Highland Promise (39 page)

        Accompanied by Dog and her warrior of the day, she would descend to the hall where she greeted Gemma and reviewed the tasks for the day while partaking of light morning fare. Faith had offered to help with a few of the chores, but Gemma was so happy to have someone work the loom that she never accepted the offer.

        Heather joined Faith as she made rounds of the cottages and became acquainted with the clanswomen. Her first stop each day was Jamie's cottage at the base of the mountain. The warrior had introduced her to his wife, Kirsten, the day Brendan left. Kirsten was well along with their first child, and Jamie spent most of his time worrying about her health. Faith took on the task of cleaning their cottage and found other clanswomen willing to do the laundry along with theirs, so Kirsten was left with only light chores much to her husband's relief.

        Faith had another reason for visiting Kirsten. She was from the Borderlands and spoke some English. She had also left her home just the past year when Jamie committed what Faith thought of as an unspeakable crime. The warrior she had thought so sweet had actually stolen his wife. Jamie doted on her and Kirsten clearly loved him, so Faith forgave him. She learned most of the wives in clan Sutherland were stolen. She didn't know what to think of that barbaric practice and wondered if Brendan would have stolen her if King Henry had refused his suit.

        After her morning visitations, she returned to the keep for the nooning meal and a war of wits with Alfrid. He was a cranky, barrel-chested elder with flowing silver hair, gnarled hands, and a hitched gait.

        When they first met, Alfrid took an instant dislike to her and declared it a sorry day when a Highlander stooped to bringing an Englishwoman into his home as wife. She had informed him that as much as she had liked being English, her husband had proclaimed her a Highlander, so there were no Englishwomen around the Sutherland holding that she could find. The old man cringed as she repeated that bit of information in Gaelic. He took on the task of teaching her the language as a personal mission. He claimed he did so to save his ears, but Faith soon deduced it was for another reason. Having left his warrior days behind, he felt old and unneeded. She was so saddened by the elder's plight that she put up with his crotchety ways. The lessons took place over a gametable where they played chess. She knew better than to win against the cantankerous grump, but he did try her patience a number of times. After only a few days, Luthias remarked Alfrid was less tetchy, and Faith was certain she had even seen the elder smile.

        Liking activity about her, she had the loom moved down to the hall and spent her afternoons weaving near the hearth. After several failed attempts, she figured out the thread sequence used to produce the Sutherland colors and soon had several lengths of the soft woolen material woven with assistance from Heather who wanted to learn how to operate the loom.

        By late afternoon, Faith's lower back would ache, so she sat near the hearth with Heather, the cook's daughter, Sabina, Dog, Alfrid, and her warrior of the day while she wove fresh rushes to be stored for use during the winter months. During this time, she told tales of growing up in England, their yuletide customs, legends of mighty warriors, and even a tale or two about her sisters, Chris and Medea, who were viragos and well able to take down every warrior who ever tried to best them. Alfrid and the other Sutherland warriors scoffed over the whole notion of women warriors, but Heather wanted to meet her sisters and join their legion. Heather and Sabina also marveled over stories of making snow angels, snowmen, and sliding on ice. Faith promised to make angels with them after the first snowfall.

        The rushes would soon be put aside as Sabina made a place for herself in Faith's lap. Caressing the young girl's silken hair, Faith's heart swelled with anticipation. She prayed the Almighty would bless her and Brendan with many wonderful children.

        Her prayers went unanswered five days after Brendan left with the arrival of her monthly curse. She ached in her belly, and the cold Highlands made her discomfort worse. She decided to sleep in her gown and plaid because they were much warmer than her nightgown.

        With a heavy heart, she gazed at the bed, knowing she dare not go near the inviting haven. As much as she would like to stretch out on the soft mattress, she knew men had strange notions about a woman's flux. Why, the tanner at Hawkhurst had tossed the bed from his home and burnt it after his wife had slept on it during her unclean time. He had sworn it would drain his strength if he lay upon it. Faith didn't truly believe she could dry up a cow's milk or keep chickens from laying eggs as Father Abernathy had once declared. But she didn't know Brendan's thoughts on the matter and didn't want to risk riling him.

        Grabbing the sheepskin rug from beside the bed and a quilt from the chest, she prepared her pallet in front of the fire. At least her sniffles were gone. She sat cross-legged on the soft fleece, wrapped the quilt around her and stared into the flames. Dog plodded over and lay next to her, casting her worried looks.

        She remained that way for a long time, wondering how a simple request for an escort to a convent had ended with her married to a mighty Highland warlord, who owned her heart. Despite the cold, she liked her new home. The people were generous and loving, but something was missing from her life.

        She decided what she missed was her husband. Now that they were home, she never saw him. Dog nudged her with his snout and barked once. She absently rubbed his head between his ears and released a long, pitiful sigh.

        "Why are you still dressed and not in bed, Faith?"

        Her husband's quiet question startled her. She raised a fist to her galloping heart and twisted around. "I did not hear you come in." Her heart did a joyful leap at the sight of his proud body standing by the door. She sprang to her feet, ran across the chamber, and threw herself at him. "You are finally home!"

        He chuckled and caught her against his chest, lifting her feet from the floor and whirling her about. Then he claimed her mouth in a hot hungry kiss. Faith knew where their kiss would lead and jerked back. He frowned, and she patted his cheek, then pushed away. "I have missed you."

~ * ~

        Damn, he had missed her too. After five days of futile searching for a monster, Brendan hurried home, riding into the wee hours of the morn just to be with his wife. He didn't know what had gotten into her to cause her to turn bashful, but he needed her soft woman's body now. "I have missed you too, and I intend to show you how much."

        He lifted her in his arms, carried her to the bed, and gently laid her upon the center of the mattress. She rolled off on the opposite side and backed away like a skittish filly.

        He frowned at her strange reaction. "What is wrong with you?"

        Her hand trembled as she nervously flipped her hair over her shoulder, revealing a delectable bit of neck flesh he wanted to sample. "I cannot sleep in the bed this night, but I am glad you have returned."

        The woman couldn't be serious. Surely she knew what to expect when her husband returned after days away. Hell, he expected it every night. "Just where do you think to sleep?"

        "Here by the fire." She lamely gestured to the sheepskin rug by her feet.

        "Like hell." He hadn't meant to curse, but it was her fault for making such a daft suggestion.

        She placed her fists on her hips and glared. "I have told you not to curse at me."

        Saint Andrew, he didn't need this vexation. What he needed was his wife. "Faith, get in the bed."

        "You do not have to order me," she snapped. Then she rubbed her brow in a weary gesture. "I would get in the bed if I could, but I cannot."

        "I do not care where you wish to sleep. A wife may not refuse her husband."

        Her eyes widened in disbelief. "Do you think I want to sleep on the floor?"

        "You are making no sense. Now come here."

        "If I come over there, are we going to..." A convulsive swallow rippled through her throat. "...couple?"

        He crossed his arms over his chest and arched a sardonic brow. "What do you think?"

        She shook her head. "We cannot."

        "Why the hell not?" he demanded harshly.

        Her cheeks flushed to a fiery hue and she stared at her feet. "Because I am not going to have a baby."

        He couldn't believe her outrageous claim. "You think to deny me an heir?"

        "I want to give you an heir," she replied so quickly he knew she meant her words, but what could be the reason for her refusal?

        "You do know coupling is a requirement?" he asked, irony dripping from his words. "Now come to me."

        "Why are you being so obstinate?" Her pitch rose with frustration.

        "I am not obstinate. I am randy." He raked his gaze over her. "Know you the difference?"

        She lifted her chin to a haughty level. "You need not be vulgar."

        He wiped a hand over the spasm in his cheek. He was trying to be patient with the lass, but she was damn exasperating. "Explain your reluctance then."

        "I have explained. I am not going to have a baby, and I will sleep on the rug so you will not have to throw the mattress out and burn it."

        "Blessed Saint Andrew, give me back my wife," he muttered.

        Her eyes flashed stormy green. "I beg your pardon. I think your prayer insulting."

        "What should I pray? I left a reasonably intelligent wife behind, and I have returned to a daft woman."

        "You continue to insult me and I do not like it." Her upper lip curled into a derisive sneer. "Next you will accuse me of drying up the cow's milk."

        "What in the name of all that's holy are you talking about?"

        She tossed up her arms in an annoyed gesture and turned away from him. "I do not know anymore. You have turned my head until I am beginning to feel daft."

        "Then come to bed."

        "What part of my refusal did you not understand?" she demanded, turning back to glare at him.

        "Not a blessed word." And he had had enough of her nonsense. She was his wife, damn it, and she was getting into their bed now. He crossed the chamber as she backed away, holding her arms in front of herself in a protective manner. The daft woman nearly landed herself in the flames. He grabbed her by the waist just in time and tossed her over his shoulder.

        She wiggled and pounded on his back. "Brendan, nay! You cannot do this!"

        "Like hell I can't." He tossed her onto the bed and came down on top of her before she could roll away. His heart raced as her sweet feminine scent mingled with his blood. He tugged at her plaid, but her pleats held fast.

        She gasped and slapped at his hand, squirming beneath him and

stirring his ardor even more. "Nay, you will tear out my stitches."

        "You had the gall to sew in your pleats after I told you not to?" He didn't know which riled him more: her refusal to join him in bed or her sacrilege against his colors.

        "I had to. A laird's wife should be well groomed, and I cannot get the pleats to stay in any other way."

        He suppressed the urge to throttle her. "You will pluck those stitches in the morn and learn to pleat your plaid."

        "Let me up." She shoved against his shoulders. "Oh, please. Let me up. I shall pluck them now."

        "Not until we are done here." He spoke more harshly than he' intended, but he wasn't about to let his wife frustrate his plan to satisfy his desires.

        She pushed against him again. "Brendan, I want to do this, but I—"

        "Then we will." He caught her wrists and held them against the mattress on either side of her head.

        Struggling against the restraint, she scowled up at him through teary eyes. "It will be your fault if the chickens do not lay eggs or if you lose your strength. I did warn you."

        Brendan closed his eyes and counted to ten. "What did you warn me?"

        "I told you. I found out today I am not going to have a baby."

        Realization dawned with disappointment. He groaned and leaned his forehead against hers, fighting a battle with his lust. "You picked one hell of a time."

        "I did not pick the time." She tried to pull her wrists free. "Now will you let me up so I may return to my rug?"

        "My wife does not sleep on a rug."

        She stiffened and her complexion drained of color. "Are you casting me out to the hall?"

        She sounded so distraught that he lost all remaining irritation and his lust died away. He ran his knuckle along her jaw in a tender caress. "Nay. You will sleep in this bed with me where you belong."

        Her brow drew in confusion. "Are you not afraid I will drain your strength?"

        "I am sure you will, but not for a few days." He kissed her forehead.

        "I do not understand."

        "You will tell me as soon as your flux has passed."

        She understood then, because she blushed red as a beet and nodded. "Did you make peace with The MacInnes?"

        He rolled onto his back and laced his fingers under his head. "Aye, now go to sleep."

        She rolled until she lay half atop him. "Why did you not tell me about Edrik?"

       "There was nothing to concern you."

        She pushed up and scowled down at him. "I believe an evil churl following me into Scotland to kill me is something to concern me. And I know he is here. I saw his ferula."

        "You are well protected. Are you trying to provoke me?"

        "I know you and your warriors will keep me safe, but I should still be on my guard," she insisted. "We should warn the other clanswomen too. He seems to like killing."

        Though her face showed anger, she trembled against him, and he knew she was afraid. "It is not Edrik."