Chapter Fourteen
Apparently being knocked out for two days
had given her all the rest she needed for Veronica awoke at the
same early hour as Lachlan, a rooster literally crowing in the
distance. Sitting up, she gave the bedroom a once-over. She quickly
ascertained her first impression of it had been correct. It was
big, but it was stark. No decorations of any kind adorned the
walls. For some reason that fact depressed her a bit. Maybe it was
because she’d missed seeing the emblems of a normal home during the
four years she’d been on the run for her life. Other than a hearth
and a small wooden table with two chairs near to it, there were no
signs of a life pleasantly lived in this bedroom. Just then she
noticed a large chest. She wondered if that was where Lachlan kept
his clothing.
Veronica didn’t have to wonder for long. The
huge and very naked laird made his way over to the chest and opened
it. He pulled out a white wool shirt and a black and blue kilt. She
knew she should look away, but couldn’t seem to. The man, so
muscular and riddled with battle scars, was a sight to behold. His
nakedness delineated how powerfully he was built. Everything about
him was strong and muscled, including his perfect ass. She blew out
a small breath, the sight more arousing than it should have
been.
“Morn, wife,” Lachlan said without looking
at her. He began to dress.
She cleared her throat. “Good morning.”
“A wardrobe is being made to hold your
clothing,” he continued. “’Twill take mayhap a sennight, mayhap
less. Until then, your borrowed dresses are in my chest and your
borrowed shoes beside it. I trust everything will fit.”
She remembered his words from the night
prior. “Please thank your sister for lending me the clothes and
shoes,” Veronica said softly. “That was very nice of her.”
“You will meet her at the nooning meal.
Mayhap ‘twould be better did you give her your thanks in my
stead.”
“You are leaving?”
“Aye.”
“Where? Why?”
She could see one of his eyebrows raise in
profile. “You have a care?”
“Well… yeah. Do you want me not to
care?”
“Nay.” He sat on one of the chairs to put on
his boots. “I’m simply not accustomed to having anyone ask me of my
intended whereaboots.”
That confession confused her. “Because you
don’t want them to know or because they aren’t interested?”
He shrugged. “I’m simply not used to
explaining myself. ’Tis the way of it, that.” He finished putting
on his kilt before turning to her. “I ride to the borderlands
betwixt the Gunns and the Campbells. I shan’t be gone
o’erlong.”
It was still morning and Lachlan had spoken
as if he wouldn’t be returning for lunch. How long constituted
“overlong” to him? She decided against asking, not wanting to
appear too nosy to a man unaccustomed to giving information to
anyone. Still, the last time he’d gone to the borderlands she
hadn’t seen him for another week. “Can I go with you?” she asked
instead. “I’m a good fighter and can take care of myself.”
Finally, he gave her his dark, stoic gaze.
“You can ride a horse?”
“I grew up on a farm. Yes.”
He seemed pleased by her response, but still
said no. “Not this morn, wife. You’re the new Lady Gunn. The
clanswomen will expect to be seeing you aboot the keep, not out
riding a destrier. Leastways, you will wear a bliaut this day.”
Veronica quasi-frowned. She wasn’t really a
dress person, but supposed she had better get used to wearing one
if she hoped to fit in here. Still…
“Do you wish for me to dress you, wife?”
Her head snapped up. She swallowed a bit
roughly, unwanted arousal coiling in her belly again. What was the
man doing to her? Her reactions to him made little sense. It was
way too soon for thoughts of a carnal nature. Especially after last
night’s speech about giving her time to acclimate herself to this
world before consummating with Lachlan.
She couldn’t be certain, but the laird’s
sparkling eyes seemed to indicate he was teasing her. She decided
to give him a taste of his own medicine. “Yes,” she said,
inordinately amused when he practically tripped at her confession.
“I don’t know how to wear a dress. I also don’t know if any of
those gowns will fit me.”
Lachlan stared at her for a suspended
moment. “You are full of surprises and contradictions. Verra well.
Stand up and I will dress you.”
Veronica did as he bade, taking to her feet
and pulling the chemise over her head. She threw it onto the bed
and, fully nude, stood before him. She realized she was supposed to
keep the chemise on under whatever gown he brought over, but she
could hardly get his goat that way. What had come over her? She was
like a sealion baiting a great white shark.
His dark, unreadable gaze raked over her
body, stilling when it reached her most intimate areas. His stare
made that knot come back, arousal pervading her entire body. Her
nipples hardened and distended as her clit throbbed. It had been a
long time. A very long time.
She couldn’t tell if he was aroused. His
gaze, as always, was indiscernible. The tenting at his kilt’s front
answered her question. For some reason the knowledge of his
erection made her feel beautiful and powerful. He was right, she
mentally conceded. She was full of contradictions. Then again, he
had a way of turning her brains to mush.
“You must put the chemise back on,” he said
thickly. “You will wear it under your bliaut.”
He helped her put it back on. “Thank you,”
Veronica weakly said. She decided she wasn’t just baiting a great
white shark, she was baiting a goddamned megalodon. Not her
smartest move.
Dressing her seemed to take a while. Either
Lachlan was moving exceedingly slow on purpose or the dress was a
tough bit of business. Quite frankly, she hadn’t expected to be
draped in a gown like the ones she’d seen in ancient paintings of
English ladies. She had assumed she’d be dressed similarly to the
female servants she’d met last night, a long kilt covering her.
Perhaps gowns separated ladies from…whatever other women were
called? She didn’t know and didn’t ask.
“I could have managed this on my own,” she
quietly admitted. “I thought the gown was going to be similar to
your kilt and require pleating.”
“You are neither servant nor peasant,” he
murmured, confirming her previous suspicion. “You are a lady—my
lady—the lady of Castle Cumhacht. You must dress your station.”
She grabbed his hand after he finished tying
the braided golden ribbon around her hips. “This is why I don’t
want to be left alone with the other women,” she whispered. “I
don’t know how to behave, how to act.”
He looked at her hand. An unnamable
expression crossed his face. “Victor will stay with you. He dinna
ken our ways for the longest, but he’s proficient in his knowledge
now.”
Her brother. The one and only sibling she’d
gone through hell and back to find and be with. How had he escaped
her thoughts? She blamed the laird for her frazzled state. “He
doesn’t know how women should behave.” For now at least, she
wanted to blend in. She’d consider her options later. All that
aside, she doubted Victor had picked up on ladies’ conversations
and fashions if the only lady around here was her. “Has he been in
contact with a lady here?”
“Aye. My mother and sister. Everra day.”
“Oh.” That tempered Veronica’s nerves
somewhat. “Okay.”
“You look quite beautiful,” Lachlan said
hoarsely, taking her off-guard. “A proper lady. Come.” He grabbed
her hand, which was still resting on his, and nudged her along.
“See for yourself in the looking glass.”
It was less of a mirror and more of a large
piece of well-polished silver. To her surprise, it worked. She
couldn’t see her image with the precision of a mirror, but it was
close enough. The floor-length gown was a brilliant green with gold
lacing that cinched below her breasts. A thin, gold, braided belt
of sorts graced her hips. Her shoulders were bare, her sleeves
long, and her bosom pressed up and slightly out.
Veronica ignored the latter observation and
concentrated on the overall picture. The dress truly was pretty.
Its color complimented her eyes and amber skin tone. “Thank you,”
she said simply.
“Thank my sister at the nooning meal,” he
reminded her. “I must take my leave the soonest. Victor resides in
the bedchamber next to ours.”
She nodded. As Lachlan turned to leave, she
reached for his arm again. It was as strong and steely as the rest
of him. “Thank you,” she said pointedly, “for everything. For
saving my brother, for taking us both in, and for being
understanding about last night. I mean it. Thank you.”
He slowly inclined his head. “You are
welcome, milady.”
*****
Lachlan rolled his eyes at Euan, the laird
of Clan Campbell. He was losing his patience with the cranky
bastard quickly. ‘Twas nigh unto ridiculous he’d been asked to come
to the borderlands o’er something so trite as this. “You wished to
see me o’er a basin of water?” His steed as irritated as he was,
Lachlan brought him under control as he stared down Euan. “You
waste my time, old mon!”
The two lairds, both on horseback, glared at
each other. “My son James saw Finn and Ramsay lead a procession
into this verra borderland,” Euan accused. “Even spoke to them. Why
dump the basin here if you dinna intend to poison my people?”
“Are your people poisoned?” Lachlan drolly
inquired.
Euan’s face turned as red as the plaid he
wore. “Nay,” he sputtered. He frowned severely as he jabbed a
finger in the direction of Finn and Ramsay. “Leastways, not
yet!”
Lachlan dinna ken why his two most trusted
warriors had taken his wife’s basin this far off Gunn lands to
drain it, but he refused to question them in front of another
clan’s laird and three of his men. ‘Twould be an insult, that. “If
ever your clan is actually poisoned,” he growled, “then and only
then send a messenger to me.”
“If my clan gets poisoned ‘twill be war, not
a messenger!”
One of Lachlan’s eyebrows rose. “You