Juliette Miller - [Clan MacKenzie 02] Page 13

  He laughed lightly, drawing in a sharp breath as though deeply affected by my reaction. He pulled back, holding my face between his hands. “Easy, feisty wee wife,” he said. Then, after a pause, as though to ensure that his own fervor was under control, he touched his lips to mine in a hot, reassuring supplication. The contact fed my fledgling addiction with ardent force. My lips parted in a sighing plea. But then, abruptly, Kade withdrew. He was almost panting, visibly struggling for self-control. It was a moment before he spoke.

  “If I’d known that was all it took to get this reaction,” he said, “I’d have followed my wedding vows with a litany of apologies.”

  “Stay with me,” I said, suddenly fervent for more of my husband.

  “Believe me when I say I would like nothing more than to spend the day sequestered alone in these chambers with you, making amends for my churlish behavior. I will count the minutes ’til I can next do this, and much more.” He kissed me again, just a light brush of his lips against mine. Reluctantly, he disengaged, dazzling me in that moment with his glowing appeal. “But I cannot stay. I’ve ordered some of the men to assemble in the stables. We ride at daybreak.”

  After one more particularly sweet, soft kiss, Kade left me, and I found myself surprisingly bereaved by his departure. Something had changed. A bond had formed where I’d least expected it: between myself and my fierce warrior husband. We had need of each other. We had already begun to rely on each other’s support amid our shared difficulties. And there was more to it than that. A tenderness had crept into our exchanges: a new, intricate sensibility that drew us together. I found this connection remarkably comforting and found that, increasingly, when we were apart, I craved more of him, his inspiring attention and his enriching company.

  Dutifully, and with my husband’s wishes in mind, I finished dressing in preparation for my day ahead.

  And as they had the previous two mornings, one or more of my sisters waited until my husband left, then came to my chamber door, impatient for news or some hint of scandal. When none was to be found, they seemed bitterly disappointed. It was almost as if they wanted me to be ravaged again and were irked when they found me in a semirespectable condition, with my shift unshredded and scarcely a hair out of place.

  It was only Maisie this morning, carrying a tray with food and tea. Maisie placed the tray on a table and poured some tea as she surveyed my husband’s scattered possessions with interest. She brought me a cup of tea and the plate of food. Then she sat on the bed, helping herself to a rough hunk of bread and some hard cheese. “Stella, I heard arguing this morning,” she commented. “And yelling. What was your husband so angry about?”

  “I told you already, Maisie,” I said, mildly annoyed that she’d bring this up yet again—and that she had likely been listening at the door of our chambers. “I’m not to discuss any of that with you. My husband wishes our private affairs to remain exactly that—private.” I, too, took a piece of bread. After the fresh-baked and interesting array of breads that had been on offer at the Mackenzie keep, the stale loaf was particularly unappealing, and the cheese had green spots of mold that needed to be scraped with a knife edge. I decided I wasn’t as hungry as I’d first thought.

  Maisie interpreted my unwillingness to discuss our marital privacy as proof of my husband’s failings. “I just knew he’d be a tyrant,” she said, almost triumphant that her initial assessments had been correct. “Just give me a few tiny details. Do you enjoy any of it? Or is he as loutish and severe as he looks?”

  “Maisie,” I said, mildly exasperated.

  “Because when I was with Wilkie—did I tell you about this? There was this transcendent rush—”

  “You did tell me, aye,” I interrupted. “All about it.”

  “All I’m saying is that it can be...well, miraculous. Maybe in time—I mean, if he even takes you into account at all. Some men are like that, I’ve heard—interested only in self-gratification. Kade’s so unlike his brother in other ways, it’s not surprising. Although the more I see of him, the more I do see resemblances. In his less severe moments, he does take on some of his brother’s...magnificence. Not entirely, but there’s a hint of it, I’ve noticed. But his personality is so different from Wilkie’s, it makes sense that he’d be different in the—”

  “Maisie.” Something in my tone finally silenced her, very temporarily.

  “Oh, all right,” she said, flouncing with indignation. But then she leaned in close again. “But I know you well enough, Stella. And I’m almost entirely certain that you didn’t, otherwise you’d be gushing with it. There’s no way any woman can experience that kind of...satisfaction and not feel elated about it.”

  “It was...different from what I was expecting,” I said, attempting to quiet her with a reply, even if it was vague and perhaps misleading. But I spoke the truth. All of what had so far taken place behind closed doors between Kade and me had been different from what I’d been expecting.

  “In what way?” she asked, her curiosity entirely piqued.

  “In every way.”

  She studied my eyes, then burst into laughter. “My dear sister, you couldn’t have. Simply couldn’t have. Oh, you poor thing. Let’s just hope he improves over time.”

  Even if Kade had not asked me to keep our private affairs to ourselves, I had no desire to discuss my husband’s techniques in the bedchambers with my curious sister. And her false assumptions were beginning to rile me. “Maisie, you have no idea—”

  I was mildly relieved when she interrupted me, and I decided to keep resolutely mum about the entire subject from that moment forward. “There are ways you can make things more...interesting, of course,” she was saying. “If you’re as timid in bed as you are in every other aspect of your life, ’tis no wonder.”

  “What things?” I couldn’t help asking.

  “Well, a man likes it when a woman takes control. Don’t wait for him. Tease him. Use your body. Show yourself. Men simply cannot resist once they see you. Use your hands.” Her eyes glimmered. “And your mouth.”

  I turned from her, and finished dressing. It all sounded utterly daunting, yet I was imagining all manner of lurid details. A flush of heat rose on my cheeks, which caused my younger but decidedly more worldly sister to smile.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going down to the kitchens.”

  “Get some more food for me, too, would you? This bread is hardly edible.”

  “I’m not returning ’til later. I’ve been told to oversee the kitchen staff. My husband wants the grand hall cleaned and fresh bread baked for the men—they’ve gone hunting.”

  Maisie looked at me, slightly aghast. “Since when are you bold enough to oversee anything?”

  “Since today.” I’ll admit the comment stung; it was a little too accurate. My sister had always been blunt to a fault, a trait that was only compounding itself in the wake of her recent romantic disappointments. I’d seen a similar affliction affect my older sister, who had become sullen and wistful. Heartbreak, it seemed, had affected Maisie differently, provoking bitterness and sharp-tongued candor. I’d always loved her despite her consistent lack of either boundaries or tact, but I hoped for her sake that she could rebound with some element of grace. “I’ve been given no choice.”

  “Just hope Father doesn’t find out that you’re interfering. The bruises from your last transgression have only just faded.”

  The thought caused a bolt of unease, but I thought of my husband’s vows, and hoped they were true. If any man threatens to lay a hand on you ever again, he will be exceedingly sorry for it. “Someone needs to interfere. Father might be grateful that someone’s taken an interest, once he sees that it can improve the look of the place. ’Tis ridiculous that we’re not allowed to help when it’s so obvious that something needs to be done to improve the standards of upkeep in the manor.”

  “Aye,” Maisie agreed disinterestedly.

  “I’ll see you at dinner,�
� I said.

  I made my way down to the grand hall, where there was no one to be found. The single large tapestry looked dirty and dull. The fireplace—long cold—had a pile of ashes that had scattered across the floor from some errant draft. Days-old cups and plates still sat on the many tables, and I wondered why this big room wasn’t used for every evening meal, as it was at Kinloch, to unite the clan members over a meal and a drink, with the fire lit and the atmosphere festive and cozy. My husband was right: the place was a shambles.

  I thought of Ailie Mackenzie, who judiciously managed the staff of Kinloch. She was not a woman of particularly forceful character, yet the place ran like clockwork. I hoped, in time, I might be able to do the same and resolved to start today.

  I collected a few of the dishes and carried them through the swinging doors to the kitchen, where some of the staff were busy. Not cooking, however. They were sitting around one of the larger tables, eating from bowls of soup, talking loudly and laughing at a joke one of them had just finished telling. As soon as they saw me, they fell entirely silent and stared at me with a mixture of surprise and contempt, as though I had just interrupted a private party I wasn’t invited to.

  “Good morning,” I said, setting the dirty dishes down on a long, high table, where many other dirty dishes were piled.

  “Good day, milady.”

  I recognized all the women, but I didn’t know all their names. It was Isla who returned my greeting, the head of the kitchen staff. Isla was perhaps twice my age and had been in charge of the kitchens for as long as I could remember.

  “What brings you here?” she asked.

  “My husband has requested that the hall be cleaned today, and that a meal be prepared for the returning hunting party, by sunset.”

  Isla turned to her amused audience, raising her eyebrows. Then she contemplated me, my fine gown and the gold necklace I always wore. “Your husband?”

  One of the other women tittered, a petite dark-haired woman with a pointy face and a somewhat ragged-looking appearance, as though she hadn’t taken notice of her clothing or her hair in some time. “Aye, I believe congratulations are in order, miss. The fierce warrior Kade Mackenzie, no less. We’ve all heard of him.”

  “Commission me, if you please, to deliver his meals,” chuckled one of the other women.

  “Gladly,” retorted another. “Serve his food cold and you’ll likely get knifed for your trouble.” This comment was followed by uproarious laughter.

  Isla attempted to wipe the smile from her face. “’Tis not for you to concern yourself with such matters as the cleaning of the hall, nor the preparation of meals, milady,” she said to me, taking my hand and ushering me toward the door. “I will see to it that some meat is provided for the men upon their return.”

  I held my ground, although her grasp and her persuasion were somewhat insistent. “He wants them to be served fresh meat,” I said. “And fresh-baked bread. And vegetables picked from the gardens.”

  Isla again made a face of mock obedience, entertaining the women to no end. “I’ll see what I can find.” And with that, she shooed me through the door of the kitchen and returned to her friends. I could hear their laughter as I retreated to the fireplace. How had I never noticed how dirty this hall was? And how mediocre our food was? And how disrespectful the staff was? I suppose we could hardly expect outpourings of respect, however, when we did so very little to earn it. My sisters and I sequestered ourselves behind closed doors most of the time, chatting idly, reading, engaging very little with any of the workers. And my father used threats to enforce his will when necessary, although in truth he appeared to be past caring about the state of his own keep beyond its army, who tended to dine in the barracks.

  Something would have to change. And it was clearly up to me to change it. It surprised me slightly to realize that, rather than worrying about his anger, what concerned me more was that I didn’t want Kade to be disappointed in me, and he certainly would be if I failed to follow through with the few simple tasks he’d asked of me. I strode back into the kitchen.

  Again, the women went silent, this time eyeing me with less amusement and more irritation. “I said I would like the grand hall cleaned,” I repeated. “And I would like you to do it. Now.”

  Isla rose once again from her seat. “Milady—Miss Stella, isn’t it?”

  I gave a disgruntled nod.

  “I’ve been appointed by your father,” Isla continued, “who is more than satisfied with the way the kitchens are run. If you have an issue with the management, why don’t you take it to him? And we’ll carry on here with our duties.”

  “It doesn’t appear that you’re doing any duties, Isla,” I commented, somewhat more coolly than I intended.

  “We are breaking our fast,” said Isla indignantly. “The workers need sustenance in order to work, do they not?” At this, the other women made various noises of support.

  “Will you clean the hall when you’re finished? And light the fire?”

  “Aye.”

  “Kade requested fresh bread for the men. I’ll go out to the gardens now and see if I can find someone to get us some vegetables.”

  “As you wish,” Isla replied with overemphasized deference that bordered on mockery. “Is that all?”

  “I— Aye. Thank you, Isla.”

  She bowed slightly, to the continued amusement of her rapt counterparts, and I took my leave of them.

  That hadn’t gone too badly after all, I thought, as I made my way out to the gardens to see if I could find one of the gardeners. They had obviously become accustomed to a somewhat lax schedule, as had we all. It wouldn’t take much to gently encourage a more strenuous work ethic. My sisters could help me, too, once I discussed my new plans with them. I could now see the logic in my husband’s reasoning. It would be nice to have better food to eat, a tidier living environment and higher standards in general. And I could help make that happen. It was energizing to have a purpose, for a change; it felt good to have a goal to aspire to.

  I secured my cape more tightly around me as I stepped out of doors, immediately noticing the chill. It was autumn, and wisps of the coming winter weather were beginning to make themselves felt.

  It had been a long time since I’d taken a stroll in the Glenlochie gardens. There were vegetables still hanging on vines that had never been picked and were now rotten and unsalvageable. And the place looked abandoned compared to the industrious Mackenzie orchards, where gardeners lovingly tended their plants with an attentiveness I had never witnessed in our own keep. This difference certainly reflected in the taste and size of the produce, too.

  I wandered farther to the storage buildings, which were located where the vegetable groves met the edge of the training grounds. In the distance I could see that the soldiers’ area was the busiest of Glenlochie. It was in the barracks and their dusty surrounds where the activity of this clan was concentrated, making it clearer than ever that considerations of all but our military might had fallen to the wayside. And even our military might, if my husband was to be believed, was not only weaker than it should be but also harboring traitors.

  It was here that I stopped walking. I had no intention of entering the training grounds or even being seen by any of the soldiers. I was out of doors alone, after all: a crime punishable by a beating, certainly. Or at least it would have been just days ago. But I was a married woman now. I didn’t require a chaperone everywhere I went. And my husband’s oath lingered in my mind. You’re mine now and you have the protection of my body and my sword. Let my father’s men beat me; I almost wanted to see the look on their faces when Kade exacted whatever revenge he would. I was tired of feeling afraid, and my husband’s reassurances gave me a tentative peace of mind that my soul seemed to want to run with, like a calm sense of liberation had settled around me and refused to be dislodged no matter how much trouble I was asking for.

  The door of the nearest storage building was unlocked. I entered. After the bright sunlight of the
day, it took my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dimness. I had never been in any of these buildings before. The mingling smells of earth and sweetness and decay hung strongly in the air. The walls were lined with shelves and bins, and the middle part of the space was filled with worktables that were entirely covered with jars, dirt, vegetables and fruit in various stages of drying, pickling or preserving. The entire scene was a study in disorganization. Judging from the smell and the appearance, a good percentage of the food was rotting before it could reach whatever state of preservation it was destined for.

  I noticed then that two men were seated at the far end of the long table. They were eating from several of the jars and drinking from large goblets. A clear bottle of whiskey sat between them and was nearly empty. They both stood as soon as they saw me. From their expressions, they looked as embarrassed to be caught eating the clan’s rations as they were angry to be interrupted doing it. It was the anger in their manner that gave me pause. I decided to state my request and then leave as quickly as possible. Strolling the gardens unchaperoned was one thing, but making demands of two swilled, sizable men in a sequestered hut was quite another.

  “I’m sorry to bother you both,” I said, making up a story that might be as quick and acceptable as possible on the spot. “My father the laird has requested fresh vegetables to be served at tonight’s meal—enough for at least a dozen men.”

  “The laird doesn’t eat vegetables,” one of the men commented laconically. “Doesn’t like ’em.”

  “But some of his men do.”

  “I’ve yet to meet one of ’em,” the other man responded, causing both of them to chuckle heartily.

  “His new first officer,” I said, feeling more and more uncomfortable with the glint of recognition in their eyes.

  “The new laird-to-be?” one of the men asked. “Say, aren’t you the laird’s daughter—the one who just married...what’s his name?” he asked his cohort.