Never Seduce a Scot (The Montgomerys and Armstrongs #1)(68)

She murmured something against his neck, but the roaring in his ears had yet to subside enough that he could make out what she said. He stroked her hair, down her back to cup her bu**ocks, holding her tightly against him so their link would not be severed.

It was a few moments later that he realized she was sound asleep, her head nestled underneath his chin, her mouth resting over his heartbeat. He smiled, more content than he’d ever been in his existence.

Her hand rested on her side and he reached to twine their fingers, fully intending to pull her arm over his side. When he touched her palm, he frowned and then lifted his head as he held up her hand in the dim light of the glowing candles.

Her palm and even the pads of her hand and fingers were ravaged. They were red, and there were still traces of dried blood where the skin had been broken. He turned it so he could better see and then swore when he saw the evidence of broken blisters.

Anger boiled through his veins, replacing his earlier contentment with rage. No more would he tolerate this, no matter Rorie’s arguments. Eveline would come to no harm, his clan be damned. If they could not see the treasure that had been bestowed on their clan, then they were all fools and he would suffer no fools. No longer.

This matter would come to an end the very next day.

CHAPTER 32

Eveline woke with a start and for a moment was so disoriented, she couldn’t gain her bearings. Then she smiled because she was snuggled tightly against her husband and his arm was thrown possessively over her body.

She closed her eyes and inhaled his scent. After the few days she’d had, she’d desperately needed what he’d given her the night before. Tenderness. Loving. His actions had shown her more than words ever could, that he valued her. That she meant something more than a wife he was forced into marriage with.

Perhaps one day … She sighed wistfully. Perhaps one day she would even gain his love. Oh to be able to hear those words. Really hear them. The idea sent an ache straight to her heart that nearly overpowered her.

She hadn’t spent a lot of time dwelling on the fact that she’d lost her hearing. In the beginning, she’d done plenty of moping and had even wondered if it was God’s punishment for her sins. But as time had gone on, she’d accepted that she’d never hear again. She’d never be normal and she’d never hear the things she’d taken for granted before. Music. Her mother’s voice. Her brothers’ teasing. And the rumble of her father’s voice, full of patience for his free-spirited daughter.

But now she’d give anything to be able to hear words of love from her husband. If not love, affection. She wanted to be able to hear the things she saw in his eyes and felt when he touched her.

He might never grow to truly love her as her father loved her mother, but perhaps that kind of love didn’t exist freely. She knew from hearing earlier accounts from her mother, that it hadn’t always been so between her and Eveline’s father. Theirs had been an arranged marriage, as so many were, and at first, neither had any liking for the suit.

But over time, they’d grown to love each other as fiercely as two people can love, and Eveline had grown up the beneficiary of that love and devotion. She wanted it for herself. She wanted it with a ferocity that she couldn’t even articulate. It was why she’d been so adamant that she’d never marry Ian McHugh, because she’d known without a doubt that he was not a man who’d ever treat her well, much less regard her with any love or affection.

It was her mother’s story of growing to love her father and his eventual love for her that gave Eveline hope that she too might find a love like theirs with her Montgomery warrior.

Fanciful, aye, she was that, but she’d set her mind to gaining acceptance from his clan. From him. And she wouldn’t rest until she had it. If it took cleaning the keep from top to bottom and tearing her hands until they were rough and callused, then she’d do it without regret.

It was that determination that drove her early from her warm bed next to her husband when she’d love nothing more than to wake him in a way he’d remember for days to come.

She rose, shivering, quickly dressed, and then set the fire to blazing so Graeme would awaken in comfort. Then she went below stairs, prepared for another day of torment.

She wondered what today’s tasks would bring. Maybe Nora would have her cleaning chamber pots. She shuddered at the thought, but didn’t think it was out of the realm of possibility.

Nora looked surprised to see her and didn’t quite cover her reaction. Eveline could swear she saw guilt in the older woman’s eyes, but quickly set aside that ridiculous notion. Nora was a tough taskmaster and Eveline doubted she ever felt sorry for any of the women under her supervision.

“Good morn,” Eveline sang out, determined to be cheerful despite the urge to run as fast as she could back up the stairs and dive underneath the warm blankets.

Nora sent her a disgruntled look and then motioned her over to where she stood with Mary and two other younger women Eveline didn’t know by name.

“You can help finish up the preparations for the morning meal,” Nora said. “ ’Tis simple enough fare. Oatcakes and bread with a bit of porridge for those who want it.”

Eveline sighed in relief. It did sound simple enough, and it shouldn’t be a threat to her aching hands.

After receiving instruction from Mary on how to fashion the oatcakes, she dove into the duty, determined not to show any reluctance whatsoever. She quickly discovered that preparing enough food for a hungry horde of warriors wasn’t a simple matter at all.