Belonging to a Highlander Read online

  "Who is this?" Hugh asked, looking around Bess, to both Jamie and Catriona, who looked between each other with amusement.

  Bess continued a diatribe of devotion to her new household, forcing Catriona to explain.

  "This is Bess. My maidservant."

  Hugh glanced at the rattling Bess, then to Jamie. "She's no coming, McBruiey."

  "No coming!" Bess wailed, stopping in the middle of her pledge. "But Laird Hugh—"

  "Laird McCross," Hugh corrected, glancing at the girl sharply. His soured stare turned on Catriona, as though he suspected she were up to something.

  Poor Bess's bottom lip stuck out, and a quiver started. "Oooh," she wailed, this time much quieter. "But—" She came forward and lightly touched Hugh's sleeve. "I can cook, and clean, and mend your shirts. I'm verra good at singing. Would you like to hear?" Without hesitation, Bess began a popular melody.

  Though Hugh tried to pull away from Bess, she followed him as he stalked closer to glare down on Catriona.

  Catriona sniffed back a laugh.

  "You think this is funny?" he asked quietly.

  She only lifted a brow.

  Hugh grunted.

  "She's coming, husband," Catriona said. "You would'na disappoint her so. She was so excited." Catriona made sure to make her voice squee as Bess's did, though quieter.

  Hugh growled this time as he turned on his heel.

  ****

  Hugh swung himself up onto his horse, watching his wife as one of his men helped her into the baggage wain before aiding the maidservant Bess. He rolled his eyes at the comedy the scene became.

  Damn him.

  He should not have drank so much the night before, as otherwise his little tryst with Catriona in the stairwell would never have happened and he would yet be immune to her attributes. Immune to the knowledge that his wife could turn mindless wanton in his arms with the slightest provocation. Immune to the fact that her luscious bottom he had squeezed produced the most lascivious thoughts perhaps ever to enter his mind, which had caused him to return to his ale after he made sure she was indeed back in her chamber.

  His head was splitting, and he had only the desire to ensconce himself in one of the baggage wains to sleep off the remaining pain and roiling of his stomach.

  However, he supposed the hellion would have caused him further problems had he not stopped her when he did, for he would have been forced to hunt her down instead of wedding her today. Which would have only served to delay him even longer.

  Damn her.

  Her lithe body in his arms had done more than prove she possessed more curves than he had imagined. Supple breasts and a plush bottom. She had turned from a wild hellcat to a vixen in the matter of a moment.

  He closed his eyes hard on the memory of his hands dipping down to cup and squeeze her. His fingers had been so close to touching her there.

  Hugh clenched his fingers hard around the reins as he turned his mount for the gates.

  A sudden swell of pride hit him. He was undoubtedly the first man to touch Catriona thusly, and last night was probably the first ounce of pleasure she had experienced.

  And experience she had. She could not lie to him now. He had seen desire on her pretty face, in her eyes.

  A haste like no other filled him then, and he completely deserted his ideas of never touching her, of neglecting her in that way. They would be home before nightfall if they hurried. Yet, the hard discomfort in his trews had him doubting they would be starting off at any great pace, not until he could temper his desire for his wife a notch.

  He had pretended disinterest during the wedding Mass only to spite her. The little vixen deserved no less after all the hell she had put him through.

  And hell there was to pay, yet.

  Oh, yes. He now possessed a new vein to turn his revenge down.

  He would have her writhing and begging before he would make her his wife in truth.

  Chapter Ten

  Hugh closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying to block out the serving lass's endless chatter, but doing so did not help. Her voice sang out over the crunch of rock and dirt beneath the wheels of the baggage wain, as the irritating sound had for a half day now.

  At first, Bess had caused him to ride far in advance of the cavalcade when his splitting, aching head could take no more. After midday, his pain had turned into aggravation, and now, if it were not for the curiosity of his bride hiding away in the covered cart, he would be in an extremely dark mood.

  The sing-song, cheery Bess's head stuck out from the brown leather flap covering the end of the wagon, her shoulders and ample breasts jiggling with each rut in the road, and her voice quivered along in concert with each jolt.

  "I can cook, too! Oohoo!" she cried out brightly as the vessel transporting the women hit a large hole, and she went bouncing to and fro, her large breasts joggling nearly out of her dress. "Oh my!" Bess exclaimed, covering her giggle with a hand.

  "You're all right. No harm done," Alaric said, his eyes on Bess intently as she stuffed herself back into her gown. "Lean a bit more this way," he said, ticking his head to the side, his eyes never leaving the pillowy cleavage. "Now, what was that you were saying?" he asked, receiving a glare from Hugh as a milky white arm stuck out and Catriona thrust open the other flap covering the back of the wagon. She squinted at the bright sun and then cut Alaric a keen glare.

  "I can care for wee bairns and draw bathwater—"

  "Can you now?" Alaric interest perked his tone. "That bathwater—"

  "Bess," Catriona said on a shrill tone. "I think you should come back in and let's close these flaps. I'm sure the men should be riding ahead," she said with much inflection on should.

  "I can even mix poultices!"

  "You can come!" Hugh roared.

  There was a moment of heavy silence, except the crunch of wagon wheels and the clop of hooves.

  "Oooh, yeah!" Bess clapped excitedly. "Thank you, Laird Hugh."

  "McCross. Laird McCross," Hugh corrected.

  "Lady Catriona, did you no hear? The Laird Hugh has said I could come."

  "Bess, you are already in the baggage wain, on the way…" Catriona's voice trailed off as she bent to pull the flaps closed, dragging Bess inside with her.

  "Thank God Almighty," Hugh grumbled. He cast a supreme look of annoyance on the man riding to his left.

  Alaric grinned and chuckled before slapping the reins on his horse's neck. He whistled through his teeth and veered around the side of the wagon, galloping toward the front of the procession.

  This day was going to be much longer than Hugh had planned.

  ****

  At some point the constant rocking must have caused her to doze off, leaning up against the side of the leather covering on the wagon—that along with not having slept the entire night before—but the contact with the wagon floor jerked Catriona awake with alarm.

  Below her, the vessel carrying them jolted to an immediate stop, and she gasped as her cheek slid against the grain of the rough wood flooring. She came up on her arms quickly to look around the inside, lifted a hand to touch delicately at her smarting cheek. With her fingertips she assured herself there were no splinters left in her soft skin.

  Bess stretched and yawned, rolling against her side on the floor trying to get up. The dark swallowing them in the cart made it hard for Catriona to see.

  "Milady," Bess said, her brown cow-eyes going even wider. "My but you look a sight. You really should do something with your hair before the Laird Hugh sees you in such a mussed state." She gave an assuring nod, her eyes falling down Catriona and back up in an appalled way.

  Catriona gushed with sharp annoyance. "Help me then," she said, motioning Bess to her.

  Bess bobbled across the wagon and came up on her knees to pick and tug at Catriona's hair. Whatever she achieved could only have been minimal with the lack of a comb or any such instrument to aid in drawing out the tangles.

  As Bess did what she could, Catriona listened. Had
they stopped to camp? The commotion of men outside the baggage wain was loud and cheerful. Surely they couldn’t have reached Hugh's lands already.

  How long had she been asleep?

  "Bess," Catriona whispered.

  There was a blank pause as the maidservant leaned over her shoulder. "Aye?"

  "Go and look oot the end of the cart and tell me what you see."

  "Aye, milady."

  Again, Bess tottered around in the wagon on her knees, crawling, swaying the covered conveyance with her movements until she paused at the end of the wagon and looked out. "I see a lot of men."

  Of course she did. Catriona need not see them to know they were there. She had heard their commotion since leaving McBruiey Keep.

  "What else?"

  "Um … oooh! Milady, I see a keep. And 'tis a nice one at that, I'll say." She came back inside swiftly, the flap falling shut, and they were once again ensconced in the dark. By the muted light coming through the slit in the flap covering the end of the wagon, she saw Bess turn at the waist to look at her. "Do you think this be Laird Hugh's keep? This keep is no as nice as Jamie's, but it'll do."

  Catriona sighed hard. Where else would they have stopped? Hugh said he wished to make all haste. A feeling of unease hit her hard. They had stayed a good while on his cousin's lands after he had taken her from the abbey. She rolled her eyes at the misery that had been, each day spent in a tent under guard. She hoped he did not have a mind to force that on her again, but just as the thought presented itself, alarm jumped into her throat at Bess's squeal.

  The flaps being thrown open suddenly gave her a second shock, as did the bright light of a torch. Catriona gasped and lifted a hand to shield her eyes, also holding a hand to her breast as two men pulled aside the flaps and tied them at the sides. The start their sudden appearance had given her ebbed in the following seconds as the men lowered the plank covering the end of the baggage wain and propped the piece of wood out of sight.

  "Lady McCross," one of them said. "The Laird has asked that we help you from the cart." He held a hand out to her.

  Catriona hesitated. This was the first time someone had addressed her as Lady McCross. She locked stares with the stranger for a long moment as he continued to offer his hand for her assistance. She paused for only a moment, but the aching in her legs for not having stood for most the day reminded her how much she dearly wished to be outside to stretch and breathe fresh air.

  She scooted across the rough bottom, toward the man's outstretched hand, somehow managing to keep her gown from riding up her legs. The instant her fingers touched his, he abruptly yanked her from the cart and deposited her onto the ground.

  Catriona stumbled to catch herself, and the man who had deposited her turned his back and stalked off alongside the man holding the torch, calling out orders to other men. Catriona dusted her hands on her dress and looked up at the dark keep only a few shades lighter than the night sky. Its gray stones rose up against the night forebodingly, torches dancing against the front on either side of open doors where men hurried in and out carrying items. The camaraderie of the highlanders swarming around the cart sounded pleasant, and all wore wide grins, like men returning home.

  The sight made her heart swell. It was hard to hold her husband in any warm regard yet, not with what he had purposefully done in the stairwell, and especially not after their wedding ceremony, but seeing his men's delight to be home made her happy … and this keep feel less foreign, less overwhelming and frightening.

  She didn’t see Gillie or Jamie's men, but looked for them in the masses of bodies moving about.

  A commotion at her right startled her, and Catriona jumped to help Bess as the young woman rolled to get off the end of the cart, her feet kicking at the dirt. The poor thing rocked from side to side to inch her way down.

  Catriona hurried to assist Bess, to take her maid under the arms, but a set of hard, rough hands beat her to the task, and Catriona looked up at Alaric as he lifted the kicking Bess before setting her on her feet.

  "There you are now," he said, leaning over Bess's shoulder, his hands still on the maid's waist.

  Bess turned around, threw her arms around the man, and gave him a tight squeeze. "Och! Thank you, Sir Alaric."

  "No thanks needed, lass," he said, brushing her off.

  "Bess, see to our things and find oot where Laird Hugh wishes my trunks to be placed." She paused as Bess gave a nod and started toward the keep, then turned her glare on Alaric. She jabbed a finger against the hard leather covering his chest. "If you seek to have a tumble with my maidservant, I warn you now, there shall be consequences. She is but a girl, no one for you to take advantage of. No to mention, she is still an innocent."

  Alaric grinned and swept Catriona's hand away. "Duly noted, milady. I mean the lass no harm. What can innocent teasing do but bolster a diffident lass's self-esteem? And she's no that young."

  "She's too young for you."

  "Catriona."

  She turned in the direction her name had been called to find her burly husband standing there, torchlight dancing on the right side of his face, his chiseled features standing out more starkly. He looked menacing, almost. Taller, broader, harder. She shivered.

  "Come, I shall show you to your chambers," Hugh said, holding out a hand toward her.

  Her eyes fell to his hand, studying those long fingers a moment before she went to him. Did he actually expect her to take his hand? she wondered. After the night before, touching him seemed an unwise idea.

  He glowered at her when she did not and dropped his arm back to his side.

  "I'll make something clear to you now, lass. You are my wife, wanted or no. And you shall respect me in all ways, especially here. This is your home now. Best make it a happy one, aye. If you’ve the wish for my people to respect you, then you'll show respect to their laird."

  Catriona's eyes fell to her slippered feet, chagrined at his admonishment. The Father at the abbey used to recite to them what was expected of a wife toward her husband. Respect. Fidelity. Honor. Obedience.

  Hugh stretched out his hand again, and Catriona's fingertips glided across his palm. Warm, strong fingers closed around hers before he placed her hand in the crook of his arm to lead her inside.

  The procession moved quicker than she had thought it would, for they did not pause on the step so she might meet the servants spilling out of the keep. Hugh also did not introduce her as his wife to his clan as the throngs of people parted for them to enter the hall. Instead, he whisked her through the main room of the keep, a rush of warmth hitting her.

  Her knees became weak as they came to the passage leading to the bedchambers.

  She looked back before the view of the great hall was gone. The large open room was much grander on the inside than she would have imagined. The large stone hall with its high ceiling was brightly lit by beeswax tapers held by dozens of sconces, but Hugh did not give her much time to contemplate the regality of his tapestries, or the width of the hearth, or the startled stares of the servants who bowed as she passed them as their lady for the first time.

  He ushered her up a set of stairs and down a passage. Between each set of quarters crossed spears adorned the walls, torches on each side. Hugh rushed her to a set of rooms at the end like a man in some urgent hurry. For what, she didn’t know. To be rid of her, mayhap?

  "I'd no prepared to bring a wife home with me," he said, pausing at a chamber to the right and then pushed the door inward.

  Inside the bedchamber, a scurry of servants paused in their tasks, glancing between their ranks as they stopped scouring the room. One held a pile of linens from the bed as two more re-dressed the straw mattress. A lad kneeling by a brazier worked to light a fire, and… Catriona's eyes widened on the large copper tub.

  "Good heavens, I've never seen such a fine tub."

  "Years ago I took it from the tent of a Viking jarl after a battle. He was said to have killed an eastern king over the possession of this tub and carried it
everywhere he went."

  Catriona's eyes widened a degree more as she looked over her shoulder at Hugh, unsure if she believed him or not. She turned back to the scene before her. The tub glowed rose-gold by the fire with a wooden stool at its side. Soap, bath oils, and a cloth set neatly on top. Two other women stared at Hugh and Catriona with empty buckets in their hands.

  "Continue," Hugh said to them.

  In an instant, they all jumped to do his bidding, and Hugh carried on into the bedchamber as though they were alone, only him and her. Catriona hesitantly followed, this time taking in more of the room than she'd had the chance to observe below.

  The walls were remarkably bare. The entire chamber was rather plain for that matter, and dim. Only a single sconce, the brazier, and a taper on the nightstand lit the room. She glanced at Hugh with a frown. She hated the dark, even the dimmest light, but she hated fire even more. It was a fear from her childhood that had carried over into her womanhood. She much preferred the bright light of day to any flame.

  "Decorate as you like," he said with a wave of his hand, taking her silence as disapproval. "As I told you, I'd no prepared to bring home a wife." He gestured in her direction.

  She wasn’t sure why she blushed, but she did. "Thank you," she said.

  A moment later, the servants exited the bedchamber in a line, one shutting the door after them. And in that moment, she truly was utterly alone with the highlander who had to hate her for upsetting his life so. A hint of guilt worked its way into her then, and she clasped her hands behind her back.

  "My, they surely worked fast," she said, saying anything that came to mind to distract him.

  "I sent a rider ahead."

  He yanked his shirt over his head then, and Catriona sucked in a hard breath at the glorious sight of his half-naked body again. She whipped around, and a delicate hand came to cover her open mouth.

  "Hugh, what are you doing?" she asked, her voice caught in her throat, the words constricting.