Chapter 8
Eight
The day had not turned out the way Alex had planned.
He’d wanted to gently woo his wife and slowly stir her passion.
He had not expected to be disrupted in the middle of a tryst with his wife to hunt for Aunt Iseabail and strike down a wolf with his broadsword.
This eve, he was determined not to be interrupted again and held from his purpose.
Before long, Sybella would be with child and he would have fulfilled his duty to the MacDonell clan. Of course, that was if he could undo the damage of Mary’s outlandish words to Sybella. Nothing killed his ardor more than having a woman with clenched eyes beneath him counting sheep.
This eve, he had given the lass more than enough time to prepare for him to come to her.
Alex opened the adjoining door to Sybella’s bedchamber and gently closed it behind him.
One bedside candle remained lit and he almost cursed the darkness.
Selfish as it might be, he wanted to see all that the lass had to offer.
As he approached the bed, he could see his wife’s golden locks tumbled carelessly over her shoulders.
Her full, rosy lips were parted in gentle, rhythmic breathing.
He brushed his fingers through her hair and softly caressed her cheek.
When she let out a little snort and then rolled over onto her side, he could barely contain the chuckle that escaped him.
A perfect ending to a less than perfect day.
Not having the heart to wake the sleeping beauty, Alex sought his own bed and tried unsuccessfully to stay the memory of his wife’s luscious flesh.
How could he forget the rosy peaks of her breasts as they grew to pebble hardness?
He had given every part of her body the attention it deserved—from her taut stomach to her creamy thighs to every fold in between.
When he realized his body’s normal reaction to his impure thoughts, Alex took his hand to himself, taking care of his own desires lest the lass bolt like a scared rabbit the next time from all of his pent-up frustration.
The last thing Alex wanted to do was frighten Sybella from his bed.
For now, he would sate his own needs; tomorrow was another day.
Alex awoke in the morning to blankets that were knotted and pillows that were thrown from the bed.
He sat on the edge of the bed and shook his head, realizing that at times like these, he usually would seek out the skillful Doireann.
His leman’s expert touch had cured his urges and satisfied all of his desires.
Granted, this was the same lass who had tried to shackle him into marriage, but there had never been any expectations between them.
He could merely take his leave from Doireann’s bed—or from his study wall or the stables—and not think twice.
Now that he had a wife, it was a little more complicated.
Out of respect for Sybella, Alex would stay true to his vows.
But he knew he was going to have to do a lot more wooing to have his wife trust him enough to willingly let him share her bed.
Granted, he could simply wake her up and demand his marital rights, but he was not that kind of man.
In any event, this was definitely a first. He’d never had to woo Doireann; she’d freely shared her favors with him—among others.
In truth, he wasn’t sure how to woo his new wife, but he had an idea about how to start.
Alex rose from the bed and rubbed his hand through his hair. He donned his kilt, threw on his tunic and boots, and went to the garden.
***
Sybella sat up and stretched her arms. For the first time since she could remember, she felt rested. She threw the covers from the bed and momentarily paused.
Alexander had not come for her.
She briefly wondered why her husband had not sought her bed the night before. She wasn’t exactly sure how such things worked, but perhaps it was too soon after their initial encounter. When another disturbing idea popped into her mind, she wasn’t sure how she felt.
What if Alexander had a leman?
Not that she was by any means an expert on the subject, but she knew from her own clan that some married men kept a harlot on the side.
She was fairly sure Angus didn’t have one.
Sybella would have to be a fool not to notice how much the man worshipped Mary.
If Alexander had one of these women, Sybella prayed that he would have enough sense to keep his leman hidden from sight.
Something within Sybella stirred at the thought of sharing him with another woman.
She couldn’t help but ponder whether or not Alexander touched his leman as he touched her.
“Sybella, cease your thoughts. Ye are being ridiculous,” she said aloud to herself. She approached the stand and splashed cool water on her face. When the morning haze cleared, she donned her day dress and slippers. She swung open the door to find her husband standing against the wall.
“Good morn.” He pulled his arm from behind his back and handed her a bunch of roses tied together with a ribbon.
Sybella stood momentarily frozen. When she reached out to take the flowers, a prickly thorn pierced her skin. She brought her finger to her lips.
“Be careful. The roses have thorns on the stems,” he said, pointing to the jagged edges.
She wasn’t about to tell the man that the thorns were to be removed.
And she sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him that the flowers were to be cut, not pulled out by the roots.
Sybella carefully held the thorny roses out in front of her as clumps of dirt hung from the bottom of the roots.
She could barely stay the giggle that wanted to escape her, and she tried desperately not to laugh.
After all, Alexander had tried to make her feel special, and the flowers were a thoughtful gesture.
“The roses are verra bonny. I truly thank ye. Give me but a moment and I will place them in some water.”
He waited for her outside the door. “Are ye ready to break your fast?”
“Aye.” Sybella walked out of her bedchamber and closed the door.
“Did ye sleep well?”
She nodded. “I actually did.” She was hesitant to ask, but it was only polite. “And ye?”
“As well as could be expected.”
They walked to the great hall and took their seats upon the dais.
Sybella had just reached to take a bite of oatmeal when Aunt Iseabail stormed into the hall.
With reddened cheeks and a fiery look in her eyes, the woman cursed the entire way to her seat.
Whipping out a chair, Aunt Iseabail sat down and clenched her teeth.
Sybella reached out and touched the woman’s arm. “Is everything all right?”
“Nay, ’tisnae all right.”
“Tell me what is amiss and mayhap I can assist ye,” Sybella said in a compassionate tone.
“Nae unless ye can repair the damage to my flowers,” Aunt Iseabail replied with a snappish tone.
“Pardon?”
Aunt Iseabail clutched her tankard until her knuckles turned white. “Some daft fool pulled out a large portion of my new roses. They were just starting to bloom, and instead of cutting them, the idiot pulled out all of the roots. I am afraid they are destroyed.”
Sybella bit her bottom lip and turned her head slightly toward her husband. Alexander sat as still as a stone statue, keeping his eyes on his trencher.
“How do ye know it wasnae a deer or a rabbit?” asked Alexander.
“Nephew, I am nae daft. The animals chomp at them. They donna pull them out clean by the roots.”
He nodded. “Rest assured, Aunt Iseabail, if I find the miscreant, he shall be punished.”
“I should hope so, Alexander. Ye know how much I favor the garden.”
Sybella looked at her husband and his eyes widened. “Nae a word,” he said under his breath.
Sybella managed a reply through stiff lips. “I value my life.”
He chuckled in response.
***
Alex didn’t try to speak with Sybella until he was sure he was clear of Aunt Iseabail’s ire.
“Ye said ye like to hunt.”
She nodded and swallowed what was left of her oatmeal. “Aye, verra much. If ye havenae figured it out yet, my laird, I love to be out in the fresh air.”
“’Tisnae that difficult to discern. After the meal we will test your skill with a bow.”
She lifted her brow and gave him a mischievous grin. “Why, Alexander? Ye donna trust me to hunt beside ye?”
“Before I give ye a bow and a verra sharp arrow, I want to be sure ye know how to use them. I am nae willing to take a chance alone with ye in the woods lest ye hit something of most importance.” He glanced down at his manhood and then gave her a wry grin.
For some reason, he enjoyed jesting with her.
Sybella paused, clearly weighing her response. “Donna worry, my laird. ’Tisnae that big of a target.”
Alex choked on his wine, and his wife abruptly changed the subject to the matter at hand. “There is nay need to give me a bow. I brought my own.”
“Of course ye did. I wouldnae want to give ye one which wasnae familiar to ye. That would be a complete disadvantage. Why donna ye fetch your bow and I will meet ye behind the stables?”
“Verra well.”
He watched Sybella’s hips sway as she walked out of the great hall, thinking that her frequent displays of insolence made him smile.
Alex made his way to the stable. He took a couple of bales of hay from the loft and set up a mock target in the back. After setting the last bundle in place, he had just brushed his hands when a voice spoke from behind him.
“Ye cannae be serious.”
He whipped his head around and lifted his brow. Sybella wore the same gown as in the morn, with her bow thrown casually over her shoulder. Her mouth was set in annoyance, and her eyes narrowed in disapproval.
“What is the matter now?” he asked.
She lifted her palm, gesturing at the target. “Ye truly want to test my skill with a bale of hay. Is that how ye train all of the wee lads, then?”