Devil in a Kilt (15 page)

Everyone
else fell quiet, suddenly appearing overly intent on whatever task they could
find to occupy themselves. Some gave her respectful nods as poor Thomas had, a
few of the younger serving maids smiled timidly.

But
no one moved except the tale-spinning seneschal, Fergus.
He
roughly
plucked the tunic from the hands of a scarlet-faced clansman and brought it to
Linnet.

"You'll
be wanting this," he said, handing it to her with much solemnity, as if
the undergown were a precious reliquary and not a sullied piece of linen.
" ‘Tis the way of the clan for the lady to save the proof of her virtue.
We thank you and Duncan for sending it to the hall for us to see."

Linnet
took the proffered tunic, quickly scrunching it into a ball to hide the smears
of blood. "But I dinna—"

"
‘Twas not our wish to embarrass you," he broke in, his commanding voice
loud in the unnatural silence of the hall. " ‘Tis pleased we are to know
you came to Duncan a pure and virtuous bride."

Of a
sudden, a raucous chorus of cheers broke the stillness, and Linnet flushed
crimson. The MacKenzies were acknowledging her as their own ... as their
laird's lady.

Thanking
her for her virtue.

Only,
until a few moments ago, she hadn't known she'd relinquished it!

She
still didn't know for certain.

But
she
did
know she hadn't sent her undergarment to the hall for all and
sundry to examine.

Blood-smeared
or no.

Aye,
that much she knew.

"Where
be Elspeth?" she asked, amazed her voice sounded so calm.

"Where
be
who?"
Fergus placed a cupped hand behind his left ear and
leaned forward.

"My
servant," Linnet said louder. "The grizzle-headed old hen I thought I
trusted," she added under her breath.

"Grizzle-headed,
eh?" Fergus folded his arms and narrowed his eyes at her.
"‘Tis a fine woman, she be, your Elspeth. I havna seen aught grizzled
about her." He paused, fixing her with a hard look as if daring her to
challenge him. "You'll find her in the kitchen. Just go through the
screens passage and follow your nose."

"I
thank you, sir." Linnet didn't bother to tell him she'd already visited
Eilean Creag's vast kitchen. "A good morrow to you," she added, again
marveling her tone hadn't betrayed the emotions swirling inside her.

A
fine woman,
he'd called Elspeth. The three words echoed in her
head as she made her way from the hall, her soiled gown tucked tightly beneath
her arm. Could the crusty old seneschal be smitten with Elspeth? ‘Twas too
ludicrous to consider.

Or
was it?

Eilean
Creag seemed a place where naught was too odd to happen.

But
she pushed the notion aside as she rounded a corner and neared the kitchen. She
had other matters to discuss with Elspeth. It concerned her not if her
childhood nurse had been making moon eyes at her husband's legend-chanting
steward.

If
her suspicions proved true, Elspeth
deserved
to tie herself to a
bandy-legged MacKenzie ancient whose fierce glares would curdle vinegar!

Linnet
spotted Elspeth the moment she entered the kitchen. The stout old woman stood
before one of the three enormous hearths, using a long-handled ladle to spoon
something from a cauldron into a smaller earthenware pot held by a young lad.

Careful
to hide the soiled tunic behind her, and especially not to make any noise,
Linnet crept up behind her.

"Since
when must you stir pottage like a kitchen maid, or think you I wouldn't look
for you here?"

Elspeth
jumped and spun around. The ladle flew from her fingers, landing on the stone
floor with a clatter. "Faith, but you startled me," she gasped,
bringing a hand to her breast much as Linnet had done herself outside the
hall. "I thought you'd still be abed."

"And
why should you think that?" Linnet wanted to know, no longer trying to
keep her voice level. "Perchance because you believe the MacKenzies'
fabled marriage stone has already begun to work its magic?"

For
the first time Linnet could recall, Elspeth avoided her eyes. "Why... ‘Tis
the morn after your wedding night…"

"And
you're hoping it
was
a wedding night, aren't you?"

Elspeth
smoothed the apron she'd tied around her thick waist before she met Linnet's
gaze. "I willna lie to you, child. Aye, ‘tis true I'm hoping you found
favor with one another."

Linnet
leaned forward till her nose almost touched Elspeth's and lowered her voice,
"And how was that supposed to happen betwixt meself and a man who finds me
less appealing than a kirk mouse?
Or were you supposing he'd downed a sufficient
amount o' hippocras at the wedding feast to make himself fuzzy-headed enough
to bed me?" she went on, anger knotting her belly. "Mayhap allow him
to overlook the homeliness of my freckle-nosed face?"

Elspeth
shook her head. "You're talking nonsense, child. ‘Tis a bonnie bride you
were. More beautiful than any I've e'er seen."

"Then
why wasn't it left to my husband to carry me to his bed if he so desired? ‘Twas
no mistaking he didna want a bedding ceremony, that he—" Linnet paused,
lifting a hand when Elspeth opened her mouth to protest. "Whilst I can
understand his men getting out o' hand since ‘twas deep in their cups they all
were, I canna condone your participation in a scheme what could only end with
my humiliation."

Elspeth
glanced left and right before she spoke in a barely audible whisper.
"‘Twas the Sassunach's idea, not mine. Though I did listen to him, for I
truly believed he meant well."

"So
the two of you conspired to leave us unclothed and locked in my bedchamber in
the hopes we'd find favor with another?"

A
pink tinge stained Elspeth's round cheeks. She nodded. "Aye, that was the
way of it."

Anger
and humiliation raced through Linnet so quickly she feared steam would escape from
her ears and blood from her nose. "And did you never consider how
humiliated I'd be to have him reject me when I stood afore him wearing naught
but my skin?"

She
paused to catch her breath. "Did you not think he'd be furious o'er being
forced to spend the night with me?"

"We
acted on good faith, with your best interests at heart."

"And
be
this
what you call good faith?" Linnet whipped the undergown
from behind her back. "Do you care to explain?"

Tiny
beads of perspiration appeared on Elspeth's forehead, but she didn't flinch,
obviously as determined to defend herself as Duncan MacKenzie was to avoid
consummating his marriage.

"We
thought 'proof' would make it easier for you," Elspeth finally replied.
"You're both too stubborn to see beyond your own noses. ‘Tis a perfect
union, yours; but neither of you is capable of seeing into the other's heart.
We only meant to help."

Linnet
dangled the gown in front of Elspeth as if it was as distasteful as a barrel of
half-gnawed and fly-covered fish carcasses.

"Help
me?"
Linnet smothered a bitter laugh. "Have you
forgotten ‘twas you who warned Da not to barter me to the 'spawn o' the devil'
... a possible
murderer?"

Elspeth
wiped her hands on her apron, then rested both on Linnet's shoulders.
"Aye, to help. And I dinna believe the MacKenzie took his first wife's
life."

"And
how do you profess to know?" Linnet demanded, still riled but her chest no
longer heaving in agitation. "You don't have the sight."

"Nay,
I do not. I dinna need it. At my age ‘tis possible to tell a man's character
by simply looking at his eyes. Duncan MacKenzie isn't a murderer of
women."

Linnet
compressed her lips. She, too, doubted the dark tales spun about her husband.
If he
had
murdered his first wife, she would've sensed it. Such vile
acts clung to a person, forever blighting them, darkening the circle of
luminous light she sometimes saw around a person's physical body.

While
an air of blackness
did
surround her husband, ‘twas not the mark of
murder.

A
different kind of darkness surrounded him... one borne of much sorrow and
grief.

But
that didn't excuse his treatment of Robbie, nor his callous rejection of her as
his true consort.

Still,
he wasn't a murderer.

Of
that she was certain.

"So
we agree he dinna kill her," she said at last. "But no matter how
painful, the bitterness in his soul ‘tis no writ to turn his back on the child,
Robbie, nor to treat me poorly."

Elspeth's
eyebrows rose. "Are you saying he handled you roughly?"

Linnet
shook her head. "He ... he dinna... touch me at all," she stammered,
ashamed, angry, and relieved, at the same time. "I mean, I dinna ken if
he ... if he ..." She let her words trail off, unable to voice the
conflicting emotions tearing her apart. "I canna remember all what
transpired."

"My
poor bairn," Elspeth cooed, drawing Linnet into her arms. "I should
have explained to you about what happens between a man and his lady wife. Some
gentleborn women are too delicate to withstand their husband's needs. ‘Tis
sorry I am if he hurt you."

Linnet
extracted herself from the motherly embrace. Elspeth meant well, but she
didn't understand. "I dinna ken if he hurt me or nay. As best I remember,
he slept most of the night and dinna come to me at all. ‘Tis impossible to
recall aught of what did or didn't happen."

She
paused, deliberately leaving out mention of the disturbing visitation. She
especially
left out what little she could remember of what had happened after the vision:
the brassy taste of blood in her mouth and watching the swollen fullness of
her husband's sex buck and lengthen beneath her curious gaze.

Even
now, just the thought of such a wonder sent a pulsing hunger curling through
the lowest part of her belly. The most womanly part of her grew heavy and warm
even as Linnet's vexation bubbled and boiled inside her.

Her
ire over her husband not wanting her overpowered and dispersed the fragile
beginnings of her long-awaited introduction to passion.

"All
I remember is waking up in bed, unclothed, and with blood on my hands,"
she snapped, temper and hurt lending an irritable edge to her voice.

Elspeth's
brows lifted. "Blood on your hands?"

"Aye,
and on the bedsheets as well. I bi—"

"Bless
the saints, child, ‘tis a mystery no longer," the old woman cut her off, a
glimmer of relief crossing her face. "Or do you suffer your woman's
time?"

"Nay,
‘twas a full sennight past when I last bled."

Elspeth
smiled. "Then ‘tis as I hoped... Laird MacKenzie duly consummated your
marriage."

"But
I canna—"

"It
matters naught if you've pushed the memory from your mind. The first time is
ne'er pleasant," Elspeth assured her. "Many years have passed since
my Angus died, but ‘tis well I recall the early days of our marriage. The pain
will lessen, dinna worry. Then you'll see what a wondrous thing the love
between a man and woman can be."

Linnet's
cheeks flamed. She'd wondered about the dried blood on her hands and the
bedcoverings, but had assumed it'd been from biting her lip. Still, could a wee
cut on the inside of her lip cause so much blood? She doubted it, but how else
could the reddish smears have gotten on the bedsheets ... unless they'd mated?

The
possibility seemed more than remote, but she couldn't deny the blood.

She
was gifted with the sight, but she wasn't a spellcaster, capable of conjuring
physical manifestations. ‘Twas beyond her talents to create blood where there
was none.

Whether
she liked the implications or not, ‘twas likely the Black Stag had indeed come
upon her while she was still dazed from the vision.

The
saints knew she'd seen the might of his arousal.

"There's
no reason to blush," Elspeth crooned. "Shame doesn't suit a new
bride. In a few days, 'twill be happiness, not embarrassment, coloring your
cheeks."

Grasping
any excuse to change the subject, Linnet picked up Elspeth's ladle off the
floor and handed it to her. "You haven't told me what brought you to the
kitchen? Eilean Creag has a goodly number of servants. Tisn't necessary for you
to tend the cookfires. Who sent you here?"

"No
one, ‘twas my own meddling," Elspeth said, the concern in her eyes
replaced by a bright twinkle. "Fergus, the seneschal, was ordering the
preparation of alms baskets for the abbey, and I offered to help. He's a most
able man, dinna misunderstand, but after a wedding feast, there is much to do.
I'm glad to make myself useful."

Linnet
heard only half of what Elspeth said. Certain comments caught her attention,
joining those uttered by Fergus.