Devil of the Highlands (Devil of the Highlands #1)(15)
Author: Lynsay Sands

Tavis’s smile widened at her prim greeting, eyes twinkling, then he turned to gesture to the men who had followed and introduced them, "Gillie, Rory, and Jasper."

Evelinde nodded to each of the grinning men in turn, then shifted her attention back to Tavis as he explained, "Cullen ordered your things brought ere leaving d’Aumesbery. While the three of ye left, he ordered us to stay behind long enough for a wagon to be packed with yer belongings and follow."

"Aye, me lady," a short, freckled, strawberry blond Tavis had introduced as Gillie said. "We got here as quick as we could but had to travel more slowly because of the wagon."

Evelinde stared at the men, slowly understanding that this, then, was where they’d disappeared to.

They’d stayed behind to escort the wagon to Donnachaidh; a wagon with her belongings.

"We brought everything of yours," Mildrede said, drawing her attention again. "Edda tried to stop us at first, but Tavis and the men just told her to stay out of the way. We have your tapestries and—"

The maid stopped speaking because Evelinde had whirled away at that point and was rushing for the doors.

"Oh!" Evelinde gasped as she slammed through the door and paused on the top of the keep stairs to stare down at the overloaded wagon waiting in front. She peered at the familiar items on the wagon with wide eyes, then glanced back when the doors opened behind her. A beaming Mildrede and Mac stepped out first, followed by Cullen and the four men who had escorted the wagon.

"You brought my chairs from my room," she said with amazement, turning back and running lightly down the stairs to the wagon.

"Aye. Mildrede wanted to bring yer bed, too, but it wouldna fit," Tavis informed her with amusement, leading the other men down the stairs to follow Mildrede and Mac to the wagon as Evelinde moved around it, touching familiar items as she passed.

It was like having a little bit of home with her. Each item held memories, both good and bad. The good memories were of her parents, the bad were of Edda. Evelinde decided she would only remember the good and forget the bad. She had enough problems at present without troubling about the past. The past was done. Edda could not hurt or humiliate her anymore, so carrying those memories with her would only be her hurting herself in Edda’s stead.

"My tapestries," she murmured, caressing the end of one of the rolls, then her gaze moved on. "The cushions Mother and I embroidered!"

"And all your clothes, and even the embroidered linens your mother put aside for you," Mildrede said with a grin, then sobered somewhat as she added, "And your parents’ portraits."

Evelinde felt tears well in her eyes and quickly dashed them away as she turned to offer her husband a small smile.

"Thank you," she murmured with heartfelt gratitude.

He grunted.

Evelinde frowned, her gaze sweeping back to the wagon. She shook her head as she recalled how upset she’d been when she thought she’d never see these things again. In truth, though, she would have given them all up to have Mildrede and Mac with her, but it seemed she’d lost neither her dear maid and friend nor her things. All her upset and depression had been for naught.

"Why did you not tell me they were coming?" Evelinde asked with bewilderment. Had he done so the last few days would not have been so dark and gloomy for her. She would have been able to enjoy the anticipation of their arrival as a much-needed bright spot in her day.

Cullen shrugged. "Ye assumed I would no see yer things brought, so I left ye to believe what ye wished."

"What I wished?" Evelinde asked with disbelief, anger stirring in her. "You think I wished to don your dead wife’s gown and make a complete cake of myself in front of our neighbors because I thought I had naught but the clothes I rode here in? You think I wished to weep at night because I thought everyone I loved was lost to me? You think I wished I thought I had lost every tie and reminder of my family?"

"Weep?" he asked, zeroing on the word with a frown. "When did you weep?"

"While you slept," Evelinde snapped, feeling embarrassment color her cheeks as she admitted it. She wasn’t the only one embarrassed. His men and Mac were all exchanging panicked glances and looking terribly uncomfortable, though Mildrede was looking upset on her behalf rather than embarrassed. Evelinde wasn’t surprised when the woman moved to stand behind her in her usual show of support.

"Hmm," Mac muttered suddenly. "Well, guess we should start unloading this wagon." Grabbing Mildrede by the arm, he dragged her to the wagon. Evelinde heard Mildrede hiss at him to let her alone, but he muttered back that she was best not to get between Evelinde and Cullen, then shoved a cushion at her and grabbed a chair himself before directing her toward the stairs. The rest of the men were snatching up items left and right and hurrying after the pair, fleeing the field of battle, Evelinde realized.

"Well, there was no need for crying," Cullen said with a scowl, as the last of the group disappeared into the keep. "If ye had just trusted me to tend to matters as it is my place to do, ye’d have realized I’d see to yer wellbeing. And," he added with a frown, "ye’ve no lost all ties to yer family. I am yer family now."

"Family? You?" she asked with amazement. "Nay, my lord. You are a complete stranger to me. And why should I trust a stranger to do what is best for me when my own stepmother—who was not a stranger—would not?"

"I am no a stranger," Cullen said impatiently. "I’m yer husband."

"You may be my husband, my lord, but a couple of head flops in front of a priest does not change the fact that you are a stranger," Evelinde said grimly, then pointed out, "I know nothing about you. While I have told you everything I can think of about myself, you have shared nothing in return. I know Scatchy better than I know you, and all I know about him is that he likes pasties. I have no idea what you like or dislike, except perhaps that you do not like me."

Cullen stilled in surprise, then looked irritated. "What the devil would make ye think I doona like you?"

"Oh, I do not know," she snapped, as a now-empty-handed Mac started back out of the keep followed by the other men. "Perhaps because you have not touched me or more than grunted at me since consummating our marriage."

The men on the stairs stopped abruptly and turned to head back into the keep without Cullen ever seeing them, Evelinde noted, as her husband’s mouth opened and closed twice without issuing a word.

Finally, he glared and snapped, "I was being considerate."

"Considerate?" she asked with disbelief.

"Aye. I didna wish to pain yer bruises. I thought to let them heal more ere bothering you again."

Evelinde was too upset at this point to appreciate the thoughtfulness of the gesture. If it was true, she thought furiously and bit out, "Well, it would have been nice if you had said as much to me, my lord, rather than leave me thinking I was so poor at the duty you wished not to have to attend it again."

Cullen’s eyes widened in shock, then he grabbed her by the arm and turned to drag her into the keep.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked with irritation, trying to jerk her arm free as he dragged her across the great hall toward the stairs.

"To show ye I like ye," he snarled.

Evelinde immediately dug in her heels, bringing them to a halt by the trestle tables.

"Have you not listened to a word I have said?" she asked incredulously. "I do not wish to be shown, I want to be told, my lord."

Cullen turned back to face her as the men, who had apparently settled themselves at the table to avoid being unwilling witnesses to the fight while it was outside, quickly scrambled to escape the great hall, rushing back out the doors they’d just come in.

"Wife," he said, his expression exasperated. "Ye never judge a man by his words, but by his actions. A man, and a woman,"—he added firmly—"can lie to ye with their lips, but their actions will tell the truth."

"That may be true of most people, husband. But I am not most people, I am your wife, and I need both the actions and the words," she said firmly.

Cullen stared at her as if she were some exotic creature he’d never seen before, then threw up his hands with exasperation and marched past her and out of the keep.

Evelinde stared at the closed door for several minutes, her mind in an uproar. She wasn’t sorry she’d said what she had. For heaven’s sake, she hadn’t even known Biddy was his aunt until the woman had told her so herself!

Still, she wasn’t sure she’d accomplished much either. What Cullen said was partly true. Were she to judge him by his actions, her husband was proving to be a considerate, caring man. He had done everything she would have wished him to do and without her ever having had the opportunity to ask him to do it… Everything except ease her mind by telling her what he was doing.

Evelinde supposed that was better than a man who made proclamations of caring, or promised her the world but did not trouble himself to do anything. And it was certainly better than a husband who drank too much and beat her. Releasing a little sigh, she rubbed her forehead where an ache was beginning to grow and acknowledged that things could indeed be worse. She did much prefer a quiet but thoughtful husband to a lying, abusive husband.

Perhaps she would just have to learn to deal with Cullen’s telling her nothing, Evelinde thought on a sigh.

At least she had Mac and Mildrede again, she reminded herself, as the door opened, and Mac, the man who had listened to her woes and worries since she was old enough to sit a saddle, entered with a small chest in hand. He was followed by the other men, each of them carrying an item from the wagon.

Mac paused beside her, waited for the others to pass by and start up the stairs, then said, "Lady’s been stuck walking behind the wagon for four days and may like a ride. She’s no had a proper ride since ye left."

"Lady is here, too?" Evelinde asked, cheering.

"Aye. She was taken to the stables."

Evelinde immediately started past him, pausing to glance back when he spoke her name softly.

"Doona be too hard on the man, lass. Talking is harder for men than ’tis for women."

Evelinde frowned at his words, and pointed out, "You talk to me all the time."

"Aye." He smiled faintly. "But I’m an old man. I’ve learned the value of talking. Cullen’s younger, though, and proud." He shrugged and shook his head. "Empty vessels make the most sound, lass, and he’s no empty."

"No, he is not," she agreed quietly.

Apparently satisfied that he’d done what he could, Mac turned away with his burden. "Go on and see yer Lady. She’s been pining for ye."

Smiling faintly, Evelinde turned and continued out of the keep. Her smile widened at the prospect of seeing her mare as she crossed the bailey.

She was barely halfway to the stables when she saw Cullen come charging out of the building on his mount. He immediately headed out of the bailey, urging his mount to a run as soon as he’d passed under the gate.

Evelinde wondered briefly where he was going but then pushed the worry away and hurried on to the stables. If Lady did not seem tired, she would take her for a ride. Just a short one since she didn’t know the area, but even a short, fast ride would help soothe her.

"My men saw ye from the wall about half an hour ago. So, I saddled up to meet ye," Tralin greeted as he reigned in before Cullen’s mount on the edge of the woods surrounding the hill Comyn castle sat on.

Cullen grunted. He would have done the same the other day had Tralin and his parents not already nearly been to the castle by the time his man had alerted him that a party approached. Cullen suspected the men on the wall had been too distracted watching him trying to break the new horse to notice the approaching riders. Or perhaps they’d been watching his wife trying to get herself killed charging across Angus’s paddock, he thought with an irritation that soon faded as he recalled she’d been rushing across the paddock because she’d feared he’d done himself an injury tumbling from the horse.

His wife was like to drive him crazy at this rate, Cullen decided with exasperation. One minute he was scared witless, the next furious at her for risking herself so, and the next he was touched that she’d feared for his well-being. Truly, marriage was turning out to be like a ride on a boat in rough weather; up and then down and then up and then down again. Someone should have warned him that marriage could make a man seasick.

"So? To what do I owe this your presence? Or need I ask?"

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. "What do ye mean by that?"

Tralin shrugged, then arched his eyebrows. "Do I dare ask how married life is treating ye?"

"Nosy beggar," Cullen muttered.

Tralin burst out laughing at the insult, and asked, "Trouble in paradise?"

When Cullen merely sighed unhappily, he reached out to slap him on the back encouragingly and turned his mount back toward Comyn castle. "Come, friend, I suspect ye could use an ale, and I would enjoy one, too."

Cullen hesitated. He shouldn’t really be there. It was nearly an hour’s ride to Comyn and would be the same back, and he had much to do, but he’d needed to ride off his frustration and confusion and had somehow ended here. Now that he was at Comyn, he might as well have a drink before he returned Cullen reasoned and urged his mount forward with a nod.

"So," Tralin said, once they were settled at the trestle table in the Comyn great hall. "How is the fair Evelinde?"

Cullen smiled reluctantly and admitted, "She is fair."

"Aye," Tralin agreed, watching his face with interest. "Even in the overlarge gown and with her hair looking as if she’d come straight from her bed, she was fair, but she was fairer still when she came down after changing and fixing her hair."

Cullen nodded, a smile curving his lips as he thought what Tralin said was true, but his wife looked most beautiful when she was nak*d, her bright blue eyes darkening with the passion he stirred in her.