Chapter Six #3
His cock was straight and swollen again.
The thing demanded he cut through all the formalities and get down to what he craved.
The idea of tradition was beginning to sound foul as customs blocked his path.
Desire was ripping through years of practiced discipline and it was the honest truth that he was enjoying the burn.
He moved toward Agnes with determination. The midwife approached him but stopped, waving her sons away when they stood to go to her side.
“My lord.” She lowered her head, waiting for him to ask her for her findings. That was the time-honored way of lord and vassal.
“Is my bride fit to assume her duties?”
“I believe she is.”
Satisfaction surged through him but Agnes held up a wrinkled hand.
“She is most concerned that her mother didnae produce any sons and that she may follow in those footsteps. Disappointing ye. She considers the production of children a serious responsibility.”
“Life is full of uncertainty. You cannae spend yer days never trying. Any bride I take would have that worry to contend with.”
Agnes pursed her lips, disliking his tone. The reprimand hit that spot inside him that was still a boy when it came to her. The midwife aimed a hard stare at him.
“A bride who plans to avoid disappointing her husband is as valuable as one who’s eager to please the desires of youth. I found yer new wife to be a woman of forethought.”
“Ye have my gratitude.”
Agnes lowered herself, just a tiny amount, before gesturing to her sons.
“May yer union be blessed with healthy children. I will look forward to being summoned to the lady in the fall.”
Brodick offered Agnes a small pouch. She looked at it but only stroked the silver brooch at her shoulder.
“Ye’re a stubborn woman, Agnes.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
With a cheeky grin, the midwife turned to join her family.
She’d never accepted payment from the lord’s family.
His mother had ordered the brooch made and gifted it to her in order to get around the stubborn streak.
Agnes might refuse payment, considering her service owed to the noble family who owned the land her family farmed, but she could not refuse a gift from the lady of the house.
That would be rude. It would be interesting to see how Mary dealt with the woman.
Because his bride would be staying. God willing, Agnes would be back.
“Why are ye dressing?”
Helen looked disappointed when she returned to discover Anne halfway into her dress. It was only the stays that she needed help with lacing.
“There’s no need for anyone to bring trays to my chamber. I shall eat below.”
“Och, ye’re such a considerate one.”
Helen moved behind her to begin tying her corset in place. “It will please the folks greatly, too, I’ll no deny that. They are a might curious about the new mistress. There were a few rumors of how English ladies like their pampering that had us wondering.”
“I don’t wish to be a burden to anyone.”
“’Tis a delight to have one of those men marry up. This house needs life, mistress.”
The title of mistress made her smile. She simply could not help it. It was a word that she’d never expected to hear applied to herself. It wasn’t pampering that she coveted in the position, only the respect. The chance to be judged solely on what she did.
“Into yer doublet. Cook has the supper out.”
Her belly was empty, but that wasn’t what motivated her. Anne gratefully quit the chamber with its large bed. Besides, she would have no one’s wrists aching from bringing a tray to her.
Helen led her down the stairs and into a long hallway.
The evening light streamed through small openings in the stone walls.
Helen kept walking until they reached another of the large round towers.
There was a buzz of conversation floating into the hallway.
When they reached the arched opening, she stared at a wide expanse of tables.
Fires were blazing in the hearths that circled the room.
It was exactly like the great hall at Warwickshire, only round.
Long tables filled it and there was a raised dais at one end with thick chairs set on more carpets.
Beneath the tables there was only stone, but it had been swept clean.
Anne nodded approval, seeing the sense in it.
Spills and crumbs might be swept up easily.
Many of the tables were already full of the earl’s retainers. They talked freely as the food was passed between them. A hush fell over the room as she entered. The servants paused in their duties to cast inquisitive looks her direction.
“May I present Mary Spencer, daughter of the Earl of Warwickshire. My wife.”
Brodick’s voice bounced off the walls, surprising her with its volume. He stood at the dais, one foot propped on the top step. He looked completely confident there, a vision of strength. The room erupted in a cheer that startled her. Brodick smiled, holding out a hand in welcome.
Guilt showed up again to crush her with its weight. Every step across the hall was pure torment because she felt like an actor. Men tugged on the corners of their bonnets in respect, while others raised their tankards with good wishes.
She was worse than a charlatan.
The good cheer filled the room, conversation resuming.
Brodick didn’t climb the remaining step to the dais.
Instead, he met her on the main floor. Satisfaction was shimmering in his midnight eyes.
Her throat went dry. He closed his hand around hers firmly, clearly confident that all obstacles had been removed from his path.
Excitement ripped through her, sending a surge of emotion along her limbs.
His eyes narrowed as he felt the shiver in her hand.
His thumb reached to rub across the tender skin of her inner wrist. She gasped softly as sensation rippled up her arm.
It was such a simple touch, but so intense, her knees weakened.
“Would the pair of ye mind waiting until supper is over?”
Anne jumped, shocked at her own inattention. Fiona was eyeing them from the nearest table. She fluttered her eyelashes while smiling so sweetly a nun couldn’t have taken exception to her.
“Those simpering looks might make me lose my appetite.”
Brodick grunted. “Ye remember my sister. She’s the talk of half of Scotland, even if our father spent a fortune on tutors to train her better.”
“Gossip should never be believed.” Fiona offered a mischievous smile along with her comment. She reached for a round of bread and pulled a piece off. “No one truly cares what I do.”
“Not so, Sister. I am very interested in what ye’ve been about.
” Brodick stepped over the bench and sat down across from his sister.
Cullen was seated a few feet away, joking with other young men.
Unlike Warwickshire, there appeared to be no finery laid out for the nobles.
They broke bread with their people, ate off the same platters.
Brodick left the fine chairs on the dais empty choosing to sit with his men instead.
“That was my father’s table.”
Anne turned her attention back to Brodick. His expression was solemn. “I will nae sit there until I’ve earned the right, as my father did. Until I sit there with my family, showing the McJames name to be one that will continue.” He gazed at her. “I hope you dinnae mind.”
He lifted one foot and straddled a bench.
Brodick watched her, waiting to see what she made of his table. She sat on the bench, choosing the end nearest him and brought her legs about to be beneath the table.
“This is a fine table, I am honored to sit at it.” The scent of warm food drew a rumble from her belly. Brodick groaned.
“I’ve been remiss in feeding you. Now that we’re home, Bythe will take delight in stuffing ye.”
He began piling food on her plate, much larger portions than she could eat.
“Enough, Brodick, do I look that large to you?”
He stopped, turning his gaze toward her. “’Tis the first time ye have used my name.”
Anne bit into a piece of bread to avoid answering him.
He was pushing close to her, overwhelming her personal space.
The intimacy was bold and there was a part of her that enjoyed it.
Somehow, it made him seem more powerful, that determination.
Her pride was ruffled, too, but that did not stop the tingle of anticipation that flowed down to her breasts.
Laced up once more, the tender globes protested their imprisonment.
Behind the steel stays, her nipples drew taut.
Fiona sighed dramatically. Brodick turned to look at his sister. She only wiggled her eyebrows at his temper. Fiona shrugged before smiling at Anne.
“Men are thick-headed. They canae disengage their minds from their lust.”
“Mind yer mouth, Fiona.” Brodick reached for a tankard. “At least give the lass a few days to become accustomed to yer brashness.”
“More like ye’re thinking to get her settled into yer bed and stuck as yer wife before she learns too much about Celts.”
“We’re soon to be one nation, sister. I, for one, do not long to hold onto the wars that have taken so much blood.” There was a solid reprimand in his voice, but not anger.
Anne held her breath. Warwickshire had always been such a formal house, she wasn’t sure what Brodick would make of his sister’s words. He shook his head, his expression turning jovial again.
“And aye, I’d like to show the pleasant part of living at Sterling afore she hears what a bold female I have for a sister.”
They both laughed, enjoying the jest. She was drawn to the family camaraderie. Hidden from Philipa’s eyes, her own family enjoyed the same ease. Teasing was the one thing that truly said she was among family, because every other aspect of her life was governed by rules and her station.