Never Love a Highlander (McCabe Trilogy #3)(7)

Her hand flew to her bosom and she felt the linen binding around her br**sts. It was still in place, which meant her husband hadn’t been too invasive, nor did he realize the fullness of her br**sts. Not that she cared if he knew. He was her husband after all. He’d know soon enough. It wasn’t as if she could hide them forever.

She searched her memory but couldn’t summon a single image of what had happened the night before. The last thing she remembered was standing in front of Keeley’s window.

Now she was lying in bed next to her … husband.

Did it count as consummation if she couldn’t remember it? Shouldn’t she have shed more clothing than she had? Keeley and Mairin hadn’t gone over specifics such as that. Then she realized that if she had no memory of the event, it couldn’t have been so bad, could it?

Humiliation burned her cheeks and tightened her chest. What on earth was she to say to him? How could she face him? What if she’d acted like a harlot? What if she’d disappointed him, or worse, what if her lack of skill had disgusted him?

Despite the throbbing in her head and the nausea boiling in her stomach, she eased from the bed and shivered as the cold slid over her body. The warrior put off a lot of heat and it had been toasty warm in the bed.

Thank the good lord she couldn’t see him. She’d been close enough to him to know he hadn’t worn a tunic. What if he … What if he were completely naked?

She was torn between wanting to run from the room with all haste and succumbing to the absurd urge to peek under the covers.

Close on the heels of that dilemma came the realization that this was his chamber, not the one afforded to her as a guest.

She stumbled over her wedding finery that lay on the floor and heat singed her cheeks all over again. Had he undressed her? Had she?

She yanked on the gown and held it up as best she could before cracking the door open to peer into the hall. It was dimly lit by half-burned wall candles and, as best she could tell, empty.

Thank God.

She pushed out of the chamber and fled down the hall to hers. She stripped off the dress and donned what she was more comfortable in. Warm trews, a worn tunic, and leather boots. She needed to clear her head despite its horrendous ache, and the only way she knew to do that was with a good fight.

Caelen awoke to find his bed empty and a cold draft blowing over his privates. He yanked up the furs with a muttered curse and then searched the room for his wife’s whereabouts.

She was nowhere to be found, which irritated him. He was always the first one up and about in the keep. Even Ewan, who rose early and retired late, never managed to rise earlier than Caelen.

It was a time he had grown to crave for its solitude. While the rest of the keep slept, he began the day, sometimes with a swim in the loch and other times honing his fighting skills.

He tossed aside the furs and stood naked as he stretched and allowed the first brush of cold to blow over his skin, awakening him. His blood surged to life, throwing off the lethargy of sleep.

He poured water from a pitcher into the washbasin and then splashed his face and washed out his mouth. Either his wife was mortified or she was sending a clear message about her feelings on the marriage. Either way, parameters had to be set, and there was no time like the present to let his new bride know the way of things.

After he found her.

After dressing, he slipped into the hall. Normally he’d not worry about being quiet, but the king was in residence and everyone had stayed up late into the night, plus he had no wish for anyone to know his wife had fled his bed.

He scowled as he stopped outside her chamber door. To hell with knocking. He pushed open the door and was greeted by darkness and … cold. No fire was lit.

It occurred to him that he hadn’t lit a fire in his own chamber, a practice he was accustomed to, but Rionna was a slight lass and no doubt she’d woken with chattering teeth.

He wasn’t used to accommodating others. Particularly in his private rooms. But he was married now, and he supposed some concessions would have to be made. He’d show his wife that he could be a reasonable man.

He strode inside but found the bed empty and undisturbed. Slung over a chair was her wedding dress. The one he’d taken off her the night before.

Where had she gotten off to at this hour?

Suspicion nipped at his gut until his belly clenched. Surely the lass wouldn’t be fool enough to sneak to a lover’s bed on her wedding night. What other reason would a woman have for leaving the warmth of her bed in the middle of the night?

If there was a problem, she should have awakened him. He was her husband now, and it was his duty to solve any issues that arose.

The more he pondered, the angrier he got. Old betrayals still soured his belly, despite his best effort to put them behind him.

It was hard not to dwell on all that Elsepeth had done when she’d changed the entire course of the McCabe clan. His current marriage was the result of her betrayal. His attempt to remedy the foolishness of youth and allowing emotion to cloud his judgment.

For years, his clan had struggled to survive its near decimation at the hands of Duncan Cameron. Only in recent months, with Ewan’s marriage to Mairin and the birth of Isabel, were things finally looking up for his kin.

How could he refuse to do the one thing that would solidify a union that would bring about the destruction of a man hated by him and his brothers above all others?

By God, he may have had no choice but to wed Rionna McDonald, but it didn’t mean he was going to be made a cuckold, or that he’d let his wife run wild as her father had done for years.