Page 24 of Highlander’s Lust

Two Ways to Show Love

Jean woke the next morning and found the other side of the huge marital bed empty. She did not know what to think about this: on one hand, she was relieved she did not have to make conversation before breakfast with her husband after delivering such an ultimatum to him as she had last night; on the other hand, she missed him.

Jean had to admit to herself that she found something compulsively desirable and attractive about Laird Brisbane, no matter how much whisky he drank. Every time he had shifted beside her on the mattress last night, her stomach did a somersault at the thought that maybe he would put his arms around her, pull her close to his chest, and kiss her all over until she blossomed.

She had loved the warmth his body gave off beside her, the gentle sounds of his breathing during the night. Even the soft moans he gave as his dreams disturbed his slumber, she found delightfully appealing. Every fiber of her being had wanted to shift closer to him in the night. The urge to look at him sleeping, maybe smoothing his wild hair off his face, and placing a kiss on his forehead made Jean itch to do it.

She sighed and leaned over to pull the bell rope, summoning Eby to her side.

Eby bustled in, a cup of warm honey milk in one hand and a light gossamer dressing robe in the other.

“His lairdship sent to Inverness for the most exquisite bridal attire for ye, me lady! The trunk arrived this morning. Would ye care to wear this while I change the sheets?”

Jean gave a start. Why would Eby think it important to change the sheets? She looked at the transparent wisp of fragile fabric her maid was holding out to her and realized it was exactly the kind of dressing gown her husband would get the most amount of pleasure from when she wore it. She shrugged her arms through the elegantly draped lace sleeves and tied the satin ribbons under her breasts before asking Eby, “Why d’ye need to change the sheets?”

At these words, Eby, who had gone into the dressing room to help the servant girl pack Lady Brisbane’s new clothes into the trunks, came out again. Now, it was Eby’s turn to look confused.

“Er, because the blood…? When a woman joins herself to a man, the maidenhead is ripped asunder. The blood can be a spot or a gush, there’s no saying how much a lass bleeds, but bleed she most definitely does.”

Jean shifted uncomfortably on her stool in front of the looking glass. “We did nae do anything. I am still a maiden.”

Eby looked puzzled. “‘Tis impossible. I’ve never seen a man so hot for a lass before. Even with all the whisky, he would have been able to—”

Jean held up her hand. “Nay, I tell ye. I told him nay, and he obeyed. What would ye have me do? Spend me first night as a wife with a drunken lout who has another woman’s fingernail scratches on his back?”

Eby looked aghast. “But, sweet lady, he can send ye back to yer parents if ye deny him his conjugal rights.”

Jean looked unrepentant. “If he’s as hot for me as ye say, he won’t! Now, help me dress in something vastly fetching. I want to give Charlie a wee taste of what he missed out on last night.”

Eby thought Jean was playing a dangerous game and hoped the girl knew what she was doing. There was only so far she could push a man as wild and headstrong as Charlie Brisbane before he gave up all pretense of playing the gentleman and took her by force.

When Jean tripped daintily downstairs later that day, she looked ethereally beautiful. Her overrobe of lightest blue silk and white lace undergarment had the bodice tightened so fast, it made the footmen and maidservants marvel when she walked past them. Some of the men at arms raised their hands to their mouths and whispered, but Jean supposed them to be discussing her recently elevated status as their new mistress.

The head footman pointed her in the direction of the south wing courtyard. She followed his directions and found her husband there, training with his men. For one moment, Jean stayed at the gateway, unnoticed by the men in the yard.

Laird Brisbane was dressed only in his plaid and boots. His shirt lay discarded on the ground, next to his scabbard. He had shrugged the top part of his great plaid off his shoulders, and it hung down from his belted waist, reaching the back of his knees.

As she watched, he swung his sword at a parrying man-at-arms. The two weapons connected, making a dreadful rasping clash. For one moment, the two men stood frozen, neither giving an inch. Jean could see her husband’s muscles grow immense from the strain of holding his heavy sword aloft, poised to push against his opponent’s weapon. He grunted; the effort of pressing the man’s sword back made Charlie break out in a sweat, but it was nothing when compared to how the other man must have been feeling. The soldier’s face was puce with strain, and the veins bulged out of his forehead as his feet began to slide backward.

The sheen of perspiration on Laird Brisbane’s back drew her attention to the scratches that were raked down there. From the smiles on his men’s faces, they must presume their master obtained the marks last night.

Charlie took a step forward, and his opponent collapsed under the weight of his sword thrust.

“I yield, me laird!” the man gasped. “Have pity—‘tis hotter than hell out here in the courtyard.”

Charlie grinned, extending his hand out to the man to help him stand up. “I hate to remind ye, MacBean, but battles are fought in the heat of summer too, ye ken!”

Jean could not help it. She clapped her hands and cheered. “Well done, me laird! Ye could nae have done better, no’ if ye were the finest swordsman in all the land!”

He turned around at her words. When he saw Jean standing at the small courtyard gate, he ran towards her, picked her up in his arms, swinging her around. She could not help herself; crowing with laughter, she welcomed his warm embrace. Charlie did not stop to debate the reason why his wife had sought him out and was so happy to see him. He lifted her up until her face was level with his own and kissed her long and hard. She gasped but did not struggle, accepting his eager kiss with shy circumspection at first but allowing herself to respond more naturally when his embrace grew harder, deeper, and more heated.

A soldier, hard of hearing after having a cannon blast next to him a few years back, chose this time to comment on the young couple behind their backs.

“Hoots!” the man muttered. “Ye wouldnae think it to look at them, but they have nae joined their bodies together yet. The servant girl unpacking the trunks this morning overheard the mistress sayin’ the master is a drunken sot with another woman’s scratches running down his back!”

There were a few snickers of muffled laughter from the younger of Laird Brisbane’s soldiers at this remark, but his more senior men told the man to shut his tattling mouth before they shut it for him permanently.

But the damage was done. The word was out. The marriage was unconsummated. Charlie hung his head in shame and lowered Jean onto the ground. This time, he was the one who was too embarrassed to make eye contact.

Sorley had seen enough. He went to the bell rope in the corner of his study and pulled it. It was not long before a footman entered.

Sorley was still standing at the window casement, overlooking the southern courtyard. He beckoned the man closer.

“What’s to do in the training yard? And don’ tell me ye ken naught about it because, unlike the heedless new Laird Brisbane, I happen to ken ye servants have more than a better idea about what goes on under these roofs.”

The footman knew better than to lie to Sorley. The steward had a very unpleasant way of withholding the quarterly salaries of any servant who did not obey his command as if he were a laird himself.

“The master didnae have his way with the mistress last night, sir. The sheets were clean, even though that maidservant, Eby, did her best to hide the fact. And Lady Brisbane herself was heard to stress her unchanged status as a maiden. She’s angered over the signs that he has a lover. In truth, sir, we servants dinnae blame the lass. He has scratches etched on his back that would make a wild she-cat proud.”

Sorley grunted, crooking his finger to draw the man closer to the desk. “Er, thank ye, lad. I trust I can rely on ye to keep this meeting of ours private?” He held a half sovereign out to the footman. The man’s eyes grew large; he had never held so much money in his hand all at once. He stammered, bowed, and backed out of the room, promising to keep Sorley informed if he heard any other news about the young couple’s behavior in the bedchamber.

Sorley grinned. “Aye, lad, aye. Charlie can charm the birds out of the trees, but he’s struggling to explain away those scratches. There are two ways a man can show a woman love, an’ he only knows one o’ them.”