Authors: Connie Mason
Highland Warrior (6 page)
“Why must I pay the price of peace?” The flare of fury within her intensified. “If you touch me, I will kill you.” Her words, though spoken quietly, were rife with menace.
Ross sighed heavily. The lass was the fiercest warrior in her family. While he admired her courage, he couldn’t support it. He hated the thought of breaking her, but he couldn’t have her wreaking havoc in his household.
“I am your husband, Gillian,” he said sternly “ln case you havena been told, you will be sharing my bed, my table, and my hearth. Your father expects the marriage to be consummated this very night, and so it shall be.”
Gillian went still, very, very still. And if I refuse?” “The choice isna yours to make. Doona make it hard on yourself, lass. I amna a monster.”
“You are a MacKenna. ’Tis all the same to me.”
Ross had opened his mouth to give Gillian a proper dressing-down when Gordo rode up beside him, forestalling his response.
“ ’Tis comforting to know that neither of you has killed the other yet.” Gordo chuckled.
“The day is still young,” Gillian said sweetly.
“You’d best watch that one,” Gordo said, his eyes sparkling with laughter.
“Thank you, Uncle; I intend to.”
He felt Gillian’s back stiffen as she leaned away from him in a futile attempt to avoid contact. But her heat and the imprint of her body remained. Forcing his mind in another, less distracting direction, Ross realized he had to start this marriage right if he was going to have any peace in his home. He had to show Gillian he wasn’t going to stand for any of her shenanigans, trickery, or feminine wiles. He was her master, and it was best that she learn it sooner rather than later.
He heard Gillian gasp when Ravenscraig came into view. He tried to look at his home through her eyes as he spotted the tower rising above stone weathered to a soft, shimmering gray. Even under leaden skies and sleet, the tower, rising above the hall and adjoining buildings, appeared welcoming. The gate stood open, and he rode through it. The wedding party and guests entered behind him, some on horseback and others afoot.
Ross drew rein at the front entrance and dismounted. A lad ran up to hold the reins while Ross lifted Gillian down. “We are home,” he said. “Welcome to Ravenscraig.”
Home
, Gillian thought incredulously. This was nothing like the way she had imagined entering Ravenscraig. She had always assumed her clan would defeat the MacKennas and victoriously claim Ravenscraig. Instead she had become its mistress by wedding the enemy.
, Gillian thought incredulously. This was nothing like the way she had imagined entering Ravenscraig. She had always assumed her clan would defeat the MacKennas and victoriously claim Ravenscraig. Instead she had become its mistress by wedding the enemy.
“Smile,” Ross said as he guided her up the stairs.
Gillian bared her teeth in a semblance of a smile.
“Ah, Ravenscraig at last,” Tearlach said reverently as he joined his daughter. “You are mistress of Ravenscraig now, Gillian. ’Tis more than I could have hoped for. Hold your head high, lass.”
“Heed your father,” Ross advised. “Greet my people with a smile and they will treat you with respect. Hate them as you do me and your life here will be miserable.”
The huge oaken doors opened. Ross and Gillian entered, followed by the wedding guests. Gillian was quick to note that the hall had been decorated in a festive manner. Since it was too late in the year for flowers, rowan boughs and other fragrant greenery had been strewn extravagantly on the rows of long tables and were displayed in tall vases. The rushes were fragrant with pine and dried herbs.
The hall was less drafty than Braeburn, heated by a huge hearth at one end. The walls were hung with tapestries depicting battles, and the windows were fitted with real glass, a luxury Braeburn Castle did not yet have. A gallery ran the entire length and width of the hall, reached by a stone staircase that wound up to the second story, which Gillian assumed was the solar.
The tables were spread with white tablecloths, another luxury, and servants waited to begin serving the midday wedding feast. Grasping her elbow, Ross guided Gillian to the high table, seated her, and sat down on her right. Her father sat on her left. Ross’s closest kin and Gillian’s brothers joined them. At Ross’s signal, servants began carrying in trays of food and pitchers of ale. The head table enjoyed Flemish wine.
Gillian could tell a lot of thought and preparation had gone into the feast. It began with fresh oysters and continued with cock-a-leekie soup made with chicken, leeks, and rice; collops of venison simmered in a creamy sauce; fresh fish; smoked haddock; and other dishes too numerous to name. Gillian managed a few bites of each dish and even sampled the pudding.
“Are you enjoying the food, wife?” Ross asked.
“You have outdone yourself, MacKenna. Does your clan enjoy this fare every day?”
“Aye, though we are only moderately wealthy, we eat well. Today is special, however. I hope you appreciate all that has been done in your honor.”
Gillian shrugged. She knew the work and expense that went into this kind of feast, but wasn’t going to give MacKenna the satisfaction of knowing how impressed she was with Ravenscraig.
“If ’twas done for my benefit, ’tis a waste of time and energy. Ravenscraig is yours, not mine.”
Gillian had meant to anger Ross, and she succeeded. His expression remained cool and composed, but she could see rage seething in the depths of his blue eyes. She suppressed a shudder. How far could she goad this man before he reacted brutally? Did she dare find out?
“You will mind your tongue, woman,” Ross warned through clenched teeth. “I will not allow you to belittle my people”
“What will you do, beat me?”
“Is that what you want me to do?”
“What I want you to do no longer matters. We are already wed, against my wishes.”
- Ross stared into Gillian’s defiant green eyes and could think of many things he wanted to do with her, and not one of them had to do with beating her. Her tart mouth and acid tongue could be put to better use than nagging and complaining. Before this night was over he intended to have her purring with contentment.
“What are you staring at?” Gillian asked when Ross continued to gaze at her lips.
“You are a beautiful woman, Gillian. I canna wait to have you in my bed.”
He saw her lips purse and knew precisely what she was thinking. He had been wise to ask Donald to make sure all his weapons were removed from the solar before he bedded his wife. His warrior bride couldn’t be trusted. She would as soon skewer him as look at him.
Ross didn’t want that kind of marriage. He had hoped Gillian would realize the importance of uniting their clans and reconcile herself to their marriage. Taming this woman was going to take a great deal more time and patience than he had expected. Fortunately, with winter nigh and the feud behind him, Ross had plenty of time to devote to his wife. He eagerly anticipated bedding his bride.
“Doona think I am going to fall into your arms, MacKenna,” Gillian spat.
Ross laughed, leaned close, and whispered, “I am accounted a good lover, wife. I will please you well.”
“And who, pray tell, accounts you a good lover?”
Ross’s gaze found Seana, who was seated nearby, and quickly shifted away. “You will have to take my word.”
Gillian hadn’t missed the way Ross’s gaze had lingered on a beautiful young woman seated at a nearby table. Was she Ross’s leman? A pang of something akin to jealousy shot through Gillian, even though she tried to tell herself it didn’t matter. She hoped his leman would keep MacKenna out of her bed.
While remnants of the meal were being carried away, Gillian studied the blonde beauty from beneath long, feathery lashes. She was startled to realize the woman was gazing longingly at Ross.
“What is that woman to you, MacKenna?” she asked, gesturing discreetly at Seana.
“Which woman might that be, Gillian?”
“Are you blind? The beautiful blonde who canna take her eyes off you.”
“Ah, that one. Her name is Seana McHamish. Our clans are allies.”
“Is she your lover?”
“I willna lie to you, lass. She was my leman before I took you to wife. However, I no longer need a leman.”
“Doona send her away,” Gillian advised. “I give her leave to take my place in your bend.”
“Nay, wife, you will fulfill your duty in my bed and out.”
Before Gillian could form a scathing retort, a group of entertainers entered the hall amid loud cheering. Tables were quickly cleared away to make room for the Gypsy musicians and dancers. Even Gillian clapped her hands. She adored music, especially wild Gypsy music.
“My uncle was fortunate to find a
compania
of Gypsies who hadn’t gone south yet for the winter. I hope you like music.”
compania
of Gypsies who hadn’t gone south yet for the winter. I hope you like music.”
“Gypsies are my favorite performers,” Gillian admitted.
He grinned at her, the whiteness of his teeth startling her. Was there naught about the man that wasn’t perfect?
“I am glad something I do pleases you.”
The musicians began to play a lively melody while the dancers twirled and pranced about the hall. Swarthy men wearing dark clothing and brilliant-hued jackets, and women, their multicolored, bell-trimmed skirts swirling around their golden thighs, mesmerized Gillian with their energy and verve.
Entranced, she clapped along with the others when the performance ended. She didn’t notice when Ross caught Gizela’s eye and nodded. In fact, she was far from ready when the old woman came up to her and touched her arm.
“ ’Tis time, lass. I am called Gizela. I will take you to the laird’s chamber and answer any questions you might have.”
Gillian skewered Ross with a look that would have turned him to cinders had he been a lesser man. “The celebration hasna ended yet.”
Ross’s gaze turned dark. “’Tis finished for you, wife. We will long be abed before the celebration ends.”
Gizela pulled gently on her arm. “Come along, lass.”
When Gillian balked, Tearlach leaned over and said, “Do your duty, daughter. Your clan is depending upon your obedience to your husband.”
Silently fuming, Gillian followed the old woman up the stairs to the solar, through a sitting room, and into the sleeping chamber. The chamber was too masculine for Gillian’s tastes, but she hoped MacKenna would relegate her to lesser quarters once she did her “duty” to him and he replaced her with his leman.
“Let me help you disrobe and climb into bed, lass,” Gizela said. “The men will be here soon.”
“Men? More than one?” Gillian squeaked.
“ ’Tis the custom. The laird’s kinsmen will carry him up and put him to bed.”
“With me?”
Gizela chuckled. “Of course with you.” She turned Gillian around and began untying tapes until she had removed everything but Gillian’s shift, slippers, and stockings. Then she led her to the bed. “Sit, lass.”
The picture of Ross’s kinsmen carrying him to bed was so ludicrous that Gillian obeyed without thinking. Gizela removed Gillian’s slippers and stockings, but when she started to lift the hem of the shift, Gillian refused to part with it.
“Where is my night rail?”
“ ’Tis your wedding night, lass; you doona need one. Lift your arms and I will have you tucked into bed in no time. Then you can ask me anything you like.”
“I will keep my shift,” Gillian said firmly. Her eyes darted about the chamber. The room was curiously bereft of weapons, highly unusual in a warrior’s bedchamber. A warrior usually kept his sword close at hand.
Gizela shrugged. “Have it your way, lass, but you ken you will end up naked sooner rather than later.” She lifted the covers. “In with you, now.”
Gillian obeyed, if only to get rid of the old woman. But Gizela seemed in no hurry to depart. She found a hairbrush on a nearby chest and returned to the bed. “I will brush your hair for you, lass. Tomorrow you will have a proper maid, but the laird thought you should have someone to answer your questions tonight. So ask away while I brush.”
“I ... doona know what to ask.”
“Do you know how the mating takes place?” Gizela asked bluntly.
“I’ve seen horses.”
“Oh, aye, horses.”
“The female screams and carries on when she is mounted, so I assume it will be painful for me as well.”
“Only the first time, lass. But if I know our laird, there will be pleasure, too.”
Gillian digested that while Gizela slid the brush smoothly through her waist-length hair.
“Your hair truly is a living flame,” the old woman murmured. “I saw you and the laird surrounded by flames in a vision. I told him if he welcomed the flame, he would conquer it. If he failed, it would devour him.”
Gillian shuddered. Are you a witch?”
“A witch? Nay, I am a healer. If I say strange things sometimes, ’tis because of what I feel and see. You d do well to heed me.”
She ran the brush through Gillian’s hair one last time and rose. “I vow you know all you need to know, lass. Trust your husband to show you the rest.”
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