Chapter 10
Cairren tried not to tremble as her mother lifted the gold circlet from her hair and unwound her braid.
Once her hair hung loose, Collette arranged it over her shoulders and unlaced her gown.
Cairren nodded to her mother and peeled the kirtle off her shoulders and down to her breasts.
Padraig realized the chemise was sheer, even more transparent than the one she’d worn when she swam.
His eyes darted to the other men in the chamber.
Innes appeared uncomfortable in the presence of his daughter as she undressed, and Padraig sympathized.
But it was Micheil and Duncan’s lecherous gaze—followed by Duncan’s elbowing Micheil—that pushed Padraig too far.
“The men will turn away,” Padraig commanded.
“That’s not the custom,” Micheil disagreed as he shook his head.
“If you won’t turn around, then you will leave. No mon sees my wife but me.” Padraig rested his hand on the handle of one of his dirks. He cocked an eyebrow in challenge as he looked at Duncan.
“Chan fhiach a ’ghalla an trioblaid. Ma tha thu air fear fhaicinn, tha thu air am faicinn uile,” Duncan spoke clearly, and Mary and Myrna snickered.
Padraig was certain his family was aware Cairren knew enough Gaelic to understand “the bitch isn’t worth the trouble.
If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.
” He looked at Cairren, who in turn looked at Duncan and Micheil, but rather than appear shocked or even hurt, her expression was defiant.
It was as though she knew something they didn’t.
"Qu’ont ils dit?” Collette murmured.
“La garce n’en vaut pas la peine. Si vous en avez vue un, vous les avez toutes vus,” Cairren responded, and Padraig knew she’d translated for her parents before Innes growled.
“Out!” Innes bellowed. “Both of you out before I kill you.”
“You can’t kick me out of a chamber in my own home,” Micheil sneered.
Innes brandished a dirk in both hands, pulled from hidden folds of his plaid.
He lunged at Duncan, pressing the tip just below the man’s throat.
“Leave or I will kill him,” Innes spoke to Micheil, but he never took his eyes off Duncan.
When Micheil didn’t respond immediately, Innes pricked Duncan’s skin.
“I’ll die before I allow you to talk aboot my daughter like that. ”
“Father, Duncan, out. Now. This is my chamber and my wife. Leave.” Padraig opened the door and glared at the men of his family. Micheil muttered, “not worth it,” before he and Duncan exited the chamber.
Innes walked to Cairren and kissed her cheek. “I don’t trust them. Get yourself to the Sutherlands if ever you feel in danger. I will come for you,” Innes whispered in French. He walked through the door, and Padraig closed it behind his father-by-marriage.
Padraig stepped back to where he’d stood at the foot of the bed, watching Cairren.
They stood no more than three feet apart, and Cairren was certain she could feel the heat coming from Padraig.
His nod encouraged her to push her gown down her arms and over her hips until it pooled at her feet.
Padraig’s body reacted immediately when he caught sight of her dark nipples beneath the sheer fabric.
He’d already been partially aroused as they entered the chamber, his mind and body knowing he would finally feel Cairren beneath him.
Once the gown slipped to her shoulders and a hint of her cleavage showed through the chemise, his cock had grown hard and uncomfortable with the weight of his sporran pressing against it.
When Cairren stepped out of her gown, Wynda gathered it for her with a sympathetic smile before hanging it over the screen that kept the chamber pot out of sight.
Cairren reached under her chemise to roll down her stockings after she slipped out of her slippers.
As she removed them, she watched Padraig unpin the brooch from his shoulder and drop it into his sporran, then he unfastened his belt, letting it fall to the floor.
Once he pushed the extra length of wool from his shoulder, his plaid unraveled.
The hem of his leine rested at his knees, but with no plaid wrapped around his waist, there was no disguising the length that rested against his belly.
As Cairren watched Padraig undress, she understood what she saw.
Lowlanders preferred leggings, which made an aroused shaft harder to disguise.
She’d seen the outline many times at court, but none drew her attention like Padraig’s did.
Her eyes met his and locked until they were blocked for a moment as he lifted his leine over his head.
It was Myrna who gasped, but Padraig didn’t look away from Cairren.
It wasn’t even his conscience that warned him not to.
Cairren solely captivated his attention.
As his eyes traveled over her body, he noticed that there was no shadow at the apex of her thighs.
His gaze met hers again, and the defiant look had returned.
She eased her chemise up her legs, watching him as she teased him.
When the hem hung just below her mons, she gathered the material, inch by tantalizingly slow inch.
In one sweep, Cairren pulled the chemise over her head and let it drop.
Padraig’s heart raced as he took in the unblemished skin that ran the entire length of her.
He’d never seen a woman with a smooth mons, and his cock jerked for one and all to see.
“Slut teas-meadhain,” Myrna hissed. Cairren glanced at Myrna and smirked; Padraig was shocked to realize that Cairren knew Myrna called her a heathenous slut. He never imagined those words would be part of her vocabulary.
“Salope pa?enne,” Cairren translated for her mother.
Collette glared at Myrna. She muttered, “une vache,” but neither Highland woman seemed to know Collette called Myrna a cow—a bitch, really, but Padraig did. It took him a moment to realize that he didn’t intend to rush to Myrna’s defense. He even believed she warranted the comment.
“Let us move this along,” Padraig commanded.
The venomous glare Myrna shot him made him remember this couldn’t be easy for her, and his sympathy returned as he considered how she must have been suffering to see another woman had aroused him and to know he would bed Cairren, and not her, on his wedding night.
Mary tutted as she stepped forward to walk around Cairren, inspecting her for any defect, even lifting her breasts and jiggling them. Then she pointed to Cairren’s hairless mound. “Cha dèanadh ach brathaidh, feòladair Frangach, seo.”
“Seule une pute, une pute francaise, ferait ca.” Once again Cairren translated, telling her mother that Mary believed only a whore, a French whore, would do this.
“Tu es fini. You are done,” Collette stepped between Cairren and Myrna, who blocked Collette from reaching Mary. “You can see that not only is there naught wrong, she’s flawless.”
“Flawless?” Mary narrowed her eyes, and Padraig feared what she would do next. He couldn’t believe his eyes when Mary’s hand shot out and pressed between Cairren’s legs, her fingers curled. Before she touched Cairren’ sheath, Padraig lifted his mother away from his wife.
“Mother!”
“No woman who comes to her wedding bed clean as a newborn bairn is a virgin,” Mary insisted.
“I told you she would try to seduce you! I told you!” Myrna wailed. “She’s a whore!”
“Get out!” Padraig roared.
Myrna froze as she looked at Padraig with disbelief before she pointed to herself. “Me? You’re telling me to leave? What, so you can hurry up and swive your slut?”
“Get out because I’m ashamed of you. I never imagined for a moment, Myrna, that you could be so disgustingly hateful.
I have never been so disappointed in someone as I am in you, right now.
Get out.” Padraig shocked himself as he spewed forth the truth, uncaring whether it hurt Myrna’s feelings.
His duty was to protect his wife, not Myrna, no matter how much he loved her.
He lowered his voice, but there was no way that Cairren didn’t hear.
“I love you, Myrna, but you can’t do this. It’s not right.”
“Right? What is right aboot this—this—” Myrna pointed toward Cairren. “That getting into the bed that should have been mine with the mon who should have mine?”
“We can’t change any of this, so go.”
“You want her more than you do me,” Myrna accused.
“This has naught to do with you or me. This is my duty to my clan.” Padraig growled.
Cairren moved out of the corner of his eye, and he recalled that she was hearing everything he said.
He’d once more become so focused on Myrna that he forgot how his actions hurt Cairren.
He looked at her as she fought back tears.
Padraig looked around the room; he and Cairren stood naked, the lack of clothing obviously humiliating Cairren, with his mother and would-have-been-betrothed spewing vulgarities at her while his mother-by-marriage could do nothing to stop them.
Wynda unabashedly cried, her hands covering her mouth, her eyes filled with horror.
“We are done here. You will all leave. What happens now is between me and my wife.”
“No.” Mary pointed at Cairren. “She’s not a virgin, and we shall all witness you coupling that way she can’t spill chicken’s or sheep’s blood on the sheet to fool us.”
Cairren stepped forward. “Where the devil would I get that? I’ve never been in this chamber before.
I have no clothes on, and I brought nothing with me.
I am a virgin, and I will prove it.” Cairren turned to Wynda.
“Would you stand outside the door until Padraig and I are—are done? He will bring you the sheet immediately. They can hang it from the railing before the night is through.”
“That’s not good enough,” Mary argued.