Chapter Six
ANY brAVERY I MIGHT have gained from the ale fleetingly evaporated. My blood turned to ice in my veins and my heart skipped a beat.
My hand was grasped in his strong, heated grip, and I was led from the gathering, which at this late hour was becoming loud and loose. “No one will notice if we take our leave. ’Tis expected of us, after all, to acquaint ourselves in a more private setting.”
Each word he spoke seemed to steep me further and deeper into a speechless haze.
I was guided up the curved staircase of the manor, down a dark hallway and into the private bedchambers of my husband, whose size seemed only to increase as he locked the heavy door with a very decisive thud.
The sound of it was solid and final, delivering the reality of my situation: I am trapped in the lair of the infamous Kade Mackenzie. There will be no escape, now or ever.
Despite my anxiety, I could acknowledge that the chambers themselves were cozy and inviting.
A fire crackled festively, providing a sharp juxtaposition to my own mood.
There was a cushioned window seat, and the windows were hung with furs to keep out the chill.
The firelight was reflected in the shiny metallic surfaces of Kade’s many weapons, which were distributed liberally around the space, scattered everywhere, save the bed, which was large and comfortable-looking, and laid with abundant heavy fur blankets.
The far wall was lined with wooden bookshelves that were filled to capacity with books, rolled scrolls, trinkets and exotic-looking weapons of many varieties.
There were foreign swords, bone-handled knives and devices made of metal, chain, leather and other materials; each of them were a mystery to me as far as their uses might be concerned.
The sight of them, to be sure, did little to calm me.
Next to the shelves were a number of large, open trunks, and several of the lower shelves near the trunks were noticeably empty.
I realized that Kade was packing, and the thought made me recall an earlier comment he’d made as we’d sat down to dinner earlier in the evening.
We’d be wise to make the best of our situation, no matter how difficult it may be for either one of us.
It was the first time it had occurred to me that something about this marriage might be difficult for him, as well as for me.
Clearly, these chambers had been Kade Mackenzie’s haven for many, many years.
The weapons and belongings displayed around the room were not merely utilitarian; this was a collection of valued treasures and possessions, some of which looked old and worn, as though they had been used and stored not just over one lifetime, but several.
An old leather saddle sat on a wooden stand and had been carefully polished with a soft cloth that lay next to it; I could smell the faint mingling earthy scent of the oil and the leather.
A man’s fur coat was draped over a chair: a hunting coat.
A writing table was strewn with paper scrolls and a selection of quills and inkpots.
I noticed, too, that a small painting of a woman was propped on a lone wooden shelf next to the fireplace.
Even from a small distance, she bore a startling likeness to Kade’s sisters.
It felt too soon and too personal to inspect the painting closely now, but I suspected the woman in the painting to be the Mackenzie siblings’ mother.
The realization softened something in me.
It somehow seemed incongruous: this mighty warrior treasuring his mother’s memory just so, reserving a special isolated shelf for her miniature portrait.
I wasn’t sure why, but this comforted me.
Maybe my ferocious husband had a softer side.
This room, with its inviting aura, seemed to suggest such a possibility.
At the sight of the small painting, it occurred to me, too, to wonder how Kade felt about leaving his home.
It was obvious to me over the past days that the Mackenzie siblings were especially loyal to each other.
They were a family that valued each other’s company above all others.
And now Wilkie was due to leave for Ossian Lochs with his new bride, and Kade would accompany us, to Glenlochie, to become laird-in-waiting of our keep, to succeed my father.
Did he want to go, to leave his family and the only home he’d ever known?
Before this moment, I’d assumed that such an arrangement would be coveted by any man.
What warrior didn’t aspire to lead his own army, to be in charge of his own clan, to be bestowed with wealth and land, to do with what his own leadership and industriousness would allow?
But the warm, comforting space of this room and the care taken with the possessions that surrounded my husband in his own private chambers made me question whether his own distant lairdship truly would have been a conquest Kade Mackenzie would have actively sought for himself.
In the end, he had stepped up to take the Morrison clan lairdship because his brother had refused it.
Kade, too, had done his duty, as I had been forced to do.
Kade unslung several of his belts, hanging them on a wooden hook.
He walked to the fire and crouched down next to it, adding several more logs and blowing on the glowing embers.
The cloth of his shirt stretched over the shaped lines of his broad shoulders and muscular back, reminding me once again of his size and his strength.
I thought of his stormy attack during his swordplay and the calculated violence of his strike.
The image seemed at odds with the peaceful scene here and now.
I stood near the door, making no move to enter into his private space, but I couldn’t help looking now at the soft, warm expanse of his large bed. I realized my own exhaustion, after many nights of broken sleep. When I looked again at Kade, he was watching me, noticing the direction of my gaze.
“Take off your gown and get into bed,” he said. “I’ll make sure the chambers are warm enough.”
As mortifying as this suggestion seemed, I had known to expect it, and more.
At least he wasn’t tearing the clothing from my body, or making any move whatsoever to approach me.
And I was glad for his offer to heat the room.
It was a kindness he wasn’t obliged to extend.
That he was taking measures to see that I was comfortable was... well, unexpected.
His back was turned to me. I removed my gown quickly, leaving my shift on, and climbed under the many layers of furs. His bed was plush and snug.
I watched him as he fed the fire, and I waited.
I thought of the first time I’d seen him, only weeks ago, and that first flush he’d inspired.
And I could acknowledge that my alarm, as I lay here in his bed and watched the play of the firelight paint his face and his hair, was laced with a subtle curiosity.
Whatever criticisms I held for Kade Mackenzie—of which there were plenty—I could allow that he was lean and perfectly proportioned, as though sculpted by nature with particular care.
He stood and walked to the far side of the bed. He began to unfasten the last of his holsters.
I closed my eyes.
“It would be in the best interest of everyone involved,” he said, “if you would keep our marriage bed activities—or lack thereof—to yourself.”
I dared to steal a glance at him, and his riveted contemplation caused a tiny lurch in my stomach.
If I had hoped wedding vows might soften my own anxious reaction to him, I’d been sorely mistaken.
Yet as my eyes met his, I was momentarily dazzled by the depth of some unfathomable whirl of emotion in him.
I had first thought his eyes cold in their crystalline clarity, but they were far from impassive now.
His face, framed as it was by the thick, lustrous locks of his dark hair streaked by fiery glints of auburn, showed what might have been a ripple of empathetic concern, brief and disarming.
But then it was gone, leaving me feeling inexplicably bereft.
As though unsure whether I had understood his suggestion, he said more forcefully, “I forbid you to discuss what goes on behind our private doors with anyone.”
“You don’t need to command me,” I said. “You only need to ask me. I have no intention of discussing anything, now or ever.”
“Good. Because I’ll not have you defying me.”
Brute! So immersed in the angst and upheaval of my quick marriage to Kade Mackenzie, I had not had the time to consider my new status as the laird-in-waiting’s wife.
If I had, I might have, in different circumstances (or with a different husband attached to it), been pleased with the title.
I’d spent a lifetime under the thumb of my father.
Every detail of my life, every activity, relationship, task and outing, had been dictated and contained by my father’s enforced decisions.
Now, as impending lady of the clan, I might have had an opportunity to free myself of such dictatorial constraints.
But clearly, I would be as bound and limited by my new husband as I had ever been by my father.
Anger and frustration colored my words. “I wasn’t defying you. I said I would do as you asked.”
“What goes on in our chambers is between you and me, and is not privy to the intelligence of others. Are we agreed?”
“Aye,” I replied indignantly. I was used to being punished, and to hiding the evidence. Was this what my new husband had planned for me? Would he beat me into submission and order me to conceal his secret brutality?
“Are you wearing any underclothing under your shift?” he asked.