Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Ewan escorted her along the passageway to his door where he lifted the latch and pushed it open.
He turned to her, catching her arm as she was about to enter and seized hold of her.
They stared intensely into each other’s eyes and she gasped as he drew her close, placed a hands at her waist and a hand behind her legs and lifted her.
Then, he pushed the door closed with his shoulder and strode into the chamber and across to the fire where he planted her on her feet by the fire, holding her steady for a few moments as she regained her balance.
Their eyes were still locked. Waiting on a small table beside the hearth was an ewer of mead and an enormous, silver, loving-cup.
While she stood there, tingling from head to toe, her head spinning with delight, he filled it and, holding one side, passed it to her to drink her fill.
“I hold the cup and keep watch over ye as ye drink,” he said, husky-voiced, “’Tis me pledge tae ye Lady Tyra Mackenzie, and me life tae keep ye safe.”
Scarcely able to breathe, she bent her head and sipped the honeyed liquor while he retained his grip on the other handle, waiting.
Looking up, she smiled, licking the sweetness from her lips, conscious of his eyes on her mouth. When she met his eyes, they had gone from ice-blue to the darkest indigo.
He moved closer so that she breathed in his scent of soap and pinewood and leather and he bent and drank while she clasped her handle. When he lowered the cup again, she smiled up at him, her heart beating fast.
“And I keep watch over ye too, Ewan Mackenzie of Eilean Donan. Ye’re me husband now and mine tae care fer.”
His hand lingered on hers and their eyes met.
And there was the connection again that had pulsed between them as they held each other’s gaze in the banqueting hall before the handfasting ceremony.
It stretched like a magic cord, joining them, growing in strength, its steadfast pull gaining power with every beat of her heart.
He placed the cup on the table. “Thank ye fer sharing that with me,” he said simply.
“Thank ye.” She smiled. “It is a most honorable tradition.”
As he moved towards the bed he asked “Did yer meeting wi’ Edmund and Annora go well?”
She followed him to the bed, aware that the closeness they’d shared with the loving cup was gone. Ewan sounded business-like, almost aloof.
“Aye. I believe they are convinced our marriage is genuine. That is, as genuine as it can be without the consummation that is required tae make it legal.”
He nodded. “We’ll speak about this, I promise. But I’m exhausted now. It has been a long day and I must rise early. There is much I must attend tae. I didnae complete the rèiteach, I must ensure it is ready fer yer braither’s signature.”
She nodded. She’d not push him.
“Have ye decided how we are tae deal with the problem of the sheets smeared with blood?”
He gave a short laugh. “The merest specks of blood will satisfy the demands of the Council. A tiny prick of me finger after we waken on the morrow will suffice.”
It was a relief to know that the problem was one that could be readily overcome.
Ewan rose to his feet, yawning. “’Tis time we laid down our heads.” He unbuttoned his velvet jacket, tugged it off, and flung it recklessly over one of the chairs by the table. Then he began unbuckling his belt.
Looking on in sudden dismay, Tyra caught her breath.
“What are ye…?”
She left the question hanging as he pulled off his belt and his plaid fell to the floor leaving him standing before her in his shirt.
Looking up he grinned. “I’m preparing fer me bed, lass.”
“But ye’ve…” She was about to remonstrate that he was near naked, but he lifted a forbidding finger.
“Ye may have shared me bed on two occasions, me sweet, and on both of those I was fully clad. Likewise, I didnae disrobe when I slept outside yer door at the inn on the first night we met.” He cast her a mischievous grin.
“But now we are wed and will be sharing a bed each night, so ye must become used tae me half-clad body.”
Of course, he was right.
“Oh, aye.” She turned her back as he reached to take off his shirt, feeling the rush of heat to her cheeks. But she felt a little wayward desire to peek at him and see his nakedness.
Naye, I cannae. Whatever would he think if he caught me.
“Ye can turn tae me now.” He gave a low chuckle. “I’m clad in me night shift now, as proper as a priest.”
“Then,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady, “I’d be grateful if ye could turn yer back so that I may replace me gown wi’ me night shift.”
Fortunately, the maids had already transferred all her belongings to Ewan’s chamber and her garments were hanging in a neat row in a small cupboard beside the garderobe. She found her shift and robe and took them off the hangers.
He was watching with an amused smile on his face, and she felt the burn in her cheeks intensify under his unrelenting gaze.
“Now. Please turn yer back.”
He obliged, turning toward the fire while she slipped behind the screen in the corner.
It took some time for her to unbutton her dress, and even longer to unlace her stays at the back.
For a moment she was tempted to request Ewan to assist her, but swiftly decided that would not be a good idea.
Finally, the gown and petticoat were off and she slipped on her delicate lace-edged shift and warm robe.
Slipping her feet into her slippers, she gathered up her hair brush and went to sit by the fire.
“What now, lass?” Ewan growled. “Are ye nae yet ready fer bed?”
She shrugged. “Ye’ve nay need tae wait fer me. I’ll nae be ready until I’ve unraveled all these wee braids and brushed out me hair.” After untying the ribbons holding her crown of braids in place she began undoing them one by one.
Ewan gave an impatient huff. “I’ll gi’ ye some help, if it brings ye closer tae bed.”
While she sat quietly, he stood behind her. Taking her hair gently in his hands he began to untwist and undo the myriad braids Isla had so carefully composed.
She leaned back. It was pleasant and strangely intimate to feel his fingers run through her long tresses in much the same way a maid would have done, when she was at home in Scorrybreac.
Her hair fell over her shoulders and down her back in a rose-scented cloud.
“Why, in the firelight, ‘tis like a waterfall of gold.” Ewan draped the strands so that they fell over her shoulders, smoothing them from her face. “And it carries a scent of spring roses that intoxicates me senses.”
His touch ignited a wildfire that travelled the full length of her, causing her to sigh and moan a little with the movement of his fingers.
“Here.” He passed her the precious pearl necklace which she placed carefully on the table. Then he took his place on a stool and watched as she stroked the brush through her hair before making it into one long braid over her shoulder.
“It seems a shame tae constrain such a waterfall into a single braid.” He laughed softly as she laid the brush on the table. “Now, are ye ready fer sleep?”
Tyra nodded. Sleep? While every part of her was tingling and vibrating, longing for more of those gentle touches of his that felt like loving caresses.
While she divested herself of her robe, Ewan pulled back the covers and slipped into the bed. He lay back, hands beneath his head, watching her every move.
She clambered into the big bed and pulled up the coverlets. Then she lay rigidly beside him, acutely conscious of his warmth and the steady rise and fall of his every breath.
He snuffed out the last candle beside the bed, rolled onto his side away from her with a whispered “Goodnight, lady wife.” She turned over in the darkness, trying to steady her breath wishing for a bolster between them as there’d been when he’d slept beside her at the inn.
For what seemed forever, Tyra lay there, stiff, afraid to move in case she accidentally touched Ewan and disturbed him.
On the other hand, he seemed to be sleeping peacefully, oblivious to her discomfort.
At one point he rolled over and flung out an arm which she slowly eased back under the covers while he slept on.
She stifled a giggle. It suddenly seemed ridiculous that she was there on her wedding night, afraid of waking her sleeping groom, when she’d always pictured the reverse.
At last, feeling drowsy, she let her eyes close and the last thought she had was that it was not at all the wedding night she’d imagined for so many years.
For all the efforts to stay apart while they were awake, sleep had something else in mind for them.
They woke together, tangled in the sheets, Tyra’s arm over Ewan’s chest, his leg over hers, their warm bodies pressed close.
When they awoke, they jolted apart, both laughing awkwardly as they left the warmth. Tyra felt a strange regret in the separation. Mayhap waking this way each day would be a pleasant thing after all.
Tyra shook her head as she shrugged on her robe. There was nothing to say as they both looked sheepishly at one another without referring to their intimate closeness.
Ewan wrapped himself in his cloak and attended to the fire. It had burned low and he roused the still-glowing embers with the iron poker. Then, once the flames were flickering again, he loaded it with logs.
Concealing herself behind the screen, Tyra began dressing in the blue woolen dress that had been reshaped by Seamstress Maeve. When she emerged, Ewan was already clad in britches, a clean shirt and fur jerkin.
“I’ve rung the bell fer the maids tae bring us some nourishment tae break our fast.”
Tyra nodded, but her mind was elsewhere. “What are we tae dae about the sheets. The Council will be impatient tae see the evidence of our consummation.”
Ewan cast around for an implement with which to make a wound that would produce the necessary blood.
“Should I uncover the cut on me chest that Esmé has bound up so neatly?”
Tyra pshawed. “Of course nae. That would be foolish and put ye in danger of infection. Besides, the cut will be healing well by now and tae bring blood again would stop it from mending.” She put up a hand. “I’ve an idea.”
Ewan was reaching for his dirk, a wicked-looking blade that would readily pierce his flesh.
“Nay, nay. Ye could dae yerself a dreadful damage with such a weapon. Wait, I shall seek through me sewing box tae find a sharp needle. Many’s the time I’ve stabbed meself while sewing and caused blood. I think a sharp jab wi’ a needle will give ye what ye need and keep the Council happy.”
He waited while she sought her embroidery case and took out one of the bigger needles.
“Here.” She held it out. “This one is sharp and will make a pretty puncture on yer finger.”
He laughed. “And will ye dae the honors fer me, lass.” He held up his thumb. “A nice deep jab will start the blood flowing.”
She took the needle in one hand and his thumb in the other.
“Now. Close yer eyes, this will take but a moment.”
“If I close me eyes, can I trust ye tae nae pierce me heart wi’ that giant blade.”
“Hm,” she muttered. “Ye’ve given me an idea.” She let her fingers roam across his chest. “Would yer heart be somewhere near here?”
Laughing, he clutched at her hand. “Me thumb is here.” He stroked his thumb across her cheek and she seized his hand and pulled it down, her cheeks burning.
Taking the needle, she hovered it over his large thumb. She looked up, her heart thumping. “I cannae. I cannae inflict the pain on ye and make ye bleed.”
“Ah lass,” he said, laughing. “Ye’ll ne’er make a warrior if ye hesitate tae cause a wound.”
She sat up, huffing indignantly. “Ye’re nae me enemy, Ewan Mackenzie, but me husband. I’ve nay wish tae cause ye pain.”
He folded his hand over her and took the needle.
“There.” He thrust it into roughly into the pad of his thumb and beads of blood immediately appeared. He pressed his thumb across the sheet so that there was a smear of blood and a smattering of drops where the two of them had laid in the night.
“That will convince them. There’s nay set amount of blood that comes from the loss of the maidenhead. The Council will be satisfied with that fer the sign they wish fer.”
Tyra pulled the sheet from the bed and was folding it as a knock came to the door. A scullery maid entered bearing their porridge, bannocks, boiled eggs and cheese.
Ewan took his seat beside her. “The Council can cool their heels until we have finished breaking our fast. Then I must go tae me study where I’ll meet with them and hand them the sheet.”
He grinned at her and brushed her hand lightly with his. “I thank ye fer yer help, Lady Mackenzie. Yet I dae believe ye’ve a long way tae go before ye’ll make a suitably bloodthirsty warrior.”
She laughed, her heart warming at his touch.