Chapter 11 #2
She laughed. “I am sorry. I meant no disrespect to you, Bram. You are the best company everywhere.” She stood up and went to rub her rump.
Bramble gave a disgruntled purr, her eyes on the dog. Rua looked right back at her, his mouth open, teeth on display like he was grinning.
Lilliana shook her head ruefully. “Now, now, we are all friends here. Can we all try to get along?”
She went back to her table, picked up one of her medical books, and sat down to read the section on nutrition, trying to find a remedy she could use to prevent weakness. The closest she could find was a recipe for scurvy.
Take two ounces of sassafras, shaved very thin, one ounce of coriander seeds, one ounce of gum guaiacum, three ounces of stick licorice infused in one gallon of lime water, for three or four days. If the lime is strong, you may put a gallon and a half of water to a pound of lime.
Lilliana sighed. “It is somewhere to start and…” She looked up and around the room. “I have all the ingredients with me now. I wonder how many villagers there are. Who could tell me that?”
As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. Lilliana stared at it, not really wanting to see anyone.
It could be a patient.
She expelled a loud breath. “Come in.”
Moira opened the door. She had a tray in her hand. “Ye missed tea, Me Lady,” she said, putting the tray on the table.
There was a steaming pot, a cup and saucer, a plate piled with bannocks, and some buns spread liberally with butter and jam.
Lilliana cocked an eyebrow at the luxurious meal.
“This is lovely.” She took a bite of the bread as Moira poured her some tea. She tilted her head to the side, and as the opportunity presented itself now, she decided to ask, “Moira? Is there any way we could get more food for the village?”
Moira gave her a sidelong glance. “Why do ye ask?”
“Well, it is part of my duties as the Laird’s wife to see to the welfare of the village, is it not?”
“Aye.”
“So—I mean, look at this spread.” She gestured to the tray between them. “Isn’t there something we can do?”
“Ye would have to speak with the Laird about that. It would mean slaughterin’ some livestock, perhaps.”
“What about purchasing crops? From surrounding clans, for example?”
Moira shrugged. “All the clans are in the same situation as we are. Attacks from redcoats, scarcity of food—all of it.”
Lilliana let out a long sigh. “What if we asked my father to send some supplies from England? He has shares in the British East India Company. He could get supplies locally and ship them to us. Should I write to him?”
“Ye really should discuss this with the Laird, as I daenae ken much.” Moira smiled. “But I ken that the villagers appreciate yer efforts. Ye have done very well, Me Lady.”
Lilliana blushed at the compliment, feeling somewhat shy. “I only did what anyone would do.”
Moira snorted derisively. “Forgive me for doubting that.”
Lilliana sighed. “But you are right. I will discuss it with the Laird.”
Moira beamed at her. “Well, I am glad ye came, Me Lady, if it means anything. Enjoy yer tea.” She took the empty tray and left.
Lilliana picked up the cup and took a sip. The tea was fragrant and gave her an idea of how she could proceed with the treatment of the mysterious malaise.
“I could invite the women and children for a tea party on the grounds. We could have some lavender and lemon tea. Hibiscus too. Then we could talk about what ails them in more detail.”
“That is a good idea. Ye should do that.”
She looked up. Kayden was standing in the doorway, looking impossibly handsome in a kilt with a plaid draped around his shoulders.
He has no right to look that good.
She cocked an eyebrow at him, taking a sip of her tea, and said nothing.
He walked into the room, looking around. “Ye have transformed this place.” He sounded impressed.
Lilliana shrugged. “It has simply been cleaned a bit, and I have hung my wares.”
“Indeed, ye have made yerself quite at home.”
Lilliana frowned. “You say that as if you disapprove.”
He turned to meet her gaze for the first time since he entered the room. “Why would ye think that?”
“Because you look as though I have rearranged your war room,” she replied lightly. “And I should hate to be accused of insubordination in my own quarters.”
His gaze flicked to the small desk where her books lay open. Instinctively, she reached for them and began stacking the loose pages, sliding her notes between the covers before he could step closer. She rose and crossed the room to place the stack on a taller shelf.
Kayden noticed. Of course, he did.
“Secrets already?” he asked mildly.
“Notes on recipes for tinctures and drams,” she corrected. “Nothing that you would understand.”
He took a slow step towards her. She matched it by stepping aside, placing the table between them as she adjusted a jar that did not need adjusting.
“I had thought,” she continued smoothly, “that with so much unrest, you might prefer I keep busy rather than idle.”
His expression sharpened slightly. “Unrest?”
She poured more tea, though her cup was still half full. “We passed soldiers on the road,” she lied. “English uniforms.”
“When?”
“In the village. They did not appear to be merely traveling.”
His jaw tightened, but only slightly. “Redcoats are always traveling. Or prowling.”
“Near your borders?” she asked, as though it were idle curiosity. “Surely that must be… inconvenient.”
He braced one hand against the back of a chair, studying her. “Why the sudden interest in patrol routes?”
“I am married to the Laird,” she said calmly. “It is prudent to understand the circumstances into which I have been delivered.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Delivered.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Escorted.”
“Smuggled.”
“Deposited like grain.”
His smirk grew. “Ah, there she is.”
She moved again, crossing towards the hearth, putting distance between them while keeping her tone airy. “If tensions are rising, it would affect the villagers, would it not? It would mean disrupted supply lines. Frightened families.”
“And ye concern yerself with frightened families?” he asked quietly.
“I concern myself with stability,” she returned. “It tends to keep households intact.”
He took two measured steps towards her. The room felt smaller.
“There have been sightings,” he said at last. “Small units testing boundaries. They havenae crossed in force.”
“But they might,” she pressed gently.
“Aye,” he admitted. “They might.”
She nodded once, filing that away, and turned to adjust a bundle of dried herbs near the mantelpiece.
He took another step closer, and she felt the heat of him at her back.
“Ye are gathering more than herbs in this room,” he said softly.
She did not turn around. “I gather what I need.”
“And what is that?”
“Information,” she said, finally facing him. “You do not seem the sort of man who shares it freely.”
His eyes darkened slightly. “Nor should I seem the sort of man easily questioned.”
She smiled faintly. “Yet here we are.”
For a moment, the air shifted. His gaze dipped briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes.
“The village matters are being handled,” he said quietly. “There is nay need for ye to trouble yerself with more than yer duty.”
There it was.
Her jaw tightened. “My duty,” she repeated. “And what precisely is that, Laird McGill?”
“For now, it is to remain here in the castle and nae stir up any rumblings.”
She sneezed, paused, and sneezed again.
Remain in the castle. Right.
He cocked an eyebrow before smirking. “What? Have I annoyed ye already?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “I am always annoyed with you. You are an annoying person.”
His smile widened as he took a step closer, his arms folded. “Why?”
“Do not be obtuse.”
His eyebrow rose higher. “Obtuse? About what?”
Her eyes flitted away as she buried her face in the teacup. “This sham of a marriage.”
“Sham?” He sounded surprised.
She stared at him in disbelief. “Yes, this sham. Just because I was a green girl when I arrived, does not mean that I do not know how marriages are supposed to work. Even if my sisters and I spent hours discussing it, Betsy filled me in quite vividly on what to expect from a husband. And even your former healer is aware that you have not taken me!”
Kayden’s eyes went wider with every word she said. She could not understand how he could possibly be surprised.
“I…” He shook his head. “I thought I was giving ye time to get used to… all of this. Were ye nae the one who tried to run on the night afore our wedding?”
She huffed, shaking her head. “Well, I was not successful, was I?”
“And what? Did ye expect me to take a reluctant bride to me bed?”
Her brow furrowed. “So, you are punishing me for being blindsided by the turn of events?”
He sighed, shaking his head. “A man cannae win. If he gives ye time, he has rejected ye. If he forces ye, he is a brute.” He looked into her eyes, moving closer until he was standing over her.
She looked up at him, bosom heaving, and put down her teacup. The cup rattled in its saucer from her shaking hand.
“I could treat ye like me wife right now,” he said softly. “I dare say ye would enjoy it.”
He was too close. His scent overwhelmed her. Unconsciously, her hand rose to her breastbone. She regretted wearing a gown with a low neckline. His eyes felt like a brand on her exposed skin.
His eyes dropped, watching the rise and fall of her breasts, and it made her huff again. She could not forestall her reaction to him. He took another step closer, and she shot to her feet if only to stop him from looming over her.
“What…?”
She wanted to ask what he was doing, but her throat had gone inexplicably dry. Slowly, his hand lifted, running over her skirts before closing around her waist.
She gasped, holding her breath as she looked up at him with wide eyes. His other hand slowly rose higher, and she watched fascinated as it landed on her shoulder, fingers trailing only to cup the nape of her neck.
He continued to stare at her as if waiting for something, but she was frozen in place, braced for what he would do next. He pulled her flush against him, and she squealed in surprise. He was so dizzyingly close to her, she could hardly think.
“Wh—what are you doing?” she whispered, lips slightly parted.
“I am showing ye what it means to be me wife,” he said before swooping in and claiming her mouth with his.
His lips moved against hers, his tongue seeking entry into her mouth. Their tongues met, clashed, and then twisted together, tasting, licking, teeth clashing until they were not. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before.
The sensations drove her mad with a want that she had never experienced before. Her hands did not know what to do, so they fluttered helplessly, hanging in the air on either side of his arms, wanting to touch, to feel, to know if he truly was as hard everywhere as he felt.
So different from me.
He was hard where she was soft. Demanding where she yielded. The only soft thing about him was his mouth, the plush lips pressing against hers. And his hair, softly brushing against her forehead.
She could feel everything.
As she made a moan deep in her throat, he gentled the kiss, making it more tender and mind-melting.
Lord above!
Her hands trembled, and she placed them on his arms, using him as an anchor as he pulled away from her slightly. She looked up at him, panting in awe and wonder. He looked back, his eyes dark, still burning with passion.
Tearing her hands away from his arms, she made a sound of despair and shot away, running out of the door as if the hounds of hell were at her heels.