Chapter 20
Ellie didn’t know what she was doing wrong.
It had been a week since that fateful evening.
Yes, Struan now came to her room every night.
And yes, he did things to her that she didn’t even know could be done, and every time he asked if she liked it, she said yes, yes she did.
He seemed to know exactly how to touch her.
But the room was always pitch black and she always had to cover her eyes with that satin strip, and she was never allowed to see him or touch him. There was nothing more frustrating than being so close to her husband and yet being prevented from truly knowing him.
And yet how could she complain of ill treatment? Especially when he treated her so very well, and incited reactions that left her damp with perspiration, limp, and practically breathless after experiencing the most exquisite pleasure at his hands and his mouth and his…
Elspeth assumed it was wrong for her to say cock, but after all, that’s what he called it when he wanted to know if it was time. Are you ready for my cock? he’d ask—or demand—depending on how intense the lovemaking had gotten so far.
And she’d always respond, yes, yes, she was ready, don’t make her wait any longer. But more than feeling him, she wanted to see him. She wanted to touch him back, and explore him and make him feel the way he made her feel.
But she had no idea how to do that.
Otherwise, life at Linneliath had begun to take on a familiar shape and pattern.
Ellie spent her days either at the house, working on the older, more run-down spaces, or trying to improve the efficiency of the day-to-day tasks.
But she also went to the far school multiple times each week, getting to know the teachers and the children, and thinking that someday it would be lovely to introduce some of these students to her own children… if she were so lucky.
And then in the evenings, she’d meet Struan for dinner, and they’d eat, and talk a bit about the land and the tenants and the mines.
They’d sometimes read for a few hours. But most often, they seemed to find some reason to retire.
Ellie craved their nights, even as the prohibition against touching him or even seeing him chafed at her soul.
Psyche herself couldn’t have been more frustrated at the rules, even though Ellie could sense how much Struan needed that prohibition.
But she didn’t know how to break past that barrier, and her natural desire for harmony made her keep quiet.
One afternoon, Ellie had an errand in the village; she rode in the carriage, accompanied by Agnes (she was getting lessons in riding, but she wasn’t very confident yet).
From the window, she saw another carriage waiting in front of the dry goods shop.
It was well appointed and two matched horses stood at the ready, so Ellie deduced that someone of the local gentry had arrived.
Delighted at the opportunity to meet a new person, she got out and proceeded directly to the shop.
Ellie slowed when she saw an elegant woman step out of the doorway.
From the black boots to the heavy wool tartan skirts visible beneath a dark blue pelisse, everything about the lady suggested quality.
She was taller than Ellie, with a narrow build and face, but a wealth of silver hair that gleamed under her flat straw topper, which sported a tartan ribbon that matched her skirts.
“Hello!” Ellie said before she lost her nerve. “I do wish we had someone to introduce us, but I couldn’t bear to pass the moment by. I am—”
“You’re MacInnes’s wife!” The lady smiled at her. “I am Margaret Kerr. My husband serves as MacInnes’s man of business. I’m so glad to meet you, and I hope that you’ll accept an invitation to dine with us soon.”
Ellie beamed at the kind words. “I…we…should be happy to. I have yet to host anything at Linneliath, but when I do, I will certainly ask you and Mr Kerr to join us.”
“No hurry, dear,” Mrs Kerr said with a gentle laugh. “Fixing up that old pile is the job of a lifetime.”
“Oh, it’s coming along. Everyone is pitching in.”
“Including yourself, I hear.”
“You do?” Ellie asked, surprised.
“Gossip is meat and bread around here. I’ve heard about your efforts to make Linneliath shine again. Though it hasn’t been long that the big house has been without a family, we’re all relieved that a MacInnes is back in residence. Houses like that should be full of life.”
“Yes!” Ellie proclaimed. Here was someone who understood. “I hope that someday that will be true again.”
Mrs Kerr gave her a knowing look. “Soon, I imagine. I’ve also heard your courtship was terribly romantic. Too often, women marry for the wrong reasons. It’s always nice to know when a marriage is a love match.”
Afterward, Ellie was driven back from the village in the carriage, of course, but she felt as if she floated home on a cloud. When she saw Struan back at the house, she excitedly shared her encounter with Mrs Kerr. “She said people are gossiping that we’re a love match!” she concluded.
“Well, I’d prefer not to be mentioned in any gossip, but that sounds like the best outcome if people must talk,” he said after a moment. “At least they’re not saying you married me for my money.”
“Oh, no! But what if some others do think that?”
He backtracked immediately. “Ellie, no. Forget I said that. Anyway, it doesn’t matter what others think. I know you didn’t.”
“But the truth is important. I wish everyone could just know the truth about everything.”
Struan pulled away. “That’s a dangerous wish. That’s what Brodie used to say.”
“Brodie Ross. The one who died.”
“Yes. His death was…unexpected. Which is a stupid thing to say about a soldier dying during a war, but he shouldn’t have died when he did. And we’re all still angry about it.”
“I can’t imagine how it feels.”
As Elspeth spoke, she reached out and slipped her arms around his shoulders, giving him a tentative hug.
He hunched over for a moment, then relaxed. She felt the rise and fall of his breath, slowing slightly as he accepted her embrace.
“I don’t mean to depress you with war stories,” he said finally, his voice gruff. “It seems they’re all I have.”
“If they’re part of your life, I want to know everything. Everything you wish to tell me, that is. I am yours completely, and you must never feel that there’s any part of yourself I don’t wish to be part of.”
Struan’s hand tightened over hers. “You’re too open-hearted, Elspeth.”
“Only with you,” she said, kissing his cheek on the scarred side.
He gripped her hand even tighter and seemed about to say something.
Then he let go. Aware that he was getting uncomfortable, she unclasped her arms and stood back.
Struan was like a dog or horse sometimes—a moment of affection was welcome, but too long and he began to act confused as to what to do next.
Elspeth smiled. Day by day, he was thawing.
She’d be patient. He’d been alone too long and suffered too greatly to simply behave as though nothing had happened to him.
It was just a matter of gentle, persistent encouragement.
Eventually, Struan would be able to say the words she hoped he already felt. Words like I love you.
It was just that he wasn’t comfortable yet. And Elspeth didn’t know the full facts about his life. Like the previous fiancée. Like the extent of his wounds. What other secrets might he be keeping from her out of some misguided belief that it was for her safety?
Her household tasks as the mistress of Linneliath occupied her hands, but not nearly enough of her mind.
It was one thing to sew for an hour every day, or take an hour or two learn to ride a horse from the patient servants who worked in the stables.
Those activities were too simple to occupy all of her brain.
She couldn’t stop thinking about how Struan was keeping her at arm’s length…
or at least keeping her from using her arms to touch him.
It had gone beyond frustration directly to maddening.
One afternoon she was getting rather lost in the depths of contemplating the inequality of their nightly exchanges—it wasn’t fair at all that he was doing more than she was—even though he assured her that she was perfect.
She decided it was high time to confront him about the matter, and not wait till nighttime, when she would be naked, sightless, and thoroughly distracted.
But finding Struan proved to be a less than simple task. She inquired with all the usual people, and while no one had seen him lately, everyone was certain he was still within the house.
At last she entered a room she had never been in before. She stopped short, seeing a massive bath in the center of the space.
The bath was not empty. It held Struan.
* * * *
Struan liked a hot bath. It was a little odd, considering that he hated fire.
But the bath was water…obviously…and the heat and steam helped soothe his physical discomfort.
So he made a practice of lying in a hot bath much more frequently than the average man.
This bath was especially nice, since it was gigantic, and held much more water than the average tin bathtub.
Struan remembered his parents explaining that one of his great-great—great?
—grandparents had commissioned it to show off the production of the family’s tin mines.
Thanks to its volume, the bath stayed warm for a long time. He liked to sink into the water and pretend that the rest of the world didn’t exist for an hour, and all the things that happened to him during the war would magically wash off.
But today it was difficult to relax. His mind kept darting back to Elspeth.
He lived for the nights when he could touch Ellie and explore her and act on the fantasies that had been eating him from the inside ever since he met her.
He saw her face practically every time he closed his eyes. Which he tried to do again.
And then she burst through the door.