Chapter 18 - Wedding Night
The house had settled into evening quiet by the time they entered.
Aidan had kept a polite distance. Ever since they had stopped talking in the god-forsaken prison on wheels, he’d made sure to avoid everything Catherine might read as intrusion.
He’d been painfully aware she was angry at him when they had left the Butler estate.
But it wasn’t just that. He had been so sure talking would make her realise the truth.
That he’d been impulsive. But in fact, his own wife distrusted him. Deeply.
It stung.
While he was aware that theft, robbery, fencing, and treason didn’t exactly speak for his integrity, he had never seen himself as anything but honorable.
He wasn’t committing crimes for fun. Every penny he made with his extracurricular activities went back into the families that were depending on him. He had never kept anything for himself.
If he was honest with himself, he could see her impression of him looking horribly accurate. He had not lied. He knew when to retreat. And right at the moment, there was nothing he could do to convince his wife that he was a better man than the one he’d shown to her.
All he could do now was guide her into the living room for their private dinner.
One of these days he’d have to introduce her to his tenants — thankfully that wasn’t an immediate need.
While most fellow Dhorn understood his motivation of marrying a British Lady, he was aware his liaison with her generally was eyed with a lot of distrust.
Many of his tenants were unhappy about a Sasunnach holding direct power above them. Something he’d need to address in due time.
Catherine sat down gracefully, her eyes firmly lowering onto the table — obviously she was back to her wedding strategy. His lips pressed against each other briefly, then he sat down himself.
Mistress Jones was serving them their meal, and Aidan rolled his eyes at the pointed looks of his cook.
The irony of it all didn’t go unnoticed.
In Kilkenny, their marriage was received as a happy event for both of them.
Here, in his own house? No tenant would ever think Aidan betrayed his own people once word about their first shared meal had spread.
He wasn’t hungry. His wife didn’t seem to have much of an appetite either.
Both of them pretended to eat more than they actually did.
Aidan had hoped for this evening to play out differently — the meal reflected it.
He didn’t usually have several courses. He had not meant to throw Catherine head over heels into the much simpler life she’d have to face here at O’Donell House, though.
He noticed Catherine slowing down even more once they drew closer to dessert. The soft clink of cutlery sounded louder than it should have. Mistress Jones was back, politely asking if Catherine was ready. Aidan caught her looking up at the cook with wide eyes, shaking her head firmly.
“I’m not finished yet. It’s truly delicious,” she complimented.
Aidan could see the Mistress’s nose scrunch when she stared at the food barely touched. She didn’t comment on it, though. She took Aidan’s plate and cast him a quizzical look instead. He offered a tiny shrug in response.
It earned him a narrowing of her eyes and a brief jerk of her chin upwards before she left again.
With nothing to do until Catherine would have finished her own plate, Aidan started to watch her more intently — although he tried to keep it discreet.
The fork clanked once against the plate — too loud in the stillness.
The way she took a thirsty sip of her wine, only to shake her head at it suddenly.
She put down the glass a little too hard.
The liquid inside rippled against the rim.
When Mistress Jones returned with the dessert — her famous apple tart — Catherine seemed almost desperate to compliment her on the scent, texture, and taste of it.
His cook and housekeeper warmed visibly to his wife and answered her questions in detail.
A warm smile blossomed on the older woman’s face.
“All O’Donells love this dish, m’Lady. Hopefully the next generation will follow in their parents’ and grandparents’ footsteps.”
The innocent remark caused every single bit of colour to drain from his wife’s face.
She hastily buried her expression behind a fork of tart, her knuckles white with the force of her grip.
Aidan lowered his eyes intently on his own plate.
The sweet, acidic taste caused a very dry feeling in his mouth suddenly.
He suddenly could relate very well with Catherine’s strategy.
The time came. No matter how hard both of them tried, the dinner inevitably came to an end. He rose. His hands felt stiff when he politely drew back her chair.
Catherine’s hand came to rest in the crook of his elbow. Her fingers were so cold he could feel the chill through the several layers of fabric separating them.
Aidan was very aware of her suddenly. The space between them suddenly felt too small. He could hear her breath hitch when they climbed the stairs towards their respective chambers. Her steps were light, but hesitant.
He guided her to her door. Stopped at the doorframe.
She finally turned toward him, her eyes unable to meet his face.
Warmth spread through the knots his stomach tried coiling into. Brave. Stubborn. And so afraid.
His hand brushed against her chin, and he gently tilted her face up. She let him — reluctantly. Her chin felt heavy against his fingers today. She was blinking rapidly when their gazes finally met.
“Good night, m’Lady.”
He withdrew his hand from her face and took a step back. Catherine’s hand tightened around his arm briefly, then she let go.
“I don’t understand, m’Lord.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper, hoarse with confusion, resentment, and disbelief.
Aidan smiled. Not happily.
“I can live with you being angry.”
He shrugged.
“I do not want to live with you hating me.”
Catherine exhaled, her next words shaky. Insecure.
“But it’s not binding, if we do not consummate, m’Lord,” she remarked.
She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing on the soft flesh. Her eyes had drifted, and Aidan found himself lingering at the curve of her lips briefly before he politely bowed.
“I am well aware, m’Lady.”
His fingers twitched. He forced his palms to rest against his legs, fingers still against the seams.
“Please feel free to explore the house tomorrow. Your chambermaid, Mistress Murphy, will see to your needs.”
He exhaled. Forced his eyes to remain politely lowered.
“So — good night,” Aidan repeated, backing away before he turned around and left his wife still standing in her doorframe.
He didn’t look back.
----
O’Donell House was a surprise.
It was nothing like the Butler’s Kilkenny estate. The house seemed old and rather well built, but it didn’t scream nobility at all. It looked like a better farmhouse.
It seemed inviting.
The thought caused her stomach to twist.
She was welcomed by small windows and warm clay walls. The warm scents of apples, frying meats, and the more earthy smells of vegetables wafted through the corridor. The wood beneath her shoes creaked faintly as her husband led the way inside.
She separated her hand from Aidan’s arm at the first possible moment and sat down with as much grace as she could muster.
Her husband didn’t even try to engage in conversation with her.
Catherine had not expected a pleasant dinner or animated talk. She had not accounted for the silence to weigh this heavily upon her shoulders.
She still didn’t want the dinner to end.
Her own mother, Maisie, and a couple of other ladies had taken it upon themselves to inform Catherine what to expect of her wedding night.
And while the young Lady O’Donell wasn’t entirely sure how much of it she wanted to believe, it had sounded incredibly embarrassing at best and downright painful at worst.
Her stomach tightened at the memory.
Her mother had shrugged indifferently and told her she had brought up her daughters to face hardships with dignity, and she expected the same of her youngest.
Catherine knew she couldn’t avoid being bedded forever. She still clung to every single course as if her life depended on it.
From time to time she let her gaze flutter towards his lordship.
Aidan, however, seemed pretty unimpressed.
She complimented the cook for her dessert, and when the old lady beamed at her, expressing her hope that a new generation of O’Donells might as well enjoy apple tart, she almost suffocated on the sweet bite on her tongue.
Not even half an hour later she found her chair drawn back by the Viscount. She inhaled as deeply as the stays allowed and rose. She briefly wished she’d enjoyed more of the wine.
The warmth spreading from Aidan’s elbow briefly registered, and then they were already climbing the stairs.
Each step sounded too loud in the quiet house — but maybe it was her own heart as well, hammering inside her chest almost painfully hard.
Aidan guided her to the door at the left. His fingers caught her chin, and Catherine prepared for the inevitable.
She forced herself not to step back.She wouldn’t show him that she was afraid.
He didn’t lean in.
For a couple of seconds it was just the tips of his fingers against the tender skin of her jaw — and then he wished her a good night.
She stared at him, and for the first time today she searched for his gaze.
The knot her stomach had coiled into didn’t loosen. If anything, it wrapped tighter with her utter confusion.
She’d been told she had to consummate the wedding. It wasn’t only her husband’s right — it was what made the marriage binding.
And there he stood — and rejected her.
Catherine almost didn’t recognise her voice when she asked him about it. When she tried to make sure he understood the consequences of it.
Each word felt like a punch to her gut.
“I do not want to live with you hating me.”
Such a short sentence.
Still, it caused the ground underneath her feet to briefly shake.
He didn’t even look back at her when he left for — wherever a man who had just refused his own bride might go.
The touch of his fingers still lingered upon her skin.