up at him. “You do that well—as you’ve already shown me. In the chapel, if you’ve forgotten.”

  “I’ve forgotten naught,” he said, capturing her hand and lifting it to his lips for a kiss. “And there is a matter of importance that I would speak with you about if you can give me your trust?”

  At once, the sultry-eyed beauty flashed across Aveline’s mind again, but she steeled herself against the woman’s persistence and summoned her boldest smile.

  “I will always trust you,” she said, the words coming from somewhere deep inside her.

  She just hoped he would trust her.

  That he’d listen when she urged him to treat his father with greater kindness.

  But for the moment she let him grab her hand and pull her with him across the hall. Through the throng and past the high table with Munro’s empty laird’s chair, taking her, she knew, to his brother Kendrick’s bedchamber.

  Once there, she’d discover whate’er he wished to discuss with her. Just as she meant to voice some of her own cares. Determined to do just that, she straightened her back and let him lead her up the stairs.

  If she could summon her daring, she’d also learn just how close he’d been to a certain Glenelg joy woman.

  After all, knowing one’s enemy was half the battle.

  And Aveline wanted victory.

  The fullest, most round triumph possible.

  Chapter Ten

  Jamie stood in the middle of his brother Kendrick’s well-appointed bedchamber and tried not to frown beneath Aveline’s penetrating stare. He also wondered if his ears were playing tricks on him. Truth be told, he wished they were because he wasn’t sure what to do if they weren’t.

  He did fold his arms over his chest and attempt to feign a look of manly innocence.

  There were some things womenfolk were just not supposed to know about and, with luck, pretending ignorance would make the whole matter go away.

  But the look in his lovely’s eyes and the way her back seemed to be getting straighter by the minute told him this matter wasn’t going anywhere until it was aired.

  Jamie sighed.

  An audible sigh and coupled with an expression that told Aveline exactly what she wanted to know.

  Or better said, what she didn’t want to know.

  Folding her arms, she considered her options. Clearly, James Macpherson was well acquainted with the Glenelg joy woman. Even more obviously, he wasn’t keen on discussing her.

  Unfortunately for him, she was.

  Not that she expected anything good to come of gaining such knowledge. Indeed, thrusting her hand into a wasp’s nest might prove less painful. But the sultry beauty’s image wouldn’t let her go and neither would her own growing awareness of her smallness.

  Aveline turned to a well-laiden table near the hearth and poured herself a generous portion of heather ale. An indulgence she regretted almost immediately because the table’s silver candelabrum cast its telltale illumination onto her hands, highlighting their daintiness.

  A fault nowise near as galling as her tiny breasts.

  And much to her irritation, the vexatious candelabrum spilled light across her bodice, too. A lov
ely bodice, to be sure, crafted of finest linen and decorated with a delicate band of stitchery.

  Stitchery designed by her own wee hand for the sole purpose of attracting the eye away from the lack of the great swelling orbs most Highland maids flaunted with understandable pride.

  Aveline frowned and set down her ale cup untouched.

  The frothy brew wouldn’t help her grow a lush bosom. Nor would it solve a jot of her distress.

  Sooner or later, Jamie would have to answer her questions about the woman—his paramour from the sound of it.

  Resisting the urge to start tapping her foot, Aveline simply pinned the man with a look. As her father often said, what she lacked in physical size, she made up for in patience and calm. Her ability to persuade without words.

  But instead of telling her about the bawdy widow, Jamie appeared content to stand before her with a closed expression, his jaw set and his mouth clamped tight.

  He did run a hand over his face and wish himself anywhere beside where he was presently standing. Somewhere, where the devil wasn’t on the loose and out to get him.

  Saints, even Cuillin was fixing him with a baleful, unblinking stare. An accusatory stare if e’er there was one. And coming from a male dog who’d ne’er denied himself his own pleasures, his disapproval stung.

  All men visited willing-armed and succoring joy women, and he had a greater reason than most to do so. Ignoring that reason, he crossed the room to where Aveline stood near the hearth fire.

  “Who told you of her?” he asked, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Gelis, I’ll wager?”

  Aveline’s chin lifted a notch. “Then you admit there is a Gunna of the Glen?”

  Jamie inhaled deeply and glanced at the ceiling. “Of course, there is a Gunna of Glen,” he said, releasing the breath and looking back at her.

  “See here, lass,” he began, “there have always been such women and ever shall be. So long as men have a need, there will be such women as the fair widow of Glenelg.”

  He winced, realizing his mistake as soon as the words left his tongue.

  His wee Aveline was jealous.

  Proving it, she pulled free of his grasp and went to the window. She whisked open the shutters and peered out into the streaming night.

  “So she is as beautiful as Gelis claimed?” she asked, her back even more rigid than before.

  Jamie bit back a curse and followed her. “Most joy women are comely,” he said, stopping a handsbreadth behind her but not touching her. “Though I vow some of the older ones are not so savory.”

  “Older ones?” Aveline whirled around. “Just how many such women do you know?”

  “Just one,” Jamie told her true. “I only e’er went to see the Glenelg widow. She is the only such woman I have e’er known.”

  Two spots of color appeared on his bride’s cheeks and she looked down, fussing at her skirts.

  She said nothing.

  Not that she needed to for waves of distress rolled off her, each one lancing Jamie more than the last.

  He wanted to soothe and reassure her, not make things worse.

  Scowling openly now, he shoved a hand through his hair. He was sorely tempted to forget his chivalry and do bodily harm to the fiery-haired bit of MacKenzie baggage who’d told her of the lusty widow.

  Jamie swallowed, misery weighing on him. Even the neck opening of his tunic was growing tighter by the moment. Worse, he was also finding it increasingly difficult to breathe.

  Duncan MacKenzie had once warned him that facing a woman’s jealousy was more daunting than crossing swords with any manly foe. And Jamie now saw the wisdom of the Black Stag’s words.

  Feeling more discomfited by the moment, he glanced around the bedchamber, looking for inspiration. Anything he might seize upon to wend the night in a different direction.

  One that didn’t feel like a white-hot vise clamping around his chest.

  Blessedly, his gaze lit upon a small hole in the deep-set arch of the window. Just a minor fault in the masonry, a place where a bit of stone had fallen or been worn away by weather or years.

  But perhaps it was his salvation.

  Hoping it so, he put back his shoulders and cleared his throat. “Would you not rather speak of the MacKenzies’ marriage stone?” he asked, stepping forward to smooth a strand of hair off his lady’s brow. “I have seen it many times and can tell you a few tales of the stone and the good clan’s feasting revelries.”

  Aveline’s head snapped up, but her expression hadn’t improved at all.

  “How long were you in the hall?” She looked at him. “’Tis obvious you know Hughie Mac regaled us with the legend of the MacKenzies’ stone.”

  Jamie frowned, torn between admiring her persistence and wanting to throttle her for being so difficult.

  “I heard every word of Hughie’s tale,” he admitted, not surprised by her arcing brows. “I stood in the shadows, not wanting to spoil the moment, then joined a few kinsmen for some hot roasted ribs and honey bannocks. You caught my eye just as I was washing my hands after our repast.”

  Her brows lowered at once, drawing together in a frown that surely bode ill. “Since you spent so many years squiring at Eilean Creag, you will know their traditions well,” she said, something about her tone letting him know he could expect even more trouble.

  “As it happens, I heard enough of their stories tonight to occupy me for months.” She glanced down, flicking an invisible fleck off her sleeve. “’Tis the Glenelg woman who interests me,” she said, looking up. “Your tales of her that I wish to hear.”

  Jamie blew out a breath and rubbed the back of his neck. Now he knew the devil was somewhere underfoot, and far too close for comfort.

  Certain of it, he considered taking his bride into his arms and kissing her until such fool notions fled her mind.

  A possibility he quickly dismissed.

  In her present agitated state, she just might reward any such peacemaking attempt by biting off his tongue.

  He frowned again.

  Truth be told, she was being unreasonable.

  After all, he’d not done anything wrong. So far as he knew, all men paid an occasional visit to a joy woman and in most instances to more than one.

  Many loftier knights and lairds of his acquaintance kept a veritable string of mistresses, some even favoring their concubines and their offspring above their legally wed consorts.

  Something Jamie would never consider; not with such a pleasing bride.

  Saints, he was besotted with her.

  “You’re not being fair,” he said, stepping closer to her again. “Surely you know that men have certain needs? Urges they sometimes tend by visiting such women as Gunna of the Glen?”

  His bride said nothing.

  Instead, she slipped past him and went to stand in front of the fire, staring down into the flames.

  “I know of the heat of passion that blazes between a man and a woman—and what they do about it!” she said, not looking at him. “I am not ignorant.”

  She spun around then, her sapphire eyes snapping. “I am innocent. Should you wonder.”

  Jamie sighed. “Ach, sweetness, the thought ne’er crossed my mind,” he said, leaving off how often he had thought about her innocence, but not for the reason she suspected.

  Nay, he worried that her purity might remain a permanent state.

  He looked down, then immediately wished he hadn’t when his gaze fell on his hands. Saints, big as he was and tiny as she was, just holding her might crack one of her ribs if e’er he forgot himself and clutched her over-tight.

  Jamie’s mood darkened, the mere notion of causing her pain making his head throb. He’d sooner not touch her at all than risk hurting her.

  “See here,” he started to explain, “my concern is—”

  “You said this woman, this Gunna of the Glen, is the only such female you’ve visited,” she persisted, her gaze back on the hearth fire. “Have you then only lain with her? Have there been n
o others?”

  Jamie rammed a hand through his hair.

  “Of course, there have been others,” he admitted, now feeling the devil’s eyes on him.

  “And who were they?”

  “Kitchen bawds and laundresses. Big-boned, broad-bottomed lasses, light-skirted wenches free with their charms,” he explained, his head now pounding in earnest. “I dinna remember the names of any of them. And from the time I went to serve my liege, Sir Kenneth MacKenzie, the Keeper of Cuidrach, I only took my ease with the widow.”

  “No one else?”

  Jamie shook his head. “No one.”

  “Then you must’ve been mightily fond of her?”

  “I was, and am,” Jamie said, smoothing a hand over his chin. “She is a good woman with a big heart. She misses her late husband and the bed sport they shared. That is the reason she welcomes such attention.”

  “That was baldly put.” Aveline slanted a glance at him. “So she is a well-lusted woman?”

  Jamie nodded, silently damning whate’er fool saint saw fit to bless him with such an unflagging penchant for honesty. “She is lusty, aye.”

  And so well-ridden even I can slide in and out of her with astonishing ease.

  Something he needed to explain, however awkward. He could already see a slew of other interpretations slipping across his lady’s face.

  False notions that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

  So he inhaled deeply and crossed the room. Before she could move away, he seized her chin, forcing her to look at him. “What you are thinking is not how it was,” he said, willing her to understand. “I did not seek out the widow because I had heart feelings for her. She suited me well for one reason and one reason only.”

  Aveline blinked, letting silence stretch between them.

  Jamie swallowed. At least she hadn’t looked away or tried to break free of his grasp.

  It was a start.

  Something to build on.

  “So you did not love her?” she finally asked, her cheeks turning pink on the question.

  “Love her?” Jamie’s brows shot upwards. “I am fond of Gunna of the Glen,” he spoke true again. “But she is a friend, naught else.”

  “An intimate friend.”