“We can’t share the same room. It just won’t work. We need alternative sleeping arrangements, but I don’t want to break any more rules so . . .”
He couldn’t even finish over the sound of his brother’s laughter. And then he had the gall to actually walk away.
Why exactly had he been so desperate to reunite with his brothers?
13
“He did not touch me.”
Grateful Marian had come to escort her to supper, Màiri made that admission just as they were about to leave her bedchamber. Except Marian immediately turned her back around and shut the door behind them.
“Pardon?” she said.
That morn, Màiri had awoken to an empty bed, something she’d expected given her husband was to spend the day hunting with her father. She’d begun to dress on her own when Alana had arrived to assist her. Her dear maid had not remarked on the clean bedding, likely due to the chambermaid who’d accompanied her.
From that moment onward, Màiri had not been alone with Alana or Marian for the remainder of the day. She’d been brought on a tour of Hightower, despite the fact that she’d been there many times, and spent the midday meal with several of Ian’s relatives, many of whom she’d not had an opportunity to meet the evening before.
Perhaps it was bold of her to take her new sister-in-law into her confidences so soon, but tomorrow her father and Alana would be leaving, and Marian had been so warm and kind. She desperately needed someone to talk to about her strange situation.
Màiri had been very prepared to dislike Ian. Angry with him for telling her father about the kiss they’d shared, she had blamed him, perhaps too much, for their predicament. Despite her resentment—maybe because of the copious amount of wine she’d drunk—she had found herself opening to him the night before. Telling him things she’d never told another soul.
It had come as a relief when he’d told her that he didn’t plan to consummate the marriage yet. She’d been comforted by the prospect of an evening that consisted of nothing but discussion. And yet, lying beside him in that bed, she’d found herself hoping . . .
Well, it mattered not.
Marian had asked her about the wedding night, and Màiri had given her an honest answer.
And now the other woman simply stared at her, saying nothing.
“Did you say,” Marian asked finally, “he did not touch you? Not so much as a kiss?”
“Aye. ’Tis so.” Why did it embarrass her to admit it was so?
“Hmmm.” Marian tipped her head up, as if looking at something on the ceiling. Pursing her lips together, she seemed to come to some sort of decision. “Forgive my forwardness, but if you’ll allow me to ask an impertinent question?”
She nearly laughed at that. “You speak of forwardness after our discussion last eve in this very chamber?”
If possible, Marian looked even lovelier when she smiled. She really was flawless to gaze upon. Unlike herself.
“The man you spoke with in the back of the hall. He was to have been your husband?”
Surprised by the question, Màiri did not know how to answer precisely. Aye? Nay? A bit of both?
“We had hoped someday to convince our fathers, but our clans are enemies.”
“Dern,” she said, distractedly. “I know of them. Neighbors. Allies to MacKinnish but not to your clan?”
A story Màiri was sick of telling. “Aye.”
“You love him?”
This was an even more difficult question. Of course she loved Ambrose.
The feelings you had at that moment. Have you felt that way for Ambrose?
“He was like a brother to me,” she admitted.
“The decision to marry. It was his?”
