Authors: Felicia Rogers
By God's Grace (7 page)
Another spoonful of broth was given, then he added, “And what would ye be looking for in a husband?”
Wiggling down and settling herself, her mouth continued to open at regular intervals. She took so long Duncan feared he might not receive an answer. When she did speak, he was surprised.
“For one thing, my husband will appreciate my vast talents.”
The seriousness of her tone, begged Duncan to poke fun. “Vast talents, ye say. Do ye mind sharing some of them with a curious friend?”
“I believe you've witnessed most of them.”
“Hmmm, yer beauty is a vast talent indeed,” he mumbled under his breath.
Arbella blushed but gave no other indication his statement had been heard. With earnestness she continued, “I have vast talents. I can run quickly and jump far. As you saw at the tournament, I am a decent horsewoman, and I believe I could wield a sword if need be. I can till a garden and keep a house.”
“All those talents, as ye call them, are all right if a man is looking for a warrior or a servant. Why, I bet ye even chop wood.” He watched the blush creep up her neck when he made light of her abilities then added, “But a man looking for a woman as a wife is looking for other talents.”
She whispered in a hurt tone, “I can sing.”
“Aye, I am sure ye have a beautiful voice.”
Her eyes opened and tears slipped down her cheeks. “Do you really believe I would make a poor wife?”
Duncan was jesting, but he knew most men wouldn't be happy she could best them in manly pursuits. He said, “I guess it would all depend on how well ye performed in other areas.”
“I don't understand.”
“I hate to spell this out for ye in such a blunt manner, but for most men, it all depends on how ye are in the marriage bed.” He frowned. Now why had he said that? He was sure Sarra would have disapproved.
Arbella sat straight, the covers slipping. She leaned forward. Duncan's gaze was drawn to the sight before him like a moth to the flame. He averted his eyes.
“And how do you think it would be?” she asked, shyly.
Blood pumped in his ears. He didn't think he could answer. What he wanted to do was sling her across the bed, throw her clothes aside, and test his theory that she would be as good at lovemaking as she was at everything else. But he must control these thoughts, or they would only cause him trouble.
His eyes closed as his mind betrayed him. All he could think about was Arbella's beauty. Desire to kiss her caused his palms to sweat and blood to rush through his veins. There were muffled sounds of movement. He heard the sound of sliding sheets and covers being thrown back. The feel of a silken calf coming into contact with his hairy one meant Arbella had thrown her legs off the side and placed them near his own. The linen tunic he wore was parted, and a smooth, cool hand was spread wide across his exposed chest, resting against his fluttering heart.
His tongue darted out and licked his dry lips. She leaned toward him, their lips brushing across one another. The touch was light and brief, causing Duncan to question if it was real. With his eyes still closed, he stayed silent. Then just as suddenly as the warmth had been felt, it dissipated. His eyelids fluttered open. Arbella was gone.
Arbella lay on her side with her back facing him. Breath was rhythmic like she'd slept for hours. Had it all been a dream? Had he conjured up a fantasy? Was he so desperate he'd reached the point of having fantasies about sleeping lasses?
Rising from the seat and resting the remaining broth on a table, he crossed to the window and peeked out. The moon shone. The light bounced into the room, landing on Arbella's sleeping form. While he'd been turned, she had rolled onto her back, the soft brown curls of her hair flared out around her, enhanced by the glowing of the moon.
Duncan's mind mulled over the question Arbella asked about what he wanted in a wife. With suddenness he realized he knew the answer. One final look in her direction, and he tiptoed to the door, leaving to find a place to rest his own head for the night.
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The next morning Duncan walked to his quarters, weaving a way through the temporary tent housing of the festival participants. Once inside the keep, the stairs were taken two at a time. There was no slowing of movement until the room was reached. Filled with an uncommon jubilation, he knocked. If the lass remained asleep, he held no desire to wake her.
“Come in,” said Tamara, with a tremor in her voice.
The first thing he noticed upon entering the room was Tamara straightening an empty bed. His gaze shifted around the room. Perhaps Arbella was standing in a corner or hiding in the wardrobe. After a few minutes he knew she was nowhere in sight. Trepidation filled his voice, making it gruff. “Tamara, where is she?”
Intimidated by his brusque manner, the young girl's voice quivered as she stumbled and tripped, groping for the correct words. “Well, my laird, the lass said she was going home.”
“Going home!” shouted Duncan, causing Tamara to squirm. Unhappily, he added, “Thank ye,” and strode out the door.
The need to find Arbella consumed him like a raging fire. Not sure why he wanted to speak with her, he just did. With a finger tapping his head, he pondered what Arbella would consider home. As his mind wondered and considered this question, his feet led him to the Kincade tent. On the right side, Duncan stopped, leaned around the corner, and looked.
There she sat crossed-legged in front of a small fire. She was covered in a heap of furs. On the fire sizzled eggs and salted meat. Whistling left her lips as she worried the meal. Once done, she retrieved it and disappeared.
Duncan followed. With a sweeping arm, the flap of the tent was pulled aside. He strode inside and planted his feet. His hands strayed to either side of his hips. Jaw clenched. Eyes set. Authority exuded.
Arbella had yet to notice him. The lass sat on a pile of cushions in the corner enjoying the cooked breakfast. A study of the tent revealed few luxuries. A changing screen took up most of the room. Made with a wooden frame, it held a design of oriental women with pale skin and delicate fans covering their faces. Just behind the screen one could see a feminine dress hanging next to a kilt and a head covering. In the opposite corner, leaning against one of the supports, was a long sword and a bow. A quiver sat nearby holding a set of arrows.
One brow rose in question. What kind of woman had this young lady become?
****
Upon awaking, Arbella knew she couldn't stay under Duncan's roof, especially not in his rooms. Heat infused her cheeks from the memory of crawling toward him and laying her hand upon his chest. Where had the audacity come from? Mortified by her behavior, she rolled over and feigned sleep. She'd been unable to stay in her position until Duncan's eyes opened.
Legitimate sleep overtook her. The next morning, Duncan was gone. Empty of his warmth, Arbella worried about her future. Without thought to the consequences, she informed Tamara she was going home and left.
Breakfast was the first thing on her agenda. Outside on a fire, she cooked. Now here she sat enjoying her eggs, and Duncan had come invading her domicile.
With a wide stance, the laird of the Sinclair clan stood, resembling a giant beast, scoping out his surroundings and preparing to pounce. Green eyes shifted about the room. He twisted his neck and studied the instruments in the corner. Arbella ignored the actions. The bite of egg stayed in mid-air before continuing on into her waiting mouth.
A deep inhale of breath expanded her lungs. Duncan's handsomeness was unsurpassed. No wonder Cainneach's widow wanted him for her own.
The two of them were at a stalemate. Arbella continued to eat. Duncan continued to study. As if in a game of chess, he made the first move. “Why did ye leave the keep?”
A simple question, like moving a pawn on the chessboard. Arbella shrugged and continued chewing.
Duncan's cheeks turned a flaming red, his ire growing. The stare he gave her would have felled a lesser man, and perhaps she should tremble with fear, but she didn't. “Arbella, look at me,” came the whispered command.
Without hesitation, she gazed upward, and she answered, “Aye?”
“I asked ye a question.”
“Aye, you did, and I gave you an answer.”
“Nay, ye did not.” Duncan shrugged and added, “That is not an answer.”
“Aye, it was an answer. It simply means I don't know why I left. I just did.”
“Verra well. I dislike yer answer, but we will discuss it later. For now ye will come back were ye belong.”
“Duncan, was I in your bed?”
He gulped, startled by the change in topics. “Aye, ye were.”
Staring at the eggs, a flush crept up her cheeks. “I thought so. It had your scent all over it.”
He didn't respond to her statement but changed topics himself. “Arbella, it is good to see ye again.”
She glanced up, arching her brow. Duncan had always been able to take her off-guard. Palm open, she said, “Please sit, Duncan, and make yourself comfortable.”
He sat without complaint. On a large stack of pillows, he leaned back and made himself at home. “Arbella, why did ye do it?”
“Why did I do what?”
“Ye know verra well what I mean.”
“Hmm, nay I do not. Are you asking why I haven't visited? Are you asking why I volunteered to live with Uncle Jonas rather than the clan? Are you asking why I left your room? What are you asking?”
“Lass, don't test me. Ye know what I want to know. My question is why did ye participate in the games? Why ye? There are plenty of Kincade lads who could have participated and won the events and still named ye as my bride.”
“Aye, this is true,” Arbella said, studying the ground in front of her as she refused to offer farther explanation.
After a moment of silence, he asked, “Why did ye not present yerself with the other ladies the night before the tournament?”
A sad smile crossed her face. “If I had presented myself with the other ladies, would I have stood out? Can you honestly say you would have looked at me for more than a few moments before dismissing me like all the rest?”
Duncan didn't have a ready answer. Arbella had been correct.
Interrupting his silent musing, she whispered under her breath, “See, I knew you would never pick me.”
He reached forward. Grabbing her hand and holding it in his own, she watched him study the work-worn appendage. With a jerk, she tried to pull it back, but he refused, holding it tighter and rubbing it in a soothing motion. Duncan stared into her eyes and spoke with a reassuring tone. “Arbella, ye are correct. I would never have chosen ye.”
With another hard tug, Arbella proceeded to try and release his grasp, but to no avail. His lips widened. “But that is because I had no intentions of accepting any of those ladies.”
Arbella relaxed. “But, but why?”
The deep sound of Duncan's laugh sent tingles down her spine. He explained, “It should be obvious, lass. First of all, I am not used to taking orders, and the council decreed this marriage hunt. Second, I have spent several years in the company of a happily married couple, and I wish to have a similar relationship with my wife, one where I could share my faith in Jesus Christ. Such a thing could never happen with just a few moments of an encounter. I wanted to have time to get to know my bride, not be forced into a sham of a marriage.”
Arbella nodded. “Aye, I understand.”
“Ye see, it was divine providence that helped ye win yesterday's games and garner my attentions.”
“Aye, I believe God did play a hand in my winning. I also believe He played a big role when Jamus set up the events.”
“Aye, that is how it is, is it?”
“Aye, that is how it is. Are you disappointed?”
“Nay, not in the least. I believe ye still won the events on yer own. Did ye not?” Duncan stroked her hand until she trembled. “I am most pleased by the turn of events. However, I do have one issue.”
“What is that, my laird?”
“That ye have left the keep. Come to think of it, how did ye leave? The front door is not exactly on straight, and it is verra difficult to move. Did the twins assist ye?”
“Nay.”
“Grant and Bryce, did they help ye?”
“Nay.”
“Ye best be sharing who assisted with yer escape, lass.”
“Why is that, my laird?” she said, her eyelids fluttering with the coy answer.
“Because I intend to teach them a thing or two about letting my bride-to-be leave my protection.”
With the sudden release of her hand, she crossed her arms, erecting a stubborn pose. “Just so you know, I needed no assistance in leaving the keep.”
“I don't believe ye.”
“Fine. Don't believe me. But I did leave your keep with nary a person's assistance.”
“Assuming I believe ye, how did ye get out?”
“I went out the back door.”
A dumbfounded expression crossed Duncan's face. “Ye just walked out the back door!” As he gnawed on his lip, concern mounted, and he added, “Ye mustna leave the keep without letting me know.”
“Duncan, I am not your wife yet.”
“Aye, this is true, ye are not my wife yet. But ye will be, and I protect what is mine. Now may I make a request?”
“Aye?”
“Would ye please pack yer clothing and come back to the keep with me? Tamara has been preparing yer quarters for some time.”
Arbella's arched brow caused Duncan to laugh. She asked, “You mean I will have my own suite of rooms?”
“Aye, ye will.”
“Can Tamara share with me?” she uttered.
“Aye, she picked out a suite of rooms for ye both.”
“She did?”
“Aye, she did.”
“Did you approve of this? I mean, you are in agreement?”
“Aye, I am in agreement.”
Arbella jumped, threw off the furs, wrapped her arms around Duncan, and squeezed. Releasing him, she packed a tiny sack of belongings. Under her breath, she hummed. Duncan's smile of satisfaction pleased her all the more. She couldn't contain her happiness at being offered a set of rooms.
Arbella stood in front of Duncan, a grin splitting her face. “I'm ready.”
He rose and put out his hand in an offer to carry the full bag. Shaking her head, she held on to it. “Nay, I can handle it.”
“Is this what I have to look forward to?”
“What do you mean?”
“I make a gentlemanly offer, and ye refuse me.”
Arbella bowed her head. A sense of shame prevailed. “I am sorry, Duncan. I haven't had anyone offer to take care of me in a long time. I would be honored to have you carry my belongings.” In a happy manner, she added, “To my quarters.”
The tent covering was pulled aside, and Arbella stepped out. Duncan followed close behind. “Don't get used to it.”
“Don't get used to what?”
“Having yer own room.”
“Oh.” Disappointment overtook her face.
Duncan stopped, turned her around, and grasped her face in a gentle hold. “Because when we marry, I expect we will be sharing a room.”
Infused with heat, a red hue swept her face. From pink to red, her cheeks burned as she worked to pull free from Duncan's grasp. Straightening her clothing, she said, “Aye, I suppose we shall indeed.”
Duncan let go. Chin held high, she walked toward the keep.
