Devil of the Highlands (Devil of the Highlands #1)(16)
Author: Lynsay Sands

"She seemed to have a personality to match," Tralin added, when Cullen remained silent. "So I can only assume whatever trouble it is has brought ye here is yer fault."

The image of his nak*d wife shattering, Cullen straightened abruptly and turned an offended gaze his way. "What?"

"Well…" Tralin shrugged. "I doona see her being stubborn and proud. You, on the other, hand are both."

Cullen grimaced at the truth of those words and sighed. "I didna plan to come here, but now that I am…" He shrugged, and said, "You are better with women than I. At least they seem to like to talk to ye."

"That’s because I actually talk back," Tralin said dryly, then asked, "What happened?"

"I found out she’s been crying herself to sleep," Cullen admitted unhappily.

Tralin’s eyebrows rose. "Why?"

"She did not realize I had brought her clothes," he admitted. "The woman seemed to think I brought her to Donnachaidh with naught but the gown on her back."

Tralin shrugged. "How could she know otherwise? Did ye tell her ye had?"

"Nay, but she should ha’e kenned that I’d no bring her here without her belongings."

"How could she know that?" he asked with amusement. "She doesna ken ye, Cullen. And ye must admit, you are no the most forthcoming of men."

Cullen frowned at the very suggestion that he might carry some of the blame for her thinking so poorly of him but knew it was true. The man was only echoing her complaint.

"Have the two of ye talked at all since the marriage?"

"She talks," Cullen admitted with a smile tugging at his lips as he thought of the way Evelinde had chattered away to him the last several days. She’d told him tales of her youth, her adventures, her friendship with Mac and affection for Mildrede, as well as revealed the clever ways she’d managed to avoid her stepmother as often as possible.

"She talks, huh?" Tralin said, watching his smile. "And what do you do?"

"I listen," Cullen answered, and he did. He’d found himself enthralled, listening to her voice. Evelinde was a fair storyteller, and he’d been able to picture much of what she’d said in his head as she spoke.

"Hmm." Tralin sipped at his ale, and asked, "Do ye like her so far?"

Cullen considered the question and nodded slowly. "Aye. She’s clever and sweet and… wishes herself back at d’Aumesbery with that perfectly hateful stepmother of hers rather than at Donnachaidh with me," he ended with disgust.

Tralin choked on the ale he’d been in the process of swallowing, and Cullen thumped him a couple of times on the back, understanding the reaction. That admission had horrified him, too. It was hard to accept that she was so unhappy with him that she would rather be back there being insulted and abused by Edda.

"Why?" Tralin got out finally. "From what you said the other day, the woman treated her horribly."

Cullen nodded glumly. He’d told Tralin and his parents about the stepmother while Evelinde was upstairs changing the day they’d visited. He’d described Edda’s behavior toward her stepdaughter with a few succinct words that had made it clear she had been badly treated by the woman.

He, on the other hand, never insulted or abused her, Cullen thought. In fact, he’d done everything he could to try to make things easier; leaving right after the wedding to get her away from Edda rather than staying to rest a night after the long trip to d’Aumesbery, choosing and packing gowns and such in that small bag for her when she was unable to do it herself, cutting himself to fake the consummation rather than subject her to the humiliation Edda had insisted on, carrying her before him on his mount the whole way so that her injuries were exacerbated as little as possible…

"Are ye rough with her in bed?" Tralin asked suddenly, and when Cullen turned a shocked and furious gaze on him, added quickly, "I am just trying to sort out why she would wish she was back at d’Aumesbery. I ken ye would not insult or abuse her like her stepmother—"

"I called her daft," Cullen admitted, then explained about the bull and her being in the paddock.

"Well, I think that can be forgiven," Tralin said with a frown, then cleared his throat and returned to the bone he’d dug up a moment ago. "I know you would not abuse a woman, but I was just wondering if—I mean, yer no used to dealing with virgins, Cullen, and mayhap you were a little less gentle than you might have been, or she was shocked by what… er… takes place."

"I have been avoiding bedding her to allow her body to heal," he admitted unhappily.

Tralin’s eyebrows shot up. "You mean the wedding has not been consummated?"

"Aye, it has," Cullen assured him and frowned. He’d intended to wait until her body had healed completely and she would not wince in pain when he caressed her. Howbeit, the morning after arriving home, he’d spilled ale on himself and headed up to the room to change his tunic and Biddy had stopped him and asked if he’d take her salve up to Evelinde and tell her she’d be along shortly. He’d agreed, fully intending just to give her the salve, but then he’d walked in and found her laid out nak*d on the bed on her stomach and all his best intentions had gone out the window.

The next thing he knew his hands were slick with salve, and he was applying it himself, and once he’d touched her Cullen had been lost. So much so that he couldn’t even say if Biddy had ever come up intending to apply the salve. If she had, neither of them had noticed, and she’d slipped away without disturbing them, and he was grateful for it.

Tralin cleared his throat to get his attention, and asked delicately, "And how did it go?"

"It went… well," Cullen muttered, knowing he lied through his teeth. It had been incredible. He was no virgin, but bedding his wife had been one of the most exciting experiences of his life. Cullen had never before felt a passion like she’d drawn from him, or the desire to please a woman as much as he’d wanted to please Evelinde. His passion was so all-consuming it had been a struggle to remain gentle and a constant battle to avoid touching any of her sore spots. Reining in the passion she’d stirred so had been a sort of torture… a sweet torture. And one he’d wanted to repeat immediately on awaking, too. But, afraid he wouldn’t be able to go gently next time, Cullen had forced himself to resist, reminding himself that she needed to heal.

"It went well for you," Tralin said. "But what of her? Perhaps—"

"It went well for her, too," Cullen interrupted dryly. "It went verra well for both of us. Howbeit, she seems to have mistaken my consideration in not wanting to trouble her again until she is fully healed as an indication that she did not please me."

"Hmm," Tralin murmured.

"And she wants me to explain things to her," Cullen complained. "I told her to watch me actions and no bother so much about the words, but she insists she wants me words and actions."

"Demanding wench."

Cullen nodded, only realizing that his friend had been teasing him when Tralin started to laugh.

"Cullen," he said with exasperation. "I ken yer no used to explaining yerself. Yer laird over the people of Donnachaidh and as such need not explain anything to anyone, but she is not just another one of yer people. She’s yer wife, and the two of ye are just getting to ken each other. Ye’ll need to explain some things at first."

When Cullen just glowered at him, he added, "Look at it from her perspective. Ye showed up, married her, and dragged her off right away, and she thought with naught but the gown she wore. Ye then bedded her once, and no doubt left her to her own devices after that, without a word of praise to let her know that ye were pleased with her, or—knowing you—any sort of direction as to her place at Donnachaidh. She is no doubt feeling lost and uncertain in her new home and position."

"But I have done all I possibly can to ease the way for her," Cullen protested.

"Except tell her ye’re pleased with her for bride," he pointed out. "And praise is no doubt what she needs after being insulted by her stepmother all these years."

"But—"

"Look at it as just another one of yer duties," Tralin interrupted. "Ye take yer duties seriously, I ken. So, think of this as one. Yer duty is to ensure yer wife kens she is appreciated and necessary at Donnachaidh."

"A duty," he muttered.

"Aye." Tralin nodded. "I promise ye if ye do, she—and hence, ye—will be much happier."

Cullen considered the suggestion seriously, then nodded and stood.

"Where are ye going?" Tralin asked with surprise.

"Home to attend me duties," he muttered, heading for the door.

Chapter Nine

"We lost and ’tis all your fault."

Lady did not react to either her vexed mistress’s comment or her irritated scowl, The horse merely waited patiently for her to decide which way to go. Evelinde made a face at the animal’s lack of concern and glanced around the woods.

It really was the mare’s fault they were now deep in the woods in the valley at the base of the hill Donnachaidh sat on. Evelinde had never intended to enter the woods, but Lady had had other ideas. She supposed it was her own fault for giving the mare her head. Though, to be fair, doing so had never been a problem at d’Aumesbery. Donnachaidh was another matter entirely. And not knowing where she was going had not stopped Lady from charging down the hill and into the woods.

Evelinde had tried to stop the mare at the bottom of the hill, but Lady would not be stopped and had run into the woods like a wild thing. By the time she’d managed even to slow the beast, they were well into the forest.

She hadn’t thought it a problem at first. Evelinde had assumed that if she just turned the mare back the way they’d come, they’d canter happily out of there. Only they’d been cantering for more than two hours now without finding their way out of the woods. Obviously, they’d got turned around somehow and headed in the wrong direction, but Evelinde didn’t know how that had happened.

Shifting on her mare, she again glanced around the woods surrounding them. It was a sunny day outside the forest, but the trees in here grew so close together, the cover overhead might as well have been a stone wall. Very little sunlight was getting through, and it felt like early evening in the heart of the small forest.

Or perhaps it was early evening, Evelinde thought anxiously, wondering if she’d underestimated the time that had passed as she’d tried to find her way back out of the valley. She hoped not, as Evelinde had no desire to spend the night there.

The crunch of leaves and twigs being trampled underfoot reached her ears, and she glanced sharply to the side as Lady shifted nervously, but there was no one there, and the sound wasn’t repeated. Still, both she and Lady had heard something so Evelinde waited, slowly scanning the woods, the skin on the back of her neck creeping all the way down her spine.

It was enough to make her decide she didn’t wish to sit there any longer trying to think of a way to resolve the problem. It seemed to her that moving—even in the wrong direction—was better than staying in one place.

Turning Lady away from the direction the sound had seemed to come from, Evelinde urged her forward, resisting the urge to look back.

"It was probably just a rabbit or vole," she said, running a soothing hand down the mare’s neck. "Certainly not a wolf or anything of that ilk."

Whether Lady was reassured or not Evelinde didn’t know, but she wasn’t feeling much better herself. Her back was still creeping, and her body had tensed up, waiting for some ferocious animal or other to leap out at them at any moment.

Trying to ignore the anxiety slipping through her, Evelinde slid her gaze over the way ahead, looking both to the left and the right, hoping to spot a break in the trees that would speak to their nearing the edge of the woods. She just hoped it wouldn’t be the wrong side.

That thought made Evelinde rein in again. The ride through the valley the night they’d arrived hadn’t seemed to take as long as this ride was. Of course, it could just seem like a long time because she was lost, but…

It would be very upsetting finally to find her way out of the woods only to discover she was on the wrong side of the valley and had to travel back through the woods again to get to the castle side.

If only she could see the castle…

But, of course, she couldn’t, the trees were in the way.

Evelinde glanced upward at the foliage overhead. If she were to climb one of the taller trees until the foliage thinned out, she might be able to see the castle. Then she would know which direction she needed to go to get there.

Once the thought had taken hold, nothing could have stopped Evelinde from making the attempt. Patting Lady’s neck soothingly, she slid off her mare and dropped to the ground. She then propped her hands on her h*ps and peered upward as she turned in a slow circle on the spot, trying to judge which tree was the largest and likely to get her high enough to see the castle, yet had branches low enough that she could reach them to start her climb.

After deciding on a tree, Evelinde moved to stand at its base. She paused there, her gaze sliding between the tree and her skirt, then she bent and reached under the front hem to catch the beck hemline of the skirt and draw it forward between her legs and up as she’d done to wade in the river. Recalling the problems it had caused when the skirt had slipped free of her belt the last time, Evelinde put extra care into making sure it was well affixed, then approached the tree she’d chosen.

She’d thought the branches of this tree were low enough to make it easy, but Evelinde had never climbed a tree before and hadn’t a clue how hard it would be. Honestly, she’d seen children at d’Aumesbery shinny up with what appeared to be little effort, but it wasn’t as easy as they made it look.

The lowest branch on the tree she’d chosen was low enough that she could hook her arms over it, which she did at once. Evelinde then tried to lift her leg to the branch, but her leg apparently didn’t go that high. Grimacing, she moved farther along the branch until she was closer to the tree, then planted one foot on the trunk of the tree and sort of walked up it while hanging from her arms. Evelinde was quite proud of herself when she managed to get her legs hooked around the branch, too, but then hung there, uncertain how to get herself from hanging under it to perched on top.