Devil of the Highlands (Devil of the Highlands #1)(14)
Author: Lynsay Sands

"Of course you have something else to wear," Cullen insisted. "Put on one of yer own gowns."

"What gowns of my own?" Evelinde asked, turning sharply back on him as all of her frustrations burst forth. "You carried me away from d’Aumesbery without my maid, my mare, or even a change of clothes, or a brush for my hair. This is the best I can do," she cried.

Cullen grunted with irritation and shook his head. "Of course I brought ye a change of clothes. I packed them meself while we were supposed to be consummating the marriage."

Evelinde noticed the eyebrow-raising among the Comyns, but other than shout out to them that the wedding had been consummated since then, she didn’t know what to do. And really, she was embarrassed enough already.

"And I put a brush in, too," Cullen added, reclaiming her wandering attention.

"In what?" Evelinde asked with bewilderment. She recalled his moving briefly out of her sight and hearing rustling that might have been the sound of packing.

"In a sack. ‘Tis in our chamber," he said.

Evelinde stared at her husband, realizing he’d spoken more words in the last few moments than he’d yet said since they’d met. While she was relieved to have this information now, she couldn’t help but be absolutely furious that—had he simply told her these things at some point during the journey here, or even before bedding her that day—the whole humiliating afternoon could have been avoided. She would be wearing one of her own gowns that fit properly, would have had no need of the pin that was now lost, would not have unintentionally exposed herself to their neighbors, and would have greeted them looking dignified and well put together. This whole mess was all his fault.

Evelinde opened her mouth, several choice words trembling on the tip of her tongue, but then snapped it closed again and whirled away. She had already thoroughly humiliated herself in front of their neighbors and would not make it any worse. However, she and her husband were going to have a serious discussion later, Evelinde thought, grabbing up her skirts and stamping up the stairs.

She kept stamping all the way to the room and into it. Evelinde then stomped around the chamber, glowering as she searched for the sack he spoke of. At first, she thought there wasn’t one, but then she recalled the soft whoosh when he’d reached the opposite side of the bed the night they’d arrived and moved around to the side he’d slept on and glanced at the floor. Nothing.

She was about to whirl away and stamp back below to bellow at her husband when she spotted a corner of cloth sticking out from under the bed.

Moving forward, Evelinde knelt to grab it and pulled out what turned out to be a sack. The only thing she could think was he’d accidentally kicked it under the bed when getting into it last night, or perhaps at some point when he’d come up this morning to rub the salve into her. Had he mentioned it was there, she would have thought to look for it.

Closing her eyes, Evelinde held her breath for a moment, then released it slowly.

"Patience," she murmured, and opened the sack as she stood up. Setting the bag on the bed, Evelinde reached in and pulled out the first thing she touched. It was a dark green gown, one of her favorites. A red gown followed; another of her favorites. A chemise came next, then another. Finally, her hand closed on a handle and she pulled out a brush. Evelinde then turned the sack over, emptying the remaining contents onto the bed and sighing as several items tumbled out, including a couple of her best belts, cornets, circlets, gloves, and a smaller sack, which held her mother’s jewelry.

Evelinde stared at the items and sank down on the side of the bed as tears filled her eyes. He’d thought of everything. Well, not everything. Her tapestries and so forth were not there, but he’d included everything she would need to dress herself properly at least for a couple of days. It was more than she’d hoped for when he’d said he packed for her. Most men would have not thought to include the gloves or circlets she was sure. But Cullen had, and had done so despite her not being able to remind him of the need at the time. He’d also done so during a more stressful than usual wedding. At least, she thought it had probably been more stressful than the average wedding but couldn’t be sure. It was her first.

Feeling a bit mollified, Evelinde forced herself to stand and begin to remove her gown. She would dress and fix her hair as quickly as possible, then return below. They had guests. Her first. She’d made a poor showing at the initial meeting but hoped to repair the impression. If she could.

Chapter Eight

Marriage was horrible.

Evelinde grimaced as the thought ran through her head for about the hundredth time since she’d sat down to mend a small tear in her green gown. It was three days since the Comyns had visited. Evelinde had quite enjoyed seeing them once she was dressed properly. Ellie, Lady Comyn, was a charming, amusing, and elegant woman like her own mother had been. The sort of woman Evelinde had hoped to be, but apparently had failed miserably at becoming.

Sighing, she sewed another stitch, her eyes seeking out her husband where he sat at the table talking to Fergus. Apparently, Cullen could speak, Evelinde thought bitterly as she watched his mouth move in what appeared to be a whole sentence rather than one of the grunts he doled out to her.

The man rarely bothered actually to say anything to her. Evelinde tried repeatedly to engage him in conversation with no success. Hoping to encourage him, she’d chattered on about her life growing up, her parents, her brother, her mare, and so on. She’d even managed to slip in a reference to her beloved tapestries and her sorrow that she hadn’t been able to bring them. What she’d spoken of most, though, was Mildrede and Mac. She missed them terribly and said so at every opportunity In turn, Cullen had grunted.

He hadn’t even given her an answer when she’d asked what duties he would like her to take on now that she was at Donnachaidh. Met with the usual discouraging silence, she’d let that go to keep her promise to Biddy and asked if he couldn’t have some men aid the women with the heavier tasks in the kitchens and elsewhere in the castle. All she’d received for her trouble was a look that suggested the very idea was mad.

If it weren’t for the fact that Evelinde had seen his lips move in what appeared to be actual conversations with others, she would have thought the man incapable of forming whole sentences. However, she had, and Evelinde now suspected the truth was that he simply didn’t care to trouble himself to speak to her. She was beginning to think he was regretting their marriage. Not that he was mean or cruel, but he also hadn’t touched her again since consummating the marriage. It seemed that what she had thought was a beautiful, exciting, and world-shattering event had not even been enjoyable for Cullen. Else why had he not repeated the experience?

That was the question running repeatedly through her mind as she’d lain in the dark next to him at night, listening to him breathe: Why did he not touch her again?

Evelinde was miserable. She missed Mildrede and Mac, felt bereft and lost in her new home, and had not even her husband’s kisses and caresses to comfort her. Instead, she moped about during the day and lay awake in bed at night, tears streaming silently from her eyes as she imagined this to be her life from now on: a silent, uncaring husband and not even a friend to speak to.

Well, there was Biddy, Evelinde reminded herself. But Cullen’s aunt was forever busy, hustling about the kitchen, directing staff and chopping up chickens or performing other such tasks. Evelinde hated to bother her while she was so busy filling in for Donnachaidh’s normal cook, so tried to avoid pestering her too much, which left her lonely, and growing more so all the time, to the point that last night she’d wished briefly that she were back at d’Aumesbery. While Edda could make life unpleasant, at least Evelinde had someone to talk to there, and during those rare moments when she managed to get away from the keep, she’d found peace and a measure of happiness riding Lady or sitting by the clearing. Something she feared she would never find at Donnachaidh.

Aye, it was turning out that marriage was not as wonderful as she’d thought the day after arriving here. Evelinde sighed as she noted that the last few stitches she’d sewn were crooked. Grimacing, she began to tear them out. It seemed she could not do anything right anymore. At least nothing she’d attempted to do here had met with any measure of success. She couldn’t get her husband to talk, couldn’t sew a straight line, and couldn’t even gain a bit of information that would help her sort out why Cullen’s uncle, father, and wife might have been murdered.

Evelinde sighed again as she thought on the last subject. When she hadn’t been trying to get her husband to talk these last few days, or tending to her duties here as Lady Donnachaidh, she’d spent her time delving into the matter of the three deaths.

All she’d really done was ask questions. Evelinde had started with his aunt, trying to be casual about it, but Biddy had caught on to what she was up to at once and told her to "let it lie. The last thing Cullen needs is another dead wife." Evelinde had reluctantly given up on quizzing the woman and turned to asking her questions of others instead. She’d spoken to several maids, Scatchy—who it turned out was the stable master—Fergus, and a few others, but none of them had been very forthcoming on the subject either. All she’d gained was a stern lecture from Fergus assuring her that her husband had not killed anyone and that she shouldn’t believe the rumors and nonsense.

Cullen was a good man, he’d informed her, and she should concentrate on being a good wife to him. Feeling suitably chastened, Evelinde had let the subject drop at once.

So far, she had got nowhere with that effort. It was another failure, in her mind, and it irritated Evelinde because she wasn’t even sure why she had troubled herself to ask around about the subject. She’d started out telling herself it was because she wanted to do something nice for her husband in return for his thoughtfulness in packing a bag for her, but suspected the truth was that, like his first wife, little Maggie, she was hoping to win his affection, or at least his attention, by clearing his name.

And was that not a sad state of affairs? Evelinde thought to herself with disgust. She did not even know why she cared. ‘Twas a marriage, and marriages rarely included love. They were business associations. Through their marriage, Cullen had gained a healthy dower, and she’d gained a home for the rest of her days. Without it, she would have either been a burden to her brother, living at d’Aumesbery like Edda would, or she would have found herself shipped off to a nunnery. Love wasn’t a part of marriage. Her parents hadn’t loved each other when they’d first wed, that had come later, and they’d been lucky to find it. Most husbands and wives didn’t come to love each other.

"My lady."

"Aye?" Evelinde glanced up to see who addressed her and gasped, "Mildrede!"

The maid laughed gaily as Evelinde tossed her sewing aside and threw herself out of the chair and into the maid’s arms.

"Oh, Mildrede, I have missed you so!"

"And I, you," the maid assured her with a laugh as she hugged her back.

"What are you doing here?" Evelinde asked, pulling back just far enough to see her face.

Mildrede’s eyebrows rose at the question. "Where else would I be? I am your lady’s maid. My place is with you."

"Aye, but—" Evelinde paused, confusion rife within her. She turned to seek out her husband for an explanation, but her gaze caught on the man standing a couple of feet behind the maid, and her eyes widened incredulously. "Mac?"

His dear face split into a wide grin at her disbelief and he nodded. " ‘Tis I."

Slipping from Mildrede’s hold, Evelinde now hurried to the man and gave him a hug as well. "I cannot believe you are here."

"Nor can I," he admitted wryly. "Never thought I’d see me beloved Scotland again, but here I be, and glad of it," he added grimly. "We couldna leave d’Aumesbery quick enough fer me liking. Edda was taking out her temper on all and sundry once ye were no there for her to focus her frustration and anger on."

When Evelinde frowned at this news, he quickly added, "Ne’er fear though. We passed a small traveling party on the way out and stopped to find it was Alexander returning. He’ll take Edda in hand."

"My brother is back?" Evelinde asked with a gasp of both happiness and relief. She’d begun to fear he’d been badly injured or killed in Tunis. But he had not, and he was home. It was almost as great a gift as having Mildrede and Mac returned to her, she thought, and turned excitedly to her husband as he took her arm to draw her away from Mac’s embrace. "Can we visit him? I have not seen my brother in three years."

"Not right now," Cullen answered. "Later in the year, mayhap. But ye can invite him to visit us do ye wish."

She nodded, excited at the prospect, then gestured to Mildrede and Mac, and asked, "Are they here for good?"

Cullen nodded.

"Mildrede can stay?" she asked, needing clarification.

"She’s yer maid," he said simply.

"And Mac?"

"Ye said he was yer friend." Cullen shrugged. "He’s a Scot, and Scatchy is getting old, he’ll need someone to take his place and direct his daughter in the stables."

Evelinde stilled at these words. She’d known Scatchy worked in the stables, one of the few men who seemed actually to do anything other than practice at sword play, but hadn’t realized the man’s daughter worked there as well. Not that it mattered much to her at that point. She was more concerned with what her husband had done for her.

"You sent for them because you knew I missed them?" she asked, tears welling in her eyes as she realized he had actually listened to her after all.

"Nay."

Evelinde glanced around at that word to see a tall, very handsome, fair-haired man moving toward them. She recognized him at once as one of the men who had arrived at d’Aumesbery with her husband, but who had remained behind when they’d left. She had no idea who he was, though.

"Tavis," he introduced himself, apparently reading the confusion on her face. "I’m Cullen’s cousin. Yers, too, now that yer wed."

"Oh," Evelinde managed a smile and nodded. "Hello, cousin Tavis."