Juliette Miller - [Clan MacKenzie 02] Read online

  He needed no further encouragement. With uncanny control of his knife, he sliced through the cord and the cloth, not once, but twice, allowing my shift to open and fall. At the sight of my naked breasts, Kade’s eyes grew visibly darker and his breathing caught.

  “Holy God,” he said after a moment, all trace of amusement gone. My husband, for all his bravado, was momentarily speechless. My nakedness had somehow tampered with his unerring control. “Your beauty,” he whispered, “is nothing short of miraculous. I am at your mercy, wife.” His words echoed with the earlier warnings of my sisters, now caught in sharp relief with the contradiction. I was at his mercy, aye. But he was also at mine. This equality and the power of the realization only succeeded in feeding my own desire for him to touch me.

  He dropped his knife and reached for me with both hands. Rather than teasing, his touch became reverential and affectionate, caressing my nipples with light, squeezing pulls. Each careful tug of his roughened fingers sent a channel of pure heat to the secreted place between my thighs, which softened and pulsed in rhythmic harmony to the play of Kade’s fingers. Only once had I felt this kind of pleasured expectation, in a forbidden garden with an unknown stranger; the memory seemed far away and long ago. I wanted this, now, more—more of the excruciating touch of his warm, gifted hands. As the pressure built, the heated inner channel between my core and my breasts grew in intensity, until the moistened entrance to my body throbbed unbearably. I moaned and writhed to get closer to the enchanting feel of him. The furs fell lower with my movement, and the skin of my thighs was cooled by the sudden exposure to the air. I felt the beginnings of an indescribable rush deep within me. When his head lowered as though to take one of my nipples into his mouth, I very nearly begged him to do it. But before I could, a staccato beat of insistent knocks at the door broke through the haze of my stupor. And again.

  “Stella!” It was Maisie’s voice. “The maids are here with the bath you called for. We’ve come to attend to you and help you dress.”

  More knocking.

  Kade withdrew his touch, and pulled the furs back up my body to cover me. His color was high, his cheekbones burnished with a light flush. “’Tis just as well,” he said with an unmistakable air of smugness. “I might not have lasted an hour, let alone a month.”

  He rose and, with barely a backward glance, walked to the door. “I will send for you when I’m ready,” he said, then with a flash of a smile, “You are indeed an instrument to be played.”

  It wasn’t the first time I was confused as to the slant of his meaning. Now, as he made his leave, mortification blanketed the heat of my desire. I had responded to him, aye, shamefully so. My body had come alive under his bold touch. I had not meant to react like that, not at all. I was angry with myself, for my wanton compliance. And his comment irked me, that he would see me like that, as an object, a plaything, an overly willing wench to be used and dismissed. I vowed that I would not allow myself to get so carried away when—if—he were to touch me again. Next time I would say nay to him, and keep my distance.

  Kade opened the door to a flurry of commotion. The chambermaids and my sisters silenced abruptly at the towering, sudden countenance of my husband. Without a word, he walked past them and down the hall. As soon as he was gone, my sisters burst into the room, full of curiosity and concern. They clutched gowns and adornments of many varieties. The chambermaids rolled the full tub into the room, which steamed and splashed with the movement.

  Still mildly stunned by the intensity of what had taken place, and also by its hasty removal, I lay still. My sisters gathered around the bed, and Maisie pulled the fur down over my body. They stared at my shredded shift and the blood smeared across my thighs and the white sheets. There was a collective gasp.

  “Lord above, Stella, you’ve been ravaged!”

  * * *

  I COULD DO little to calm my sisters’ reaction. After all, I had sworn to Kade that I would discuss nothing of what had taken place, and I was glad I was true to my word. It wasn’t five minutes after my sisters arrived that my husband returned to the room, storming in purposefully as though he had forgotten about my presence—and that of my many attendants. I was also glad that I was fully immersed in the deep bath before he made his appearance. My sisters gasped at the intrusion and clutched drying cloths as though to shield me before their whispers began.

  It was the first time I had ever seen Kade look mildly uncomfortable. At the far end of his chambers, he was reaching to grab a rolled scroll from a high shelf, which he briefly unrolled to read, as though searching for something specific, or making every effort to concentrate on anything but our feminine circle.

  “Add some bubbles,” Ann whispered to Agnes.

  “It hardly matters if he sees her,” muttered Agnes. “He’s her husband.”

  “Besides,” Maisie added, hushed, “’tis clear enough he’s already done much more than see her.”

  “Aye, look at the state of her,” Agnes quietly agreed. “Flushed. Bloodied. Utterly traumatized.”

  There were noises of sympathy before conversation turned to my wardrobe, more loudly now that the subject was no longer that of my plundering.

  “What dress, then, Stella?” asked Agnes. “Not the green one. You always wear green.”

  “That’s because it’s my favorite color,” I replied.

  “Which dress do you favor...Kade?” Maisie asked boldly and with a trace of coy pushiness.

  Kade looked at Maisie, and his indifference kicked in. He took a moment to consider his answer. “I’m sure Stella will look ravishing in any of the gowns,” he said. I thought I might have detected a note of playful sarcasm in his reply, but I couldn’t be certain. Either way, my sisters exchanged meaningful glances, as though pleased by his sentiment, before returning to the task at hand.

  To us, Maisie said, “Ailie Mackenzie is so talented. I’m going to ask her to make some of these in my size. In pink, and in this light green.”

  “Aye, her designs are so sophisticated,” Ann said.

  “Which one, then, Stella?” persisted Agnes.

  “I like the white,” I said.

  “Not white, ’tis too plain. Something regal, since Wilkie’s wife is royalty after all.” This from Agnes, who, immediately after she spoke, gave an apologetic smile to Maisie.

  “Isn’t it unlikely?” Maisie replied, jutting her chin upward just slightly. “Who would’ve thought that the king’s child would prove to be a lass? And a servant of all people!”

  Kade’s movement stopped and he looked once again at Maisie, his eyes narrowed and uninterpretable. “She was never meant for servitude,” Kade said darkly.

  Maisie blanched slightly at his remark but spoke evenly. “Aye, I’ve heard the story. I admire her, of course.”

  “You would be wise to admire Roses by speaking only well of her,” Kade said, and there was warning in his tone. I got the feeling Kade did not think highly of Maisie, whether it was from her offhand comment or some other digression—which I might have guessed at. Either way, the animosity clung to him as he returned to his task.

  Maisie did not reply but she continued to watch him.

  Ann attempted to change the subject. “I think you look beautiful in yellow, Stella. It sets off your eyes.”

  “I like the pink,” said Agnes.

  I tried again. “I like the cut of the white one. ’Tis simple yet elegant.” I was so used to having my choices overruled that my voice sounded resigned even to myself; this decision, as every other, would be made for me.

  “You should wear something more colorful,” said Agnes. “How about the blue?”

  “Not blue,” Maisie replied. “I don’t like Stella in blue. It makes her eyes look positively wild.”

  “The pink, then,” Agnes continued.

  Kade, who was listening with more intent to the conversation than I might have expected, walked over to where we were gathered. He outsized my sisters by so much, he reminded me of a great bear who
might have wandered into our party. My sisters fell entirely silent.

  “Stella,” he said evenly and with unmistakable authority, “will wear the white dress. And in the future, you will listen to what she says as soon as she says it.”

  My sisters went silent, staring up at my husband, mutely agog. I couldn’t help feeling a sense of gratitude as my eyes met Kade’s. His pronouncement afforded me with a small, nourishing power that was all but unfamiliar to me: I felt supported. And listened to. The depth of feeling caught me off guard. It made me want to reach out to him, to return the favor.

  To me, Kade said gently but with that same ingrained authority that left no room for argument, “My guard is awaiting you outside the door. As soon as you are ready, he’ll escort you to me. Do not take too long.”

  And with that, he again took his leave.

  * * *

  WILKIE AND ROSES were ready to depart for Ossian Lochs. Their travel party was not overly large and required only four carriages, along with a number of guards and officers who rode on horseback. Each carriage had been loaded with trunks of supplies and belongings. Despite the fortuitous turn of events surrounding Roses’s newly discovered status as the daughter of the King of Scotland, which resulted in her inheritance—and Wilkie’s lairdship—of the most coveted estate in all the Highlands, the mood was heavy.

  I did not know my husband well at all. But I could detect that he was deeply saddened by the departure of his brother. He stood next to Laird Mackenzie as Wilkie shook the laird’s hand. The laird, unexpectedly, embraced his brother in a heartfelt hug, patting him roughly on the back. It was known that these brothers were especially close. Their skills on the battlefield were discussed far and wide; their success as a team in maintaining and growing the wealth of Kinloch was often emulated but rarely equaled. Now their close collaboration was at an end. Wilkie was leaving now for Ossian Lochs, a three-day ride, and Kade would depart for Glenlochie tomorrow. I could see the sorrow in Knox Mackenzie’s eyes, which to me was one of the more pronounced aspects to his character despite his obvious staunchness. He had ruled without a wife since her death several years ago, and now he would rule without his brothers. His sense of loss was palpable in the set of his shoulders and the low light in his unusual pale gray eyes.

  Wilkie put his hands on Laird Mackenzie’s shoulders. “I’ll expect a visit soon,” he said. “Perhaps you’ll favor one of the Stuart lasses. The time is overdue for you to find another wife, brother.”

  Laird Mackenzie, in a rare vulnerable moment, kicked the ground, raising a small tuft of dust.

  Wilkie turned to Kade. Kade held out his hand for a handshake, but Wilkie grabbed his brother in a bear hug, cursing and disengaging with a flinch when one of Kade’s blades poked his muscular bicep. They both laughed as Wilkie rubbed his arm. “Once you’re settled at Glenlochie, we’ll expect you and your new wife without too much delay.”

  Wilkie Mackenzie’s eyes turned to me, and he contemplated my face, my hair, my dress. It was the closest I had been to him and I could see now more than ever before why he was legendary for his looks. His eyes were an almost royal blue, darker in the middle and lightening at the edges. His features, if studied individually, were perhaps overly bold, but when placed together presented a perfect configuration, a symmetry. He resembled his younger brother strongly but there was an ease to him that Kade lacked. Where Wilkie’s inner glow conveyed reassurance and strength, Kade’s relayed volatility. It was a volatility, however, I could reflect in the light of all that had so far happened, that intimidated me less than it had even one day ago. Wilkie smiled lightly at my scrutiny and leaned to kiss my cheek. “’Til soon, sister. Do not fear him. He’s bullheaded as a mule, but I think you’ll tame him easily enough. His bark is worse than his bite.”

  At this, Roses, who stood next to Wilkie, linked her arm through mine and gently led me from the men. I followed willingly, although somewhat surprised by her closeness. Her long white-blond hair was loose and strands of it brushed against my arm, as soft as feathers. Her scent was of sunshine and youth, floral somehow, and earthbound. “I hope you don’t mind if I speak with you,” she said. Her speech was inflected with the lightest hint of an accent I could not place, with rounded vowels that caught the ear. Her voice conveyed a strength, I thought, that belied her slender, small shape and the fairness of her hair. And I knew her story, as an outcast—a servant—swept into the arms of a most coveted, handsome nobleman. I couldn’t help feeling a touch of admiration for her. To elevate herself through such a vast social divide, from the kitchens of the Ogilvie keep to the private chambers of Wilkie Mackenzie, even before he knew of her bloodline, was inspiring indeed. To undertake such a journey—both social and geographical—on her own and with such apparent poise and honesty, and to admit her very humble origins: it stirred something in me. Awe, maybe. Or a yearning to possess courage of that kind. I thought she deserved her good fortune.

  “Of course not,” I said, and she smiled.

  “I do not know him well, your husband. Yet I see the way you look at him, if you’ll forgive me. And I know your marriage was arranged by your father.” She paused, as though awaiting a confirmation of sorts.

  I gave it. “Aye.”

  “I wanted to tell you that I was very afraid of him at first. His first impression is one of danger, and he does little to assure one otherwise.”

  Again she paused. I agreed, wondering where she was going with this.

  “Yet I have never had anything but kindness from him. He is thoughtful, and honorable, as all the Mackenzies are. I’ve seen him with his family. He is trusted, and adored, and he gives love as much as he receives it.”

  I looked at her, struck by her beauty. Her hair caught the sun and glowed white. Her eyes reflected the shade of the grass.

  “I’ve never had a sister before,” she said, somewhat shyly. “I know you have many. But I hope you’ll think of me as such. We’re so looking forward to visits from you, and Wilkie plans for us to visit you as well in the coming months.”

  I appreciated her kind words. “I would enjoy that very much, Roses. I wish you all the best with your new life at Ossian Lochs with Wilkie. I know you’ll have every success.”

  Unexpectedly, she hugged me to her, holding me close. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “Roses,” called Wilkie. “’Tis time.”

  We drew apart, and we walked back to where the men were congregated. Roses smiled and waved as Wilkie helped her into the largest carriage.

  “You might see us sooner than you think,” Kade said to Wilkie. “If Campbell’s rebellion reignites as it threatens to.”

  Wilkie’s half smile was laced with the confidence of a warrior who knew his own strength. “Unlikely,” he said.

  “Be well, brother,” Laird Mackenzie called after him as Wilkie climbed into the carriage after Roses, “and send your messengers at the first sign of trouble.”

  We watched their carriages grow smaller for a time, the prance of the horses, the clouds of dust that rose then settled in the midday sun. Kade stood next to Laird Mackenzie some distance from me. And as I contemplated my husband, I saw for the first time not only a fierce, brawny warrior but a man who might be capable of sadness, of kindness and, most of all, of love.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MY OPTIMISM WAS short-lived. Immediately after Wilkie and Roses departed for Ossian Lochs, my husband reverted to his most boorish. As though he’d overheard my conversation with Roses and was determined at all costs to disprove it, he was as cold and callous as I had ever expected of him.

  Tomorrow we would depart for Glenlochie, and Kade had ordered a brigade of workers to help him prepare for our departure, which would take place early tomorrow morning. That he was less than pleased, in these final hours, at the thought of leaving his beloved Kinloch was more than obvious. He had done his duty, secured a necessary alliance and successfully staged a bonded union. If he may have once found me pleasing during our private moment
s, that admission seemed now to have escaped his mind. He seemed more preoccupied by thoughts of his new clan, his new laird—at least until he took over the role—and his permanent separation from the only home he’d ever known. Wilkie’s fresh absence only appeared to heighten Kade’s fuming state of mind, serving as a trigger that reminded him very convincingly that life would never be the same.

  I was ordered to accompany him to the evening meal, which we would take in Laird Mackenzie’s private den, with only me, Kade, the laird and their two sisters. Despite the fact that I was now a bona fide member of their clan, the thought of dining with the Mackenzies made me feel wildly out of place, especially at this somewhat fraught time of upheaval in their family.

  And my reservations were not unfounded. The laird spoke very little during the meal, which was as sumptuous a spread as any I had seen. I had a feeling, after witnessing for myself the superior quality not only of their supplies but also their preparation and presentation of it, that my husband would be very disappointed when he reached Glenlochie. Our hunters had had some difficulties in recent months. Our cooks were nowhere near as skilled. And our servers were more sullen, slow and disorganized than the smiling, gracious Mackenzie staff.

  Kade’s youngest sister, Christie, seemed to rise to the challenge of lightening the heavy mood of the evening. Christie was close to my age, I guessed, and had eyes and hair a similar color to Kade’s. But the similarities ended there. She had an innocent exuberance that was at the same time engaging and entertaining. “Stella, you wore that wedding dress within an inch of its life, if you don’t mind me saying. Your figure is stunning. We knew that already, of course. We’d heard the men speak of you, Kade especially—” A withering glare from Kade seemed to stall that particular commentary, but Christie wasn’t easily deterred. “Oh, Kade, stop glowering. You of all people know I speak only the truth.”

  “Christie,” Ailie reprimanded quietly, but for Christie, propriety did not appear to be the foremost goal of the evening. I didn’t mind her forwardness at all. Her tendency to delve enthusiastically into sensitive topics was hardly something that was new to me—my sisters did so on an hourly basis, after all—and despite her overt curiosity I found myself enjoying her mild chatter. It was better than silence, at least.