Chapter Three
The ride to Strathspey, the Grant stronghold, was an enlightening one. Brenna observed her new husband when he wasn’t looking, which was hardly ever. While he’d seemed rather serious previously, he’d fallen in with the retainers in a bit of joking and fun.
“I grew up making mischief with Will and Hugh, as well as Ewan, though he isn’t here,” he’d told her. The last part was said quieter.
She’d recognized that name from the night before, the man who’d caused their hurried alliance. Brenna still didn’t know what he’d done, and with the other men riding so closely, she didn’t dare ask.
Her husband became more serious as they descended the rise that would lead them to the castle.
A stern frown had taken the place of the earlier grin.
She worried Strathspey might not be the refuge she’d hoped it to be if he wasn’t happy to be there.
But all the Grants she’d met so far had been kind to her.
Despite his callous words in his chamber, even his grandsire seemed pleased to chat with her along the way.
In the bailey, the people poured out to greet them.
“I see you’ve all been celebrating without us,” the laird said jovially.
A few women came forward to greet her. One placed a laurel wreath on her head, claiming her as their guest of honor.
She was pulled into the great hall, filled with laughter and delicious scents that made her stomach growl.
She was led to the high table to be seated beside Ronan, to the right of the laird—except a man was already in her seat.
His dark hair hung in straggly clumps past his shoulders and matched his unkempt beard.
But it was the icy gaze boring into her that made her blood turn cold.
She’d thought him a man, but the longer she remained trapped in his gaze, the more she felt as if she were looking into the eyes of a soulless demon.
His eyes held hardly any color, and she shuddered from the chill.
“Make room for the bride, Ewan,” Ronan ordered, giving the man a playful shove.
Taking the seat Ronan offered her, she caught the scent of sour whiskey and body odor from her husband’s kin, which caused her earlier appetite to retreat. She placed a hand on her face and swallowed deeply to keep from being ill.
This man was a childhood friend and uncle to her husband. But unlike Will and Hugh, who had traveled with them from Innes House, this man didn’t look like he’d ever laughed in his entire life.
“She’s not much to look at, is she?” the man said with the slurred speech of drunkenness.
Beside her, Ronan stiffened. “Watch your tongue, man. This is not her fault.”
“Nay. ’Tis mine. I’ll never forgive myself for this. I should have been the one shackled to her, not ye.”
Brenna pressed her lips tightly together to keep from shouting out how that would have never happened. She didn’t care if she’d had to start a war with all of Scotland; she would have found a way to free herself from this wretch.
“If ye canna be civil, I’d ask you to leave,” the laird said. “Ye’ve done enough.”
The hall fell silent as the man to her right stood and swayed.
“I’ll take it to my bed, but first, a toast to the happy couple,” he said, grabbing his glass and hoisting it into the air. “To my wee nephew and his new bride. May ye survive the bedding so ye can return to rutting the fairer lassies.”
Years of suffering Hannah’s comments had hardened Brenna against such taunts and gave her the strength to sit there with her head held high.
Nothing irritated her sister more than seeing she couldn’t make Brenna cower away in tears.
This man was much the same as her sister, and she’d not give him the satisfaction, either.
The man made to leave but tripped and fell with a thud to the stones where he remained, eyes closed as the maids served the meal around him.
“My apologies,” Ronan said. “He’s angry but shouldn’t have said such a horrible thing.”
Brenna nodded, though she had noticed he hadn’t assured her he didn’t plan to take up with other women after their marriage was consummated. She spent much of the rest of the meal wondering about what came next.
Eventually, the maids came to clear their food. Brenna frowned at the meal she hadn’t managed to eat. She was never one to let food go to waste, but she was far too nervous.
The laird cleared his throat, and when Brenna looked up, she watched her new husband and his grandfather share a silent conversation. She understood what the laird was implying with his raised white eyebrows. It was time for the bedding.
“Are ye ready to go to my chamber?” Ronan asked, quiet enough that only she would hear.
She swallowed and answered. “Yes. If you are.”
He offered her his arm with a stiff nod and led her from the hall. They’d nearly made it to the door when someone noticed their departure and howled a crude suggestion. Others joined in, but Ronan kept her hand and hurried their pace out of the hall.
“My apologies,” he said again.
“No matter, they’re just having a bit of fun.” She was nevertheless glad to be away from the teasing.
“At our expense,” he said with a scowl.
“You’ve got broad shoulders, and it doesn’t bother me overmuch. I’ve endured my share of name-calling. This was not so bad.”
His brows creased even more. “No one will call you names now that you’re my wife. I won’t stand for it. You’ll let me know right away, and I will handle it.” The fierceness in his eyes tempered quickly. “Or if I’m not nearby, speak to my grandsire. He’ll address it.”
Her initial flush of warmth at his concern withered. So quickly he wriggled out of taking care of her.
“Aye,” she murmured.
He pushed open the door to his chamber and nodded for her to go in before him. Everything was as she’d expected. Thick, dark fabrics were everywhere, and nothing was out of place. A pitcher holding a few fresh flowers sat on a table in the corner. Perhaps a maid’s kind welcome.
“If you feel you’re not ready to do this, we can put it off,” he said, briefly meeting her eyes.
“But the marriage isn’t official until we’ve consummated it.” There was still a chance he could change his mind until their marriage was legitimate. Despite everything, she didn’t want that.
“Aye, but no one would know what happens in our bed but us.”
“Are you suggesting a lie, husband?”
“I am suggesting I don’t like forcing myself on a lass who’s not willing.”
“But I am willing,” she nearly shouted in exasperation.
Was she ready to lie with him? She had many questions and worries about the act.
Hannah had given her more advice than Brenna expected a virgin to have, but she wasn’t sure how much of it was true.
No doubt Hannah had embellished the truth to frighten her.
She’d never been so nervous, not when she’d jumped from the cliff into the loch, nor when she’d stood up on Brimstone’s back for the first time. Those things had frightened her initially, but they’d also brought her much joy.
This was sure to be the same. At least, she hoped so. She knew she would do what was needed to make this marriage work. This was her chance to start fresh, to cast off the reckless reputation that made her a laughingstock at Innes House.
To earn her husband’s approval and, perhaps, one day, his heart.
***
Ronan’s bride stood before the hearth, looking at the floor instead of at him.
Despite Brenna’s outburst about being ready, he could see the truth in her worried greenish eyes and the stiff set of her shoulders.
She seemed determined to have this happen tonight, which fit his plans nicely, so he persevered.
“Please don’t be afraid,” he said as gently as he would to soothe a newborn colt.
“I’m not afraid,” she said so quickly and firmly that he had no choice but to believe her.
“Do you understand what is to happen between us now?” he asked, his nerves getting the best of him. Maybe he should have had more ale before bringing her to his chamber. He was not a green lad, but he’d never taken a lass’s virginity before, either, and it seemed a great responsibility.
“Aye,” she said crisply. “I will lie on the bed. You will lie atop of me and put your—” She waved in the direction of his groin as her cheeks turned pink. “There will be some pain, but I’m not to whimper or cry out, for it might disconcert you and impede your enjoyment.”
Impede his enjoyment? God’s balls. Who had taught her about relations between men and women? It sounded like torture. No wonder the lass was terrified. “I’ll try my best to be gentle. If you do cry out, don’t fret. I’ll not be angry or…disconcerted.”
She nodded and reached around the back of her gown. She undid her own laces, and her gown dropped in a pile at her feet.
“You don’t require help to undress?”
She blinked. “Oh, no. I learned to do it myself so I could go swimming whenever I wanted. I couldn’t take a maid with me. She might have told my mother, and I would have been scolded for being unladylike.”
Ronan wondered how often she’d been scolded for such a thing and was oddly proud that it hadn’t changed her. His bride was many things, but she was true to herself, and he admired that quality considerably in a man, so why not a woman?
She stepped out of her dress and removed her shoes and stockings as if it were a race.
“Slow down. We have all night.”
She bit her lip. “I’m sorry I’m not more to your liking,” she whispered, covering herself with her thin arms. “Hannah said men sometimes wish to put out the candles so as not to have to look at their partner if she is not to his taste. She told me to expect such a thing tonight.”