Slowly she let the blanket fall away and Graeme hastily pressed the fur to her. She smiled and tucked it underneath her arms and then held it around her as she sat back down on the bench. Then she patted the place beside her, hoping that he, too, would take a seat and dry in front of the fire.

“I need to take off these wet clothes,” he said.

She nodded and turned, because it was obvious he was uncomfortable undressing in her presence. But she couldn’t help keeping enough of an angle so she could see him in her periphery.

She was extremely curious about her husband’s body and she wanted to see him. She’d never seen a man fully naked before.

She held her breath when he quickly stripped out of his tunic and his leggings. He turned sideways as he reached for dry clothing from the trunk at the foot of his bed.

He was … She wasn’t sure she had the words to adequately convey her awe or admiration. He had a warrior’s body, but it was … beautiful.

Thick legs, heavily muscled, as were his arms and broad shoulders. At the juncture of his legs was a dark whorl of hair and his manhood … She swallowed nervously, not wanting to be caught out staring, but she was fascinated by that particular portion of his anatomy.

She knew enough of the whole mating process to know what went where, but she couldn’t wrap her mind around how. It looked way too large to ever fit inside her, and as much as she wanted to be a true wife and consummate their marriage, she couldn’t imagine that it could be done without considerable pain and effort on her part.

Still, such a step was important if she was to be a true wife to Graeme and she wanted that. Wanted his acceptance and eventually his clan’s acceptance, if they could ever reach that point. She didn’t want to forever be the wife that Graeme Montgomery was saddled with, nothing more than a penance he had to pay for forced peace with her father’s clan.

She quickly forced her gaze forward when Graeme finished dressing, and a moment later, he settled onto the seat beside her before the fire.

She glanced up at him, not wanting to miss anything he would say, but he remained silent, his gaze focused on the flames.

Perhaps she should kiss him again. She certainly wanted to, but was nervous about how receptive he’d be now that she no longer had the element of surprise.

She licked her lips in anticipation and continued to stare up at him.

As if feeling the force of her gaze, he turned in her direction. His brown eyes glowed from the light of the fire and he seemed to study her, almost as if weighing his thoughts and words.

“I do not know what to do with you, Eveline Armstrong.”

She could feel the resignation in the way he held his body and the expression on his face. She frowned, not liking the implications of such a statement.

“I know not if what I am feeling is right and I do not like the guilt that plagues me for enjoying our kiss as I did.”

She smiled then, her heart suddenly lighter than it had been just moments before. She felt suddenly shy and would have averted her gaze, but knew it was too important to be able to see whatever he would say next.

Then she reached up to touch his chin, slowly moving her fingers over his lips. He closed his eyes, seeming to find pleasure in her touch. Before he could reopen them, she rose up to press her mouth against his.

The fur fell partially away from her body, but she paid it no heed as her lips covered the firm line of his mouth. She wanted to taste him again, to take his tongue inside again and feel it against her own.

His breath vibrated against her lips as he let out a sigh. Of resignation? Of surrender? She knew not, only that his mouth parted and his tongue stroked warmly over hers, returning her kiss in full measure.

There seemed to be no reluctance, no sign that he was fighting this strengthening emotion between them.

It was the sweetest pleasure Eveline had ever experienced. She wanted the moment to last forever, but Graeme was the first to pull away, his eyes half-lidded as he stared down at her.

Gently, he set her away from him. It felt more symbolic than a simple separation, almost as if he were erecting a visible barrier between them or that perhaps he needed the distance.

“I have matters to attend to,” he said.

Without looking at her again, he rose and walked to the doorway of their chamber. She didn’t look over her shoulder, as tempted as she was to do so. She was both elated and disheartened by the kiss and resulting reactions.

She stared down at her hands for a long moment, gathering her wildly scattered emotions. She had no experience in matters of the heart. Her one exposure to a potential husband had been disastrous and she’d vowed never to allow herself into a situation such as the one she would have found herself in with Ian McHugh. And the truth of the matter was, she hadn’t had a choice with Graeme, and it could have turned out as bad as or worse than any marriage to Ian. She’d merely been fortunate that Graeme didn’t seem intent on ill-using her and that he showed her kindness instead of vengeance.

Taking a deep breath, she stood, allowing the fur to fall away, and then she walked to the bed where Rorie had laid out a dress for her to change into. She wouldn’t allow anything to spoil today. Not spiteful clan members. Not her own doubts and misgivings or her fears over revealing the truth to Graeme.

She’d enjoyed her first kiss, her first taste of passion, and the stirrings of a desire she wanted to pursue.

Knowing that Rorie would likely be curious as to what prompted Graeme carrying her back to the keep and that she might even be concerned, Eveline headed down the stairs, determined to brave the gauntlet.

She was Graeme’s wife, whether his clan wanted to accept it or not. She’d accepted it, and if she had her way, Graeme would accept it soon as well. In time, his clan would follow suit. She had to believe that.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she sucked in a deep breath and rounded the doorway leading into the hall. She hurried toward the far end where the exit into the short corridor that housed the tiny room where Rorie liked to spend so much time was.

But the room was dark, furs drawn over the window, and Rorie was nowhere in sight. With a frown, Eveline returned to the hall, deciding to venture out of the keep where she’d hopefully discover Rorie’s whereabouts.

Where before the hall had been mostly empty save for a few women going back and forth from the kitchen, Eveline came face-to-face with a veritable crowd, or at least it seemed so with so many blocking her pathway to the courtyard.

At the forefront of the group of women—five women Eveline counted—was Kierstan, whose surly expression could only mean that this wasn’t going to be a friendly encounter.

Kierstan’s lip curled. “Whore.”

Eveline blinked in surprise. For one, it wasn’t her usual method of insult. Eveline had truly thought the lass limited in her vocabulary to a single insult.

The other women nodded, their expressions as fierce as Kierstan’s own.

“You’ll not take our laird in with your seductive wiles,” Kierstan continued. “He’s a man, and men can be swayed by a pretty face and a willing body. But you won’t be fooling us. We won’t let him forget who and what you are. You will never be welcome here, Armstrong bitch.”

Fury nearly blinded Eveline. The other women were chiming in with insults no doubt. All agreeing with Kierstan and supporting her statements. But Eveline couldn’t keep up with their mouths. The assembled women blurred in her vision as she was gripped by rage.

Eveline turned to the huge fireplace in the center of the hall. A fireplace where two swords hung over the mantle. They were within reach and she doubted they were battle worthy. They looked to be more ornamental. But at the moment she cared not. One would certainly aid in her cause.

If they wanted madness, she’d give it to them.

She rushed to the fireplace, rose up on tiptoe, and yanked at the sword, praying it would come free and then praying that it didn’t weigh so much that she couldn’t even lift it.

The grip was old and worn and the blade not as thick or as large as the ones her kin carried or even those she’d seen the Montgomery warriors carry.

The sword came away without protest, and anger fueled her strength as she wobbled under the weight. She turned back to the women who now stared at her with unease.

She charged forward, holding the blade high, and bellowed, without worry over how loudly her words came forth. She cared not if the rafters rang with it. The word—the one word—that she was able to articulate billowed from her chest and squeezed out her throat with all the force she could muster.

“O-O-OUT!!”

CHAPTER 20

“Laird, come quickly! She’s gone completely mad! You must stop her before she kills someone!”

Sparring ceased all over the courtyard as the woman ran shrieking toward Graeme. Bowen stood down and Graeme lowered his sword. He held his hand out to stop the panicked babbling so he could understand what on God’s earth she was hollering about.

Murmurs rose from the warriors as in the background, emanating from the keep came an unholy sounding, “OOOUUUTTT!” More shrieks ensued and the woman in front of Graeme started her shrill exclamations all over again.

“Silence!” Graeme roared. “I cannot hear what is about!”

He advanced on the woman before him—Mary?—and tried to keep his voice calm and measured.

“What is amiss? Who are you talking about going mad and killing someone?”

“ ’Tis your wife, Laird! She’s taken a sword to the other women in the hall. You have to come quickly!”

Graeme dropped his sword and ran.

As he rounded the corner, the scene before him made him stop in his tracks.

“Jesu,” Bowen breathed out. “ ’Tis true. She has gone mad!”

Graeme turned briefly to see that his brothers and most of the men who’d been assembled in the courtyard had followed. Then he jerked his attention back to Eveline who stood in the doorway to the keep, sword outstretched toward the women she was holding at bay, and a scowl etched on her lovely face.

In front of her, a group of women were steadily backing away from the door. Only one seemed to challenge Eveline. Kierstan, the same lass who’d dropped the ale on Eveline the night before.

Graeme could hear her shouting insults to Eveline, and Eveline bellowed loud enough for the entire keep to hear.

“OUT!”

God’s teeth, it had been she he’d heard. She’d spoken!

He ran the last of the way and pushed in front of Kierstan, inserting himself between her and Eveline. Kierstan immediately dissolved into tears and threw herself at Graeme.

“Oh thank God you’re here, Laird. ’Tis horrible. She’s threatened to kill us all. She’s mad, I tell you. She chased us from the hall. I don’t know what happened. She just yanked the sword from above the fireplace and came after us.”

Graeme glanced up at Eveline and at first, all he saw was the fury on her face and the tight scowl she wore. But then he saw into her eyes and saw fear and clear distress. As he studied her closer, he saw that her hands shook and she was doing all she could just to hold on to the sword.

“Eveline, put down the sword,” he said in a calm voice.

She shook her head, her chin coming up a notch. Then she pointed to the group of women and bellowed again.

“Out!”

Rorie pushed to the front of the ever-growing crowd. She gave Kierstan a look of pure disgust and then turned on Graeme.

“ ’Tis not her fault, Graeme. They’ve been horrible to her at every turn. They’ve hurled insult after insult and missed no opportunity to mock or demean her.”

“I don’t believe I made any such claim,” Graeme said mildly. “What I’d like her to do, however, is to put down the sword before she hurts herself.”

Graeme took a step forward, his gaze focused solely on his wife. “Eveline,” he said gently. “Please give me the sword. No one will hurt you. I swear it.”

She turned her gaze to the women still standing several feet away and her lips turned into a mutinous line. “Out,” she said again. Then her lips quivered and the firm line dropped. Deep sadness entered her eyes and they filled with tears. When she looked at Graeme again, there was clear defeat in her gaze.

It broke his heart.

Anger gripped him. At the moment, he cared not what his clan’s feelings were or whether they had the right to be angry over his marriage to an Armstrong. All he knew was that an innocent was being harmed by their words and actions, and he would stand it no longer.

He whipped around and stared at Kierstan and the other women gathered around her.

“Be gone,” he hissed. “All of you. You’ll not return to the keep. You’ll tend the fields or help in the cottages, but you’ll not serve in my keep any longer.”

Kierstan paled. The women around her gasped. One wrung her hands. Another burst into sobs. But all he could think of was his own wife, who was so near to tears because she’d been abused by his clan.

“Begging your pardon, Laird, but the keep needs the lasses for serving duties and also for the cleaning duties they hold,” said Nora, the senior woman charged with overseeing the women’s duties in the clan.