Chapter 6
Lachlan’s kiss shook Sloane to the core and she froze under his questing lips.
Heat seared her and when she opened her mouth to gasp, his tongue slipped in.
Feeling sure that this wasn’t right, she slapped her hands on his chest, but by then, his tongue was stroking hers and her thoughts were muddy.
Pleasure coursed through her and instead of pushing him away, she gripped the fabric of his shirt and strived to pull him closer.
Feeling strangely dizzy, she leaned against him and surrendered herself to the strange emotions swirling around inside of her. Heat flushed her skin and she realized that this was what Maggie had meant when she spoke of a spark like lightning between two people when they kissed.
For most of the night, she’d tossed and turned in the bed and mourned the loss of his body pressing against hers.
The ache hadn’t lessened and she’d moved her body and squeezed her thighs together in desperation.
When sleep came, it was filled with dreams of him skimming those lips across her skin and touching her.
“Ye are sweet.” Lachlan breathed heavily as he pulled his forehead away. His fingers curved over her jaw. “Ye liked that.”
Trembling under him, she found that the words were trapped in her throat. All she wanted was that kiss again.
“Aye. We will do that again and soon. Go see to my sister now. I will see ye at supper this eve.”
His hands skimmed down to her waist and gently nudged her. Still unable to form a logical sentence, Sloane turned and hurried from the dining hall. She couldn’t believe how quickly she’d lost her sense of self around him. His kiss had done something to her that she’d never experienced before.
It wasn’t just desire. There was power in that kiss.
Power was something she’d never had. The knowledge that her husband wanted her lingered as she hurried to Freya and she wondered how that might change her.
The kitchen staff seemed already hard at work over dinner.
Several large cast iron pots bubbled in the fires as women chopped and sliced vegetables and meats on the wooden counters.
They shouted over the crackle of the flames and their laughter was twice as loud.
This was the scene Sloane was used to. Like she did at home, she leaned over and snagged a carrot from the counter.
Expecting a teasing retort, she lifted her gaze to see the cook glaring at her.
“My apologies,” she muttered as she scurried away. These weren’t her friends yet. She needed to remember that.
Freya was in deep conversation with one of the women and lifted her head as Sloane hurried up. “There ye are. Did my brother waylay ye?”
“He thinks that ye are unhappy with him,” Sloane said as she carefully sidestepped the question. “Ye certainly seemed upset.”
“Aye, I am upset. He has not apologized for using me as a pawn in his clan politics nor does it appear that he took my mother’s advice last night.”
“What advice?”
Freya shook her head. “Never mind. One of my dearest friends is also gone, so I am in a foul mood.” Her lips tightened.
“Never mind. I doona want to speak of my brother. Let me introduce ye to our kitchen staff. Ye will get to know them well over the next few weeks. They are up before dawn to make sure that we have biscuits on the table to break our fast and they are up past supper to clean up and prepare for the day.”
“I know. I used to sneak into the kitchens during clean up to talk with them before going to bed.” Sloane smiled. “I would read to them while they worked.”
Freya made the introductions and Sloane jerked as cold gazes swept her way.
Most of them looked toward the woman named Jean whose hatred was etched on her face.
She was an older woman with wrinkles and dark spots marring her skin.
Her hands were bony and gnarled as she gripped her dirtied skirts.
There wasn’t a spark of friendliness in that face and Sloane suddenly missed the warmth of her own home, but she knew that she would simply have to take the time to win them over.
“Lachlan will send out a hunting party this evening to replenish the meats, so for tonight, we will have a hearty potato stew and biscuits. I am hoping that he will not join the hunting party,” Freya said frostily.
“I doona think he will. He mentioned seeing me at supper.”
“Good. Come. I’ll give ye a tour of the keep.”
Sloane knew every inch of the Fenton keep and she was eager to explore her new home.
She was a little overwhelmed by the sheer size of the castle, but there was also a grain of excitement about getting to know it better.
It was far too big for the family living there and only a few of the guards seemed to reside there.
A whole wing of bedchambers was abandoned and only used for large events, so much for Sloane to explore. There were always secrets to discover.
Compared to the last few days, dinner was a more somber affair. When Sloane entered the hall, she could see the exhaustion on the faces of the men and women who joined them. Even Lachlan had lost some of that spark.
His eyes met hers the moment that she entered and she kept her head down as she skirted around the filled tables and chairs. Maggie, Calder, and Freya were seated near him and he gestured to the empty seat next to him.
Feeling like she’d stepped into someone else’s shoes, she took the seat and gave everyone a brief smile. Dimly, she wondered if every dinner would be this large of an affair.
As Lachlan sat down and began to eat, everyone followed suit and their murmuring of conversation quickly rose in volume. Sloane couldn’t help but notice people watching her closely.
“Are ye getting to know our fair lands lass?” Calder asked in a hoarse voice. His hands shook as he picked up the spoon, but his eyes were kind.
“I have not explored beyond the keep yet, but I look forward to doing that tomorrow. Yer home is much larger than mine, so I’m sure that it will take me some time to learn everything.”
Calder chuckled. “I envy yer energy. It takes all the breath in my lungs just to get from the bedchamber to the kitchens.”
“’Tis because ye make the trip several times a day to get more to eat from the kitchens,” Maggie snorted. “If ye weren’t wasting yer time stealing food, ye might be able to accompany the lass!”
Calder winked at her and Sloane smiled tightly back.
It was wonderful to see the ease between Calder and Maggie and the love that was between them, but at the same time, it made her uneasy.
She was a stranger in their family and she had no idea what to do with that warmth.
Picking up her own spoon, she scooped some of her stew.
The moment her tongue touched the liquid, her eyes widened and she struggled not to spit it out.
Salt. The stew was saturated with the seasoning. Looking around, she noticed that no one else seemed to be reacting. Not wanting to insult the cooks, she swallowed it and set the spoon down.
“Everything all right, my dear?” Maggie asked.
“Aye.” Sloane forced a smile and reached for her wine. “The stew is wonderful.”
There was some laughter down the table and she stared down at her dinner in confusion.
It felt like the laughter was pointed in her direction.
Were her previous meals this salty? She hadn’t eaten much, but she would have noticed this.
It was obvious that some people were waiting to see if she would say anything, but she swallowed it down and reached for her spoon again.
If the MacFarlane clan enjoyed a little extra seasoning in their food then she would learn to enjoy it as well. After all, she was a MacFarlane now.
“Soon, we will take ye to Hilda and get ye fitted for the MacFarlane colors,” Maggie said after a few moments. “Did ye send yer Fenton colors with yer father?”
The air grew tense, and she glanced up sharply. “I doona wear the Fenton colors,” she explained. “I didna travel with my father or attend any events. There was no need for me to have my own.”
Lachlan narrowed his eyes and he wasn’t the only one. “What do ye mean? Ye were the daughter of the Laird.”
Not sure why they were suddenly upset, she cleared her throat. “I doona know. My father didna ask me to join him.” What she didn’t say was that her father sometimes made a point to ask her to make herself scarce so that she wasn’t a nuisance.
“None? Not the first one?” Lachlan demanded. “Fenton lost his uncle last year, did he not? Ye didna attend the funeral dinner?”
“Nay,” she said simply.
His face deepened into a scowl and he muttered something under his breath.
The salty flavoring did not dull on her tongue as she tried to get through the stew. Finally, she pushed the bowl away and picked at her biscuit. To her relief, it was not salted.
“But I will learn what ye expect from me,” she assured him. “If ye want me to wear the colors and attend events, I will.”
“Aye, ye will,” he said darkly. “By my side.”
A thrill raced up her spine. It had never occurred to her that one day she would stand alongside a husband. It was an exhilarating thought but a little unnerving as well. What if she did something wrong and made him angry?
“What sort of events do ye attend?” she asked eagerly.
The table grew a little quiet and a few heads swung around to stare at her. Instantly, she realized that she should already know the answers to that. After all, she was the daughter of the Laird. If she wanted to fit in, she was going to have to do a better job of hiding her ignorance.
“Weddings, funerals, settling clan disputes, that sort of thing.” Lachlan smiled almost encouragingly at her and she flushed.
“Of course. I knew that.”
Luckily, their attentions didn’t stay on her for long. “Freya,” Lachlan hissed. “Ye are not eating.”
“Forgive me. I seem to have misplaced my appetite,” she said coldly as she stared back at him.
“Are ye ill?”
“Nay. It must be the company.”