Chapter 12 #2
Calum grunted and cast a look at her bare shoulder peeking from beneath her plaid. “What about Spoiler—since he’s spoiled all my fun?”
She tugged the plaid and chemise higher over her shoulder, rolling her eyes though a smile twitched at her lips.
“What about Rescuer?”
He patted the dog’s back, a cloud of dirt rising into the air in the already filthy bothy. “How about Bog since that’s what he smells like?”
She burst out laughing at Calum’s look of disgust, while the hound licked the air with eager devotion in his direction.
“Bog? What do ye think Boggy-boo? Do ye like that name? You do, don’t you?
You do?” She tossed him another scrap of venison, and his grey-streaked brows shot up in what looked like delight.
Poking around the shelves, she unearthed a basket of eggs and a pot of butter, then set a pan over the fire.
“What are ye about now?” Calum demanded.
She dabbed butter off her thumb with a smile that turned into a pitiful pout, brushing past his outrage. “Dinnae be so cruel, MacLean—he’s hungry.”
Calum dragged out a chair beside the cluttered table and sat. “I bought that yesterday so we’d have something laid by. We’re no’ keeping him in eggs and venison. I’ll take him to town tomorrow, see if anyone claims him.”
Bog gazed up at her with mournful brown eyes, and she found herself hoping no one would. “If no one speaks for him, may I keep him? Da never let me have a tame creature.”
Calum propped his cheek in his palm and rolled his eyes. “How am I supposed to say no? If I do, I’ll be no better than Ragnall MacSorley.”
She laughed, cracking an egg into the butter that hissed in the pan. Over her shoulder she caught Calum watching, a flicker of jealousy in his face as the hound pressed close to her knee. “Are you hungry, husband?”
The word seemed to please him. His mouth tilted at the corner. “Aye.”
Something in the exchange calmed her, and she relaxed as she spooned butter over the yolks. She glanced up at him, finding him stroking the dog’s big head. “Your mother taught me how you like your eggs years ago.”
A smile touched his lips. “Did she?”
“Aye—and how to mend, how to make a friend, even how to pluck my eyebrows. She taught me what it was to be a woman, to care, to love. I would have been lost without her. I suppose it worked out that ye sailed away in your skiff. I learned everything from her.”
His expression shifted, shadowed with shame. “I’ll fetch water.” The door banged shut behind him, and Bog sniffed at the threshold.
Regret pricked her heart. She had not meant it as reproach, yet it sounded so, and she hated that she had already marred her vows. Scooping the eggs onto chipped trenchers, she cleared the table, resolving to be more careful with her words.
Restless, she gathered his armor from the floor and set it aside. Lifting his plaid, she caught the scent of woods and clove. She drew it around her shoulders, breathing him in, wishing she could understand what made him who he was and feel it in her senses.
Bog whined at the table, and she set his trencher down, letting him lap up the eggs.
Minutes slipped by, yet Calum did not return.
As the dog licked the last of the yolk, her thoughts drifted—dark, unbidden—to the Wolf and the secret she carried, scorching her conscience.
Heart in her throat, she hurried to the door and wrenched it open just as he stepped inside. Relief rushed through her.
“Och, I was worried something happened.”
He lifted the bucket. “The bucket sprung a leak. I patched it well enough, though I dinnae ken how long it’ll last.”
His gaze dropped to the plaid around her shoulders. “Something wrong with your own?”
“No.” The word slipped out before she thought, and he grinned. Heat rose in her cheeks as she clutched it tighter. “It smelled nice.”
Only then did she notice the chill outside and his bare chest. Flustered, she stepped back quickly to let him in.
“Och! That’s mine!” Calum shook a fist at Bog, who had clambered onto the table she’d left unguarded.
The dog licked buttery grease from Calum’s trencher, oblivious to the fact he had thieved eggs from the tànaiste of Jura. Horror swept her. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I shouldnae have turned my back—I’ll make you more.” She reached for the basket, but he caught her hands.
“Lass, it’s no’ your fault a starving beast barged in on our wedding night.” Behind him, Bog emit a thunderous belch.
Calum drew her into his chest, holding her fast. “Truth is, I’m weary. I’ll eat in the morning. Come—let’s go to bed.”
Self-conscious, she stiffened. Why had she lied? In going to bed this early she would be forced to lie down with him for much longer than she anticipated.
He put his hands to her cheeks, his voice low and steady. “Now don’t go springing away from me. I ken, lass. You’re no’ ready.” He bent and kissed her brow.
“B-but it’s your right. I dinnae want to displease you. I am ready for this duty.”
She waited in silence, but he only studied her, head tilting slightly as if weighing words too fragile to speak. At last his eyes dropped, though his hands never left her face. “I dinnae ken how to say something so delicate.”
She swallowed, her tongue thick, her mouth dry. “No one has ever considered putting anything delicately for my sake.”
“I dinnae wish to be your duty.”
She stared into his pebble-colored eyes, struggling to grasp his meaning. They had spoken vows only hours before that seemed to bind them wholly in honor and duty. The Storyteller’s quill hovered at her lip as she searched for words to soothe him. “But I am willing… Is it my legs?”
His gaze lingered on her. “You are still recovering.”
Her stomach dropped. She shut her eyes, unable to bear the pity. “I understand. Perhaps if we put out the fire—so you cannae see them?”
A sound escaped him, almost pained. “I’ve told you, lass—there is nothing disappointing in your appearance. If we knew each other better, I’d not be putting the fire out. I’d be lighting more candles to see my bride in all her glorious beauty.”
Her stomach flipped over. She wanted to disbelieve him, but his face was earnest.
“What I mean,” he continued, “is that I dinnae wish you to force yourself into an act that will mean little to you, but much to me.”
Her heart sank. “I want to please you.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “You please me without trying. What I want is for you to love me.”
The simple statement broke her heart. How could he speak so deeply when she still felt so lost? Almost without thinking, she touched her fingertips to his cheek. “You dinnae need to fret you’ll hurt me. I ken the way of things. I’m sure you’ve had many paramours on Mull, and will be gentle.”
He gave a grim chuckle. “I’ve had flirtations. But only one lass has ever laid claim to me. Only one woman I’ve ever loved.”
A pinch of jealousy twisted in her chest, and she pushed the thought of another woman aside. “I remember you were popular with the lasses. You spent so much time in the marshes I thought you were part sedge yourself.”
He laughed, his hands tracing her neck. “Perhaps I should take you to a marsh, then, to kiss you properly.”
Heat washed through her, melting her insides, but her mind froze with panic.
He let her go. “You look as if I’ve asked whether you’d like me to draw and quarter you.”
She covered her face, her stomach knotted, breath coming fast. “I’m no’ Anneli. I dinnae know what I’m doing. And you—you’re verra braw. I dinnae know where anything is meant tae land, or how tae breathe, or how it goes. All of it is a mystery to me.”
Laughter carried across the small bothy, and she lowered her hands. He had moved to the shelf bed, drawn back the white sheets, and rolled onto the straw tick. “Which is why we’ll wait. Come, wife—coorie in.”
Bog had sprawled before the fire, already snoring. She glanced toward the trenchers. “I’ll just wash up.”
Calum shook his head, stretching out an arm to her. “No need. I promise, I only want tae hold you. No marsh maneuvers.”
Keeping his plaid snug around her shoulders, she stepped closer. His hand closed gently around her wrist, guiding her into the bed beside him. A blanket fell over her legs, and she lay stiff as a board, hovering.
With his fingers he pushed gently on the center of her forehead, settling her hovering head onto the solid cradle of his arm. “Did ye ken ye must lay your head down tae sleep, MacSorley?”
The remark reduced her to hysterics. All at once, the absurdity of the past four weeks crashed over her—a cauldron accident, a plea to be saved—and here she was, lying in her marital bed beside her husband.
Her husband. A man who could not have been less like Rory MacDonald if he tried.
A man who, with a single quip, had made her laugh until no sound came out and tears rolled down her cheeks.
Mortified, she tried to stifle her chortles, only to snort aloud, which made her seem all the more ridiculous.
His hand threaded gently through her hair. “I love your laughter. You have the most beautiful smile God ever created.”
She quieted, wiping her eyes. “Did He create everything?”
“Aye.”
His fingers massaged her scalp, and she relaxed as though she’d sipped uisge-beatha. “By Himself?”
“Aye.”
“Then why does the priest say, ‘In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,’ if He was by Himself? Were the others no’ there?”
He chuckled softly. “They were all there. One God, showing Himself in each and every way we need—guiding us as Father, saving us in His Son, and living with us in the Spirit, here in our hearts.” He touched a finger to her collarbone.
“Does He become them as we need?”
“No. He is all of them at once, always, and yet distinct in each.”
“How?”
His voice dropped low, kind. “He’s a great God, lass. Everywhere at once—in the vastness of the heavens, and in the smallest whisper of our hearts.”
She thought a moment, then asked, “What did He create first?”