Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Colin did not trust quiet prisoners. Men who shouted could be measured. Men who begged could be understood. Men who spat curses usually had more rage than discipline and therefore more weakness than they knew.
Lachlan Kerr had said almost nothing since being brought to the castle. That made Colin want to break his silence one bone at a time.
He stood in his study with the door closed, with the smell of smoke still caught in his cloak and hair. On the table lay three matters, each troublesome in its own way: a burned storehouse, a prisoner who would not speak, and his wife’s idea of answering fear with music.
Breac stood near the hearth. Murdoch leaned against the wall with the expression of a man who considered furniture a needless indulgence.
“He has said naething useful?” Breac asked.
“Naething,” Murdoch replied. “He denies setting the fire. Denies kenning Munro. Denies even running.”
“He was caught running,” Breac frowned.
“Aye. He denies that, too.”
Colin’s mouth flattened. “Then he is either loyal, terrified, or stupid.”
“Possibly all three,” Murdoch nodded.
Colin looked down at the map spread before him, at the village marked in charcoal, the ridge, the burned storehouse and the path Lachlan had taken.
“Keep him hungry,” Colin ordered. “Water only. Nae beating yet.”
Murdoch’s brow lifted. “Yet?”
“I want him afraid enough tae speak, nae senseless enough tae invent.”
Breac nodded. “And the stores?”
“Enough for every household that lost provisions. We send men east tomorrow tae buy grain, salted fish, meal, whatever can be had. Pay above price if speed requires it.”
“And the feast?” Breac asked.
Colin looked up. “What of it?”
Murdoch’s mouth twitched. “So there is a feast.”
“There will be,” Colin confirmed.
Breac looked toward the table as if searching among the maps. “I wonder where the strategy came from.”
Murdoch, traitor that he was, answered solemnly. “Perhaps from the same source as music, dancing, games for bairns, and competitions for men too foolish tae enjoy sitting still.”
Colin’s eyes narrowed.
Breac’s face remained composed, which meant he was enjoying himself beyond forgiveness. “A clever source.”
“A surprisingly charming one,” Murdoch added.
Colin pointed one finger between them. “Finish that thought and I’ll send ye both tae question Lachlan with instructions tae bore him intae confession.”
Breac smiled. “We only observe that ye are listening tae Lady Elspeth.”
“I listen tae many people.”
“Nae,” Murdoch corrected. “Ye hear many people. Listening is rarer.”
Colin wished, briefly and sincerely, that one of them committed a punishable offense.
“She had a useful idea,” he retorted.
“Aye,” Breac agreed. “That is all.”
His tone suggested it was very much not all.
Colin turned back to the map. “The village needs tae be steadied. Fear spreads faster than fire if it is left with naething else tae feed on. A feast gives them a gathering under guard, food enough tae prove they arenae abandoned, games enough tae make the bairns laugh, and noise enough tae remind Munro that one burned storehouse daesnae make me people cower.”
Breac nodded slowly. “Very sound.”
Murdoch crossed his arms. “Practical.”
“Necessary,” Colin said.
“Romantic,” Breac added.
Colin looked at him. Breac looked back with the grave courage of a man who had accepted death.
“It isnae romantic.”
“Nay? A feast fer yer wedding, with music and dancing. Yer lady beside ye, being admired by the village.”
Colin’s hand tightened over the edge of the table.
The memory rose before he could stop it, Elspeth standing in the courtyard, face pale but steady, asking what could be done.
“She is me wife,” Colin reminded them. “Her place is beside me when the clan gathers.”
Murdoch gave a low sound. “Aye, that sounded almost convincing.”
Colin straightened. “Careful.”
Breac lifted his hands in peace, though his eyes did not surrender. “We are only saying ye may like her.”
“I dinnae.”
“Nay?” Murdoch asked.
“I barely ken her.”
“Yet ye ken when she is frightened,” Breac said.
Colin went still.
Breac’s expression sobered a little, but not enough.
“Ye ken when she is hiding it. Ye ken when she is angry because she is hurt, and when she is angry because she wants tae be. Ye ken she will stand before a grieving widow though half the village is measuring her. Ye ken she has more courage than sense and enough tongue tae make up for both.”
“That is observation.”
“That is attention,” Breac pointed out.
The word landed too close. Colin turned away and poured whisky into a cup he did not want. He did not drink it. He only held it because his hands required occupation before they became fists.
He thought of his father’s portrait, and the way the clan whispered that he inherited the eyes, the temper, the darkness. Love had not saved his mother. It had trapped her. It gave his father a name for possession and a sanctified excuse for cruelty.
Colin learned young that wanting was safer than loving. Wanting had limits. Wanting was the body, and the body could be commanded. Desire could be used, satisfied, denied, forgotten if one had enough discipline.
It did not ask a man to open locked rooms. It did not make promises. It did not turn him into his father.
And he wanted Elspeth. He wanted her sharp mouth beneath his.
He wanted her flushed and furious and breathless against a tree.
He wanted to see the moment confusion became pleasure in her eyes.
He wanted to take all that pride and coax it, challenge it, undo it until she understood her body was not built only for fear.
Wanting her made sense. Loving her would be ruin.
Colin set the untouched whisky down. “There cannae be anything between us, because I ken what me blood is capable of.”
Breac’s face hardened. “Ye arenae him.”
Colin’s eyes cut to him.
Breac did not retreat. “Ye arenae yer faither.”
“Dinnae.”
“Someone should.”
“I said dinnae.”
Silence struck the room again.
He could guard, provide, command and desire. He could even give Elspeth a feast, let her stand beside him, let his people begin to look at her as something more than a purchased bride.
But he would not love her. He would not become a man who confused tenderness with ownership. He would not become the portrait in the hall.
“The feast happens in two days,” he said. “Small, guarded, and useful. Breac, speak with Mairi about food. Murdoch, double men around the village and the castle both.”
Murdoch studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Aye.”
“And Lachlan?” Breac asked.
Colin’s expression emptied.
“Tonight he sleeps with his silence,” he told them. “Tomorrow, we see how loyal fear has made him.”
Breac and Murdoch exchanged one look too quickly to accuse and too clear to miss. Colin ignored it.
They left soon after, though not before Murdoch muttered. “A feast fer his wife, but nae romantic.”
“Entirely practical,” Breac answered.
Colin did not throw the whisky cup at them. That, he decided, was proof of uncommon restraint.
When the door closed, he remained alone in the study, looking down at maps that had become blurred by thoughts of green eyes, soot-marked gloves, and a woman who looked at him as if he might be better than he believed.
Desire is safer, he reminded himself.
So he would desire her, and nothing more.
Elspeth had never arranged a feast before, but she discovered quickly that commanding food, music, and merriment into existence required nearly as much strategy as surviving marriage.
“It willnae be grand,” she said, pacing before the bed while Skye sat with a basket of ribbons in her lap. “If it is grand, people will think we are pretending naething happened. It must be warm and familiar, with enough food tae comfort, but nae enough tae insult those who lost stores.”
Skye nodded very solemnly. “Aye. Comfort without insult. Music?”
“Fiddles and naething mournful. Also games for the children, races and tossing things intae baskets, whatever children dae when nae asking terrible questions.”
“They ask terrible questions while doing all of that, too.”
“Then stronger drink for the adults.”
Skye laughed, and Elspeth almost joined her.
But her thoughts had a wicked habit of slipping away whenever they pleased, and tonight they slipped from feast tables and music to Colin’s hand at her waist on the ride, Colin’s mouth in the garden, and Colin’s voice saying things no respectable woman should remember so clearly.
If I touched ye beneath yer dress, I would find ye ready fer me.
Her face went hot. Skye noticed at once, because Skye was a terrible friend and therefore saw everything.
“What is it, me lady?”
“Naething.”
“That was a very red naething.”
“It is warm in here.”
“It isnae.”
Elspeth turned away and pretended to inspect a folded cloth upon the chair. “I was thinking of the feast.”
“Daes the feast have broad shoulders?”
Elspeth spun around. “Skye!”
Skye’s eyes widened in false innocence. “I asked a simple question.”
“Ye asked an impertinent question.”
“I learned from ye.”
Elspeth pointed at her. “That isnae excuse.”
“It is an excellent one.” Skye set the ribbons aside. “So… Laird Mackenzie?”
“There is nae so.”
“There is always a so when a woman blushes at a dying fire.”
Elspeth folded her arms. “I dinnae blush for him. I become overheated by irritation.”
“Then he must irritate ye greatly.”
Elspeth sat upon the edge of the bed with more force than grace. “He is impossible, rude, arrogant and barbaric. He gives commands as though the world has been waiting breathlessly tae obey him.”
Skye tilted her head. “And?”
“And what?”
“And he is handsome.”
Elspeth opened her mouth. No denial came out.
Skye’s smile softened into something more knowing. “Ah.”
“Dinnae say ah. Ah is worse than accusation.”
“I said very little.”
“Ye said enough.”
For a moment, Elspeth busied herself by picking up a ribbon and tying it into a poor knot.
Her fingers felt clumsy. She hated that.
She faced down villagers, argued with Colin, held a blade to places no lady should mention, and yet one quiet conversation with Skye made her feel like an ignorant girl again.
“Did he…” Skye hesitated. “Did he frighten ye?”
Elspeth’s hands stilled. The memory of the first night rose, wrapped in laughter, his hand at her cheek, his mouth at her neck and his voice promising that when he took her, she would be willing.
“Nay,” she admitted. “Nay in the way I expected.”
Skye was quiet.
Elspeth stared at the ribbon. “He didnae force me.”
“I am glad.”
“He laughed at the cloth.”
Skye blinked. “The cloth?”
“The one I bit.”
“Oh.” Skye pressed her lips together.
“Dinnae dare laugh.” Elspeth muttered. “If ye dae, I shall dismiss ye. Badly. With nae references.”
Skye made a strangled sound and covered it with a cough. “I would never.”
“Ye absolutely would.”
“Aye, perhaps.”
The absurdity eased something in Elspeth’s chest, but only for a moment. Then the deeper confusion returned, warm and restless.
“He said things,” she confessed. “Improper things.”
Skye grew attentive. “How improper?”
“Very.”
Skye leaned forward. “How very?”
Elspeth looked horrified. “I cannae repeat them.”
“Ye must… fer moral guidance.”
“Ye have nay morals tae guide me with.”
“Nae, but I have curiosity,” Skye chuckled.
Despite herself, Elspeth laughed once, then pressed a hand to her mouth as if the sound betrayed her.
Her voice dropped. “He said that women can feel pleasure.”
Skye’s teasing vanished. For a few seconds, they only looked at each other.
“Can they?” Skye whispered.
Elspeth’s blush returned fiercely. “How should I ken?”
“But did he seem certain?”
“Laird MacKenzie is always certain. It is among his most unbearable qualities.”
“And yet?”
Elspeth looked down. “And yet I think… perhaps he may nae be wrong.”
Skye’s eyes widened.
Elspeth hurried on, mortified now that the words begun and seemed determined to ruin her. “Nae that I enjoyed anything. I am nae saying that. I endured several things with composure.”
“Several?”
She frowned. “Dinnae seize upon the wrong part.”
“I am trying tae seize upon all parts equally.”
Elspeth groaned and covered her face with both hands. “He kissed me.”
“At the wedding?”
“In the garden.”
Skye went perfectly still, which was far more dramatic than gasping.
“Was it terrible?”
“Nay,” Elspeth admitted, then immediately wished to disappear into the floor. “I mean… aye. Terrible because he is terrible. But nae… unpleasantly terrible.”
Skye stared at her.
Elspeth dropped her hands. “Dinnae look at me as if I have invented witchcraft.”
“I am nae. I am looking at ye as if ye have discovered something and are furious that it exists.”
That was so accurate Elspeth nearly threw a pillow at her.
“He said me body would… change.” The last word emerged with great difficulty. “If I wanted him, or if I was stirred. He said he could explain it.”
Skye’s cheeks colored too. “And did he?”
“Nay. I fled.”
“Of course.”
Elspeth stood again because sitting still made the room feel too small. “It is absurd. I shouldnae wonder about such things. I should be thinking of the feast, and Catriona, and the burned stores, and whether me mother has received me letter. Instead, me mind insists upon returning tae the garden.”
“Tae the kiss?”
“Tae his arrogance.”
“Tae the kiss,” Skye smiled.
Elspeth exhaled. “Aye, tae the kiss.”
The confession hung between them, frightening and strangely freeing.
“What if he is right?” Elspeth asked softly.
Skye did not pretend not to understand. “About pleasure?”
Elspeth nodded.
“Then perhaps yer maither only kent what yer faither taught her,” Skye explained.
The words struck gently, and for that very reason they hurt.
Elspeth closed her eyes. Her mother’s fear was not the whole world.
Perhaps it was only one room, one marriage, one cruel man.
Perhaps there were doors beyond it. Perhaps Colin, barbarian that he was, knew the shape of one. The thought made her pulse flutter.
“I still dislike him,” Elspeth pouted.
Skye’s voice was full of laughter again. “Of course.”
“I dae.”
“Aye.”
“Deeply.”
“Naturally.”
Elspeth turned from the window, feeling cheeks warm but chin lifted. “And tomorrow we shall discuss ribbons, tables, music, and absolutely naething else.”
Skye picked up the basket with a grin. “As ye wish.”
Elspeth narrowed her eyes. “That sounded obedient. I mistrust it.”
“With good reason.”
For the first time all evening, Elspeth smiled fully. But later, when Skye had gone and the chamber grew quiet, her thoughts turned to one impossible question: if pleasure was possible, what would it feel like?
And worse… what would it feel like with Colin?