Chapter Thirteen #2
Veronica breathed out. “Like after I’ve at least recovered.”
He shrugged. “’Tis naught to discuss. I wed
with you yestereve. ‘Tis only a matter of consummation now.”
“How could you have married a sleeping
woman?” she challenged. Her eyes rounded into saucers. “I couldn’t
exactly say yes or no!” She was losing the thread of the
conversation and possibly her mind. She grabbed both sides of her
head. “That makes no sense!”
“Aye, in my world ‘tis truth.”
“How?” She jabbed a finger towards him. “I
don’t believe you can marry a sleeping woman for a second! I’m not
that damn gullible.”
Lachlan’s eyebrows snapped together. “You
dinna ken I can and did marry you with Victor in your stead?”
Her head developed a slight ache. “You
married my brother?” she weakly inquired.
His cheeks flushed as he frowned severely.
“Nay, lady, I wed with you. Your brother gave the priest your ‘aye’
for you.”
Veronica decided she hadn’t just time
traveled—she had fallen through the rabbit hole too. “That actually
constitutes a legal marriage here?”
He slowly inclined his head. “It does.”
Her brother was a dead man walking. Or
sleeping as it probably was. Victor knew better! What in the name
of God had he been thinking? Ironically, Veronica was angrier with
her damned brother than she was with Laird Kong. This new
development was the last thing she had expected to hear. She raised
a dramatic palm to her forehead. “I take it this is our
bedroom and not just my bedroom?”
“Aye.”
“But we barely know each other!” she quietly
hissed, not wanting to be overheard. “How am I supposed to sleep
next to you, much less, as you so eloquently called it,
consummate?”
“How do brides go aboot it in your
time?”
“They don’t!” she hysterically informed him.
“Marriage happens after a lengthy courtship followed by a proposal
and an acceptance of that proposal by the woman!”
“’Tis a pity, that. Leastways, you will
figure out how to accept your fate.”
She blinked. Her jaw fell open. “Well you’ve
got that all wrapped up and tied in a neat little bow.”
“Eh?”
“Never mind.” She waved that away. Veronica
was too focused on her deceitful brother and the entire marriage
proclamation to give the pending consummation much thought. Sex she
could deal with, but marriage? She had never envisioned herself
living with a man, much less marrying one, but this was a different
world. She didn’t know what to think or how to feel. It was all too
new. “Why would Victor agree to this?”
He shrugged. It was an action he did often
and one that was starting to annoy her somewhat.
“I told him he would go back to the dungeon
if he dinna give me his ‘aye’ on your behalf.” Lachlan’s expression
was matter-of-fact, as if everything he said made sense. “So he
gave me and Father Archer your ‘aye.’”
She supposed Father Archer was the name of
the priest who’d wed them. “I see.” Her eyes narrowed. “You were
actually going to put Victor in a dungeon if he didn’t say yes to
the marriage?”
“Nay. I just told him ‘twas what would
happen.”
The man truly had no shame. He’d admit to
anything with nary a blink. His naked honesty was slightly
exasperating. Not to mention, she begrudgingly conceded, annoyingly
admirable. Most men would stand there equivocating; this one owned
up to his misdeeds without hesitation. Though, in all likelihood,
the giant probably didn’t view his actions as misdeeds.
Veronica fell back onto the bed as her anger
towards Victor began to recede. Her poor brother had probably been
terrified of the fate that he believed awaited him. Victor was a
nerdy if handsome AI scientist, not a soldier. He wouldn’t have
lasted one day in a dark, dreary dungeon. Something Lachlan had
said finally penetrated. “I told him he would go back to the
dungeon if he dinna give me his ‘aye’ on your behalf.” He would
go back to the dungeon?
“You put my brother in a damned dungeon
before?”
“Aye.”
Her frown was severe. “Why? When? For how
long?”
“I dinna believe his tale of time travels
when first I found him. He dwelled within the dungeon for some
months. Leastways, he was well taken care of. He wanted for
nothing.”
“He likely needed fresh air and
sunlight!”
Lachlan shrugged again—yeah, that reaction
was growing irritating for sure. “His cell was well lit during the
days. Leastways, in my position, what would you have done?”
That took the wind out of her sails.
Nothing. She wouldn’t have done anything differently. “I take your
point.”
Lost in her thoughts, Veronica was taken by
surprise when the doors to the bedroom opened and female servants
walked in carrying a trencher of food and a jug of presumed drink.
She slowly sat back up, careful to maintain her modesty by keeping
the covers over her chemise-clad breasts.
“Milady,” the oldest looking of the servants
said on a curtsy. “I am Maisie. This here is Isla and Ailsa. We are
honored to make your acquaintance and welcome you to your new
home.”
Uncertain what to say, Veronica hesitantly
smiled. “The honor is mine,” she said dumbly. It didn’t feel like
enough so she scrambled for more words. “I appreciate you bringing
me food at this late hour.”
The servants beamed at her faint praise. She
supposed that was a good thing.
“You will see them again in the morn,”
Lachlan finally said, shooing the servants from his bedroom.
His actions were, per usual, high handed,
but Veronica said nothing. She was still at her wit’s end trying to
take in the totality of what was now her life. From a plague
survivor to a hostage bride within the blink of an eye. It was a
lot. She sighed, knowing there could be worse fates. At least Kong
over there was handsome and honest to a fault. At least she was
whatever a lady is and not a servant or peasant. Out of all the
would-be scenarios, her lot wasn’t so bad. Was it? Deep in thought,
she almost didn’t notice when Lachlan stood over her holding a
trencher of foodstuffs and a goblet of some liquid or another.
“Eat and drink, lady,” the laird ordered
her. “’Twill make you feel better.”
She didn’t bother arguing. Situating herself
in the bed, she accepted the crude tray that carried a gutted loaf
of bread with stew inside it, an apple, a wedge of cheese, and what
appeared to be some manner of a tart. Her stomach again rumbled,
letting her know it wanted fed. Uncertain how to eat the stew, she
went for the apple first.
“You need meat,” Lachlan announced. “Not
just a piece of fruit.”
The apple was sweet and juicy. It tasted
good to her. “You didn’t give me any utensils to eat it with.”
“Utensils?”
“You know…utensils.” Maybe that was only a
modern Gaelic word and not an ancient one. She didn’t know. “A
spoon?” she hesitantly asked.
“Oh aye—a spoon.” He located the overly
large wooden thing and handed it to her. “I eat it with my hands. I
forgot that ladies prefer a spoon.”
Only ladies used spoons? Good grief.
Veronica didn’t ask for clarification and truly didn’t want it. She
was too hungry to care at the moment. Digging into the stew with
what could give a ladle a run for its money, she took a bite and
was pleasantly surprised by its quality. She didn’t know what it
was made from and supposed she wouldn’t want to know anyway as it
had likely been alive at one time. There was only so much she could
handle in a day. Nevertheless, the stew was warm, filling, and
tasty.
“Drink,” Lachlan quietly commanded, holding
out a goblet. “Afore you choke from eating too fast.”
Veronica frowned at the small chiding, but
took the goblet. She downed a tentative sip. “What is this?” Like
the food, it was surprisingly good. “I like it.”
“Mead,” he offered. “’Tis made from
honey.”
Obviously the honey had been fermented
because it took but three sips before a small buzz kicked in. “I
really like this,” she said, grinning. “Thank you, Laird Kong.”
“Gunn.” He grunted. “Laird Gunn. Leastways,
to you I am ‘husband.’”
Oh right. He had no clue who King Kong was.
Maybe she’d try to explain it later or perhaps she wouldn’t. Right
now she was too busy eating and getting her buzz on, the latter
being something else she hadn’t been able to indulge in for four
years. The wine aboard ship had been weak by comparison and she’d
been careful not to self-indulge anyway to stay on the safe,
vigilant side of things.
She ate until she was full, which ended up
being almost everything, and downed the remaining mead. She decided
to save the tart for later.
“Look,” Veronica said to the giant who
continuously hovered over her, “I will behave however a wife is
supposed to behave in front of others.” Lachlan refilled her
goblet. She took another sip of mead. “But you’ve got to compromise
with me here. I’ll sleep next to you, but we’re not, uh,
consummating, until I’m ready.”
He frowned. His arms crossed over his chest
again.
“I’m trying to meet you halfway here,”
Veronica explained. “But I can only meet you halfway if you give me
the same courtesy.”
Lachlan clearly didn’t like her decision in
the slightest. An irritated growl erupted from his throat.
“I need time, Lachlan. My life has been in
pure chaos for four years and I’ve had little control over any of
it. The last thing I need right now is more of the same. I’m not
saying we’ll never consummate. I’m just saying not yet.”
“You ken you belong to me?”
“Yes.”
“You ken ‘tis my right to have you whenever
I wish?”
“No.” She downed the rest of the goblet and
then did some arm crossing of her own. “I ken that we’ll
have sex when both of us want it and not just when you do.”
He harrumphed at that. “A lady never wants
it! You would have me take a mistress?”
For some unfathomable reason, that thought
didn’t set well with her. Veronica’s frown turned severe. “If you
ever want me to want you, you will wait until I’m ready. No
mistress—ever.”
He splayed his large hands. “What am I to do
until this magical eve comes aboot?”
“You have a hand,” Veronica snapped back.
“Use it!”
*****
Lachlan realized his mouth was hanging open.
It took him a prolonged moment to close it. The wench, now his
wife, was like as naught driving him daft in truth. Mayhap ‘twas
her goal. The one saving grace in this farce of a situation was her
reaction when he’d brought up taking a mistress. Veronica had been
genuinely angry, which he supposed was something of a boon.
Clearly, she wanted no other wenches in his bed.
He tried to remind himself that he had known
of his wife’s existence for much longer than she’d known of his. He
had worried after her and rooted for her whilst she kenned none of
it. He recalled that women from her time were accustomed to being
the mistresses of their own fates and that his demands were likely
much for her to accept all at once.
Lachlan sighed like a martyr. What would the
female servants think if there was no blood on the bedsheets in the
morn? What gossip would they partake in and with whom? Nay. He
couldna allow for that. Removing a dagger from his belt, he took it
to his left hand and cut. Veronica gasped.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked, her
expression mortified.
“Giving you your time,” he muttered. He
pulled the covers back and, Veronica scrambling to her knees, let
the blood from his cut hand fall onto the bedsheets where she would
lie for the remainder of the eve. “The servants must believe we
consummated,” he told her, careful to keep his voice low. When he
was certain there was enough blood let to stain the sheets, he
snatched his hand back and stemmed the bleeding with his right one.
“Dinna worry, wife,” he said sarcastically, “I dinna injure the
hand I’ll be needing.”
*****
Veronica decided against waking her brother,
opting to wait to see him until the morning. She laid in the bed
next to her husband—her husband!—and let the night’s events replay
in her mind. Clearly, the man expected her to be a virgin. She
wasn’t certain she could pretend to be one, much less produce
blood. That presented a definite problem. She found herself
wondering if he’d divorce her when she failed to bleed. The thought
was unexpectedly morose.
Should she be honest with the laird and just
tell him she wasn’t a virgin then sit back and watch how the chips
fell? Veronica genuinely didn’t know. This was more than a novel
situation; she was the first female in history to ever be smack dab
in the middle of a time traveling predicament like this. And if
there had been a culture left on earth that valued virginity when
she’d traveled back in time, she certainly hadn’t been aware of its
existence. That simply wasn’t a consideration in 2075 A.D.
Everything was upside down now. Not
understanding her environment was an overwhelming feeling. She
truly felt like Alice after she’d tumbled down the rabbit hole.
Maybe her situation would seem less surreal after a good night’s
rest? She hoped so.
It took a long while to fall to sleep,
especially with the gigantic barbarian beside her, but Veronica
slumbered like the dead once she did. Her dreams that night were
pleasant. Unfortunately, they also revolved around Lachlan: another
event she didn’t wish to analyze upon waking in the morning.