Chapter 9
Marcas stood with a stern expression on his face as he waited for Kirsten to answer.
Her positive feelings faded, as did Caitriona’s.
All the excitement and the energy that had grown between them during the act of preparing the meal had suddenly dissipated with Marcas’s arrival.
Instead of being excited at the sight before him, he was stern and suspicious.
Kirsten was only just beginning to understand the magnitude of the task ahead.
“I thought I would dae something nice for ye, tae commemorate our wedding, and tae give us a chance tae spend some time taegether.” Her words faltered.
The memories of him shouting at the guard flashed through her mind, and she was afraid that the same fate would befall her.
He radiated angry energy; Caitriona surreptitiously backed away from the room, leaving Kirsten alone with her husband.
Why was such a simple thing as cooking a meal so fraught with danger and threat?
Marcas tilted his head and cast his gaze across the table that had been set out.
He approached the empty seat and looked down at the plate.
He pressed his fingers into the mushroom and the black pudding, testing the consistency of them.
He then brought his finger to his nose and inhaled the scent deeply.
He showed no sign of approval or disapproval, so Kirsten wasn’t entirely sure what to think.
“If ye would prefer tae get washed first, I’m sure the food can wait,” she said in a small voice, glancing at his mud-spattered body, wondering what he had been through to get in such a state.
Marcas shook his head, but he did not say anything.
He merely sat down in his chair and picked up a fork, then attacked the food without hesitation.
Watching him eat was like watching a starving, wild animal come across a carcass.
He shoved food in his mouth and chewed noisily, and she assumed that it was to his liking because he didn’t stop until most of the food had disappeared from the plate.
He took a moment to belch, which was the only semblance of a conversation he made for some time.
She had hoped that he would break the silence, perhaps by asking her where she had learned that chanterelle mushrooms were his favorite, or by inquiring how her first day as his wife had gone, or even perhaps with a sweet remark about the night they had shared together.
Instead, she might as well have not been there at all, and she realized it was going to be up to her to break the silence.
“What happened tae make ye sae muddy? Ye look like ye hae been rolling around with the cattle,” she teased, trying to elicit a smile or some kind of amusement.
Marcas looked up towards her, his face long and drawn, no humor in his eyes at all.
He chewed slowly, and when he spoke, his words dropped like stones into a lake.
“I was training with the guards,” he said, his voice blunt.
“Dae ye dae that often?”
“Now and then. They need tae be reminded of their duties sometimes.” There was an edge to his voice.
Kirsten wondered if he had trained them hard because of the mistake the guard had made in letting the intruder through.
Looking at his powerful body, she did not envy them if they were at the mercy of his brute strength.
The mud was dry, and as he ate, it flaked off his arms and shoulders, falling to the floor.
For once, Max was absent from his company.
Marcas was not the kind of man who seemed used to conversation.
The answers he gave were blunt and short, and he never tried to add to the conversation with his own questions.
Kirsten was determined to get to know her husband, though.
She was wary of asking anything too personal, so she skirted around anything to do with his parents or his feelings, and instead tried to stay in the safe range of hobbies and general interests.
“I can tell ye must train a lot by looking at ye. Ye must enjoy sparring,” she said.
“I dae. And we must train. We must be strong. If ye show any sign of weakness, then people take advantage of ye.”
Kirsten wasn’t sure she entirely agreed, but she let the comment pass without disputing it. “What else dae ye like?” she asked.
“Anything that makes me strong. I like swimming, training with weapons, horse riding.” The only things he mentioned were physical activities rather than intellectual ones. Kirsten thought about the book of poetry she had seen in his bedchamber.
“What about reading?”
Marcas paused eating and looked at her with derision. “I dinnae read. Ye cannae win a fight by reading.”
Kirsten was filled with dismay. Seeing the book of poetry had given her a glimmer of hope that there was a sensitive part of his soul, but it seemed as though even that was too much to wish for.
He was a hard man who liked to be out in the world, challenging himself against all the rigors the world could throw at him.
In his mind, the only valuable attributes were physical ones, and the measure of a man was through his strength and ability to defend the things he loved.
It was a natural response to losing his father in such a terrible way, but it didn’t make him any easier to connect with, or any easier to like.
She thought back to what he had mentioned earlier and declined to comment on his book of poetry.
She decided she might ask him about that later.
“I always wanted tae own a horse, but my father said it was tae dangerous for a girl. He thought a lot of things were dangerous for a girl.” Kirsten’s mind traveled back to when she was younger.
She remembered standing there, watching Ramsay and Neil train with weapons and ride around with horses, a cloud of dust rising as the horses galloped around the dusty track.
“There were times when he or my brothers would put me on horseback and allowed me tae ride with them. I used tae love it—the freedom of sitting on a horse and feeling the wind rush around me, the feeling of the animal underneath me, sae alive and vibrant—but I was never allowed tae ride one by myself. One of my cousins, Islay, never paid any attention tae that. She always did what she wanted tae dae no matter what, and naething could stop her. But I wasnae like that. I always did what my da told me tae dae.”
“Aye, well, sometimes fathers dinnae tell ye the right thing. But horses are dangerous if ye dinnae know how tae handle one. They can buck and throw ye off, and if ye arenae careful, they can trample ye. And if ye get behind one that doesnae like ye, its kick can send ye flying. They hae minds of their own, but once ye win the trust of one, it’s the most wonderful thing in the world.
Ye can feel a bond with them even though ye dinnae exchange any words.
Ye can trust each other and know it just by looking in their eyes.
” As Marcas said this, his gaze lifted, and their eyes met across the table.
Kirsten wondered if he was like a horse and she just needed to bond with him.
“If ye like, I can teach ye. It’s never tae late tae learn,” he said. It was the first time he had shown any kind of interest in spending time with her. She was unable to stop a smile from spreading across her face.
“That would be lovely! Perhaps ye can teach me tae swing a sword tae,” she said.
Marcas actually laughed at this. “Maybe ye would be better suited tae a bow and arrow. Ye would be dragging a sword along the ground,” he chuckled, and the laughter only grew into this rumbling, swelling noise that filled the room.
He leaned back and placed his hands on his belly, evidently finding something hilarious about the image of her wielding a sword.
Kirsten didn’t mind being the butt of the joke, though.
If it endeared Marcas to her and helped to traverse the distance between them, he could laugh at her all he wanted.
She was so tempted to ask him more about his past and what happened to his parents, but she had to quell her instincts to pry because she knew he would just clamp his mouth shut, and they would return to the same quiet resolve as before.
There was time for that later. She had the whole of the rest of their lives to learn the secrets of his heart; there was no need to rush into things and threaten to scare him away.
That was the same reason why she didn’t ask him about the way he berated the guard earlier.
She didn’t want to say anything that might upset him or give him cause to cut short their meal.
“How old were ye when ye learned tae ride and fight?” she asked, happy to continue talking to him even if she was confined to these topics. But she also knew that even general subjects could lead to other personal information being revealed.
“Truth be told, I cannae remember a time when I didnae know how tae fight. Da wanted me tae be prepared for life, sae he set me about learning tae ride and fight as soon as possible.” A smirk appeared on his face, making him seem more human than stone.
“I remember the first horse I had, a wee thing, the runt of the litter. He had a brown mark on his thigh, so I called him Puddle. Aye, a good horse he was. We went everywhere taegether, until I grew old enough where my legs didnae dangle down anymore, but scraped against the ground. I used tae pull them up sae that I could still ride him, but eventually, I grew tae much, and he couldnae bear my weight any longer. It was a sad day when I haed tae stop riding him. I dinnae know if he understood why we haed tae stop…” He trailed off as he lost himself in the memory.
Kirsten could imagine him as a boy, talking to Puddle and trying to explain to the horse that they couldn’t ride together anymore.
Marcas had a great affinity and tenderness for animals, which was genuinely touching.
It showed that he could care about something other than himself.
But how could he be so kind and compassionate towards animals, and yet so cruel with people?
Marcas continued speaking and told her about another memory of childhood, of his first sword.
“It was an old wooden thing, but it could hurt when ye were slapped by it. Da used tae spar with me. I thought I was the best warrior in the land because I could usually win against him. I was all high and mighty until one day when I grew old enough, and he told me that he haed been letting me win. When he gave me a real sword, I saw what fighting really was. He put me on my backside with one stroke, and I knew that I haed tae learn everything again.” Emotion glistened in his eyes.
“Yer da sounds like he was a wonderful man,” Kirsten said.
She tilted her head forward and hoped that he might offer some elaboration on their relationship, but instead, he pressed his lips together and scooped up the remaining morsels of food on his plate.
He shoved the food in his mouth and chewed loudly, before letting his fork fall onto the plate with a clatter.
Kirsten was at least pleased that she had cooked him a meal he enjoyed.
“Well, that was a fine meal,” he said, leaning back and patting his belly. “I dae like the mushrooms. They were cooked just the way I like them.”
Kirsten could not hide the wide smile from her face. “I heard that they were yer favorite. I haed some help from one of the kitchen servants, but I’m glad ye like the meal.”
“I dae, thank ye,” he said, and smiled at her.
It was the first time since they had met that she felt as though he was truly looking at her and appreciating spending time with her.
There were still so many things she wanted to ask him and talk about, but she had to quell her trembling heart and remind herself to be patient.
She had hope that this could be the beginning of something special and could be the turning point in their marriage.
After all, she thought, Marcas seems tae be a pragmatic man, and he must realize that I will be sticking around for the rest of his life. He might as well try and be close to me rather than treat me like a stranger or an enemy. I am his wife, and at some point, he will have tae rely on me.