Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

T he wedding feast was over, at long last, and Alayne was more than ready to leave the hall. She’d obliged Darren’s request to be civil – more or less. She’d ignored him for the majority of the meal, and been glad that he was content to leave it at that.

Dining among those who had so recently been her enemies was uncomfortable at best. Dining beside the man she detested more than any other was an ordeal she wasn’t sure she could have stomached at all, if she hadn’t been so hungry, and if she hadn’t known she’d need her strength for what came next.

They would be expected to sleep together. The idea of sharing a bed with Darren MacLean, new husband or not, made her shiver. She would have liked to say it was with pure, unadulterated disgust, but in the privacy of her own mind, she knew that wasn’t true. There was a good deal of long-remembered humiliation there as well.

Darren MacLean. She could still remember when her father had informed her that she’d been offered to him as a potential bride. She’d been terrified of the man who looked like a barbarian raider more than he did a proper laird. The tracing of knot-work patterns, laced between symbols she didn’t understand the significance of, made him look wild and threatening.

She’d also been intrigued. She was curious about the reasons behind the emblems he chose, in among the lines. His clan emblem and war cry she understood, but she’d wondered why he’d chosen a thistle, a celtic cross, and some of the other symbols.

That hadn’t been the only thing that interested her about him, when her father first suggested the match. Under the tattoos and scars, he was a relatively handsome man, and from what she’d seen, he wasn’t the worst person her father could have chosen. At the very least, she’d thought that being his wife might offer her more freedom than she had as her father’s unwanted daughter.

But then he’d refused her. Decided she wasn’t good enough to be his wife for some reason. Whether it was her looks or her family or her small dowry, she didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Darren had refused her, and even gone so far as to mention some ‘prior contract’ to the Stewart Clan. He’d claimed it meant he could not accept the suit from her father, but it was a lie.

She could have endured it, if he had married the Stewart lass. It would have stung to be refused for another, but she could understand the demands of honor. Instead, his younger brother had fulfilled the contract, leaving her scorned and Darren unwed. Her reputation, already precarious through her father’s dislike, had plunged from relative obscurity to outright notoriety, as people questioned what had made Darren refuse her.

Even worse were the whispers that had begun after her father had attempted to force Darren to wed her and been killed. Then the whispers had changed tone to something akin to horror and distaste, with everyone wondering what sort of problem or curse she bore that Laird MacLean would resort to killing another laird rather than accept her hand in matrimony.

It was a cruel joke to now be wed to the man who’d put her through such shame – far worse to be expected to bed him and sire his sons. And the worst of it was, she still felt some lingering hurt over his rejection. Despite her rage and her dislike, some small part of her heart was still the same as when she had been the maiden who’d looked at him two years before and felt a glimmer of hope – the faint hope that she’d be wanted, perhaps even desired by such a man as he.

Alayne clenched her hands in her skirts, annoyed by the way her thoughts were going. Yes, she’d once hoped for a wedding, but that was before. She’d not let the lingering remnants of her foolish naivete influence her actions now. Darren MacLean was her enemy, husband or not, and she’d stick a knife in her own heart before she let him touch her in that manner.

The last of the plates were cleared away, and Darren rose from his seat. “’Tis late. Let us retire, wife.” He offered her his hand.

Alayne gave him the coldest look she could manage, and rose to stand beside him. She’d much rather have run from the room, or refused him outright, but she’d pushed her luck far enough. If she acted too fractious, the king might decide she’d changed her mind and refuse to release her brother.

Darren led her through the quiet halls to the laird’s family wing. They passed the door to the room Darren had given her for when she arrived, and Alayne resisted the urge to dart into it, slam the door in his face, and lock it tight. Perhaps even barricade it.

For all she knew, there were spies among the guests, or the servants, who would tell the king if she did not enter her husband’s chambers for their wedding night. The king’s demand had insisted on a ‘true’ marriage, a consummated one. She might have no intention of fulfilling that demand, but she couldn’t reveal that until her brother was free.

Two doors down, Darren opened a room and led her inside. A warm fire blazed in a front room, a table for meals set with two chairs and a comfortable array of furniture arrayed in the rest of the space. Then Darren led her to another door, which opened to reveal a slightly smaller bedchamber, dominated by the large bed in the center of the room.

Alayne stepped inside, noting that her clothing chest had already been placed in the room, and a night dress laid on the bed for her. Alayne felt her lip curl as she eyed the garment. She turned to find Darren standing in the doorway, watching with an impassive expression on his tattooed face. “Are ye too much o’ a beast tae even give me some privacy fer changing?”

Darren’s jaw tightened, and she could see frustration in his eyes. “Ye’re me wife, and I ken I’ll see plenty o’ ye, sooner or later.”

“Sooner or later doesnae mean now, ye great boor.” Alayne folded her arms. “I’ll nae be changing with ye in the room.”

Darren scowled, but he did step back and shut the door behind him. Alayne hurried to the bed and removed her dress, then went to her clothing chest and opened it. From it, she drew out every chemise and night shirt she owned, and a pair of leggings that she usually wore in winter under her long skirts, to keep warm. She pulled them on, then began putting on the rest of the clothing, one layer after another, until she felt stifled by the weight.

It might be uncomfortable to sleep dressed in such a manner, but she intended her message to Darren MacLean to be clear – he’d not be getting a hand, or any other part of him, near her maidenhead. Not tonight or any other.

The door opened again just as she slipped the last garment into place. “What are ye…?” Darren stopped, staring at her with a raised eyebrow. “Ye cannae seriously mean tae sleep like that.”

“I can and I dae, fer this way I’m certain sure ye willnae be touching me, let alone aught else.”

Darren stared at his new wife, unsure if he wanted to break into laughter or thump his head against the nearest wall in frustration. She was wearing enough clothing to count as quilted armor, by his estimation, and glaring at him as if she expected him to pounce on her and try to rip it all off. It was ludicrous.

He sighed. “Ye dinnae need tae go tae such lengths. I’ve never forced a woman in me life, and I’ll nae be starting with ye. ‘Tis a willing lass I’ll have in me bed, or nae any lass at all.”

“Then it will be nae any lass at all.” She snapped. “I may have tae sleep in the same chambers as ye, but I willnae be sleeping with ye or beside ye.”

Darren fought back a groan. “Ye ken we’re wed, aye? ‘Twould be best tae make some effort at a civil marriage, at the least, even if we dinnae care much fer each other.”

He knew he’d said something wrong from the way her eyes flashed with renewed fury, but he had no idea what it was he’d said that had angered her.

“Dinnae care much fer each other? I’d sooner sleep with an adder than with ye.”

“I’m nae so happy either, but neither o’ us have much choice in the matter, lass.” Darren bit the inside of his cheek in an effort to hold his temper. His head was throbbing, his stomach uneasy, and he was tired. He wanted to sleep, not fight with a madwoman.

She was so determined to hate him, and make life as difficult as possible. He wondered what she’d say if he told her about the letter he’d received at dinner. Would she comply, or would she fight him all the harder?

He wasn’t sure, but he did know that the king’s messenger would come, sooner or later. The weather that had delayed message and courier couldn’t last forever. And when the man arrived, they’d best have a wedding sheet, unless they both wanted to risk being thrown in gaol for ignoring the king’s orders.

Even so, he was fairly certain that now wasn’t the best time to tell her that. She was already far too angry, and she might accuse him of falsifying the letter and the command in an effort to force her. He didn’t think his temper would hold if she accused him of such things. Better to leave the letter for later.

He sighed and decided to address a different issue. “If ye want tae sleep like that, then so be it. I said I’d nae force ye intae something ye didnae want, and I’ll keep me word. But there’s only one bed, so we’ll have tae share that at least.”

“I willnae.” Her voice was laced with venom, and Darren felt his headache pulse with pain. “I’ll nae share a bed with ye, even just tae sleep. I’d rather sleep in the barn.”

“That’s nae an option.” Darren scowled. He wanted to just collapse into the bed and sleep, but he couldn’t bring himself to be so rude. She might be acting the part of a harridan, but she was still his wife. She was also, as Lyla had pointed out, a lonely girl without any family or friends around her, wed to a man who had been an enemy to her clan. “Fine. I’ll sleep elsewhere. On the floor or, the rug in front o’ the fire.”

He’d had worse beds, and it would be worth the stiff muscles he’d have in the morning if it meant he’d get a little peace. Better still if the gesture appeased her temper. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be the case, as she glared at him again. “Ye think I’d want tae sleep in yer bed? I may have tae sleep in yer chambers, but ‘twill take an act o’ God tae make me set a finger on that bed.” She emphasized the point by stepping back to the far wall.

Darren scowled. “I’ll nae be in it.”

“I dinnae trust ye nae tae come sneaking under the covers when ye think I’m sleeping. And even if I did, I’d nae want tae sleep on the mattress o’ me faither’s killer.” She folded her arms.

Darren groaned and rubbed his forehead. “God above woman, can ye nae cease being contrary over everything? Take the bed. One o’ us deserves a good night’s sleep, and I’ll nae be the sort o’ man who denies his wife comfort.”

“So ye admit ye only offer it tae me in order tae save yer pride and reputation. All the more reason fer me tae nae take it.” Alayne’s chin went up, her expression mulish as she stared him down, daring him to do something about it.

He wasn’t going to take the bed, and let her start telling tales of how cruel he was, leaving her to sleep on the floor while he slept in comfort.

“As ye will.” He went to a chest and withdrew a winter blanket, scented with mountain pine sent by his brother Keegan, and tossed it in her direction. “Sleep where ye will. I’m after sleeping in the other room by the fire.”

Alayne snatched up the blanket with a scowl and promptly began arranging it on the floor in silent challenge. Darren heaved an exasperated sigh, then took the coverlet off the bed, along with a pillow, and stalked back into the main room. The fire was down to embers in the hearth, and he lowered himself to the thick rug in front of it, discarding boots and belt as he did so. The floor underneath the rug was unforgiving stone, but Darren stretched out on it with a sigh of relief.

The hard surface wouldn’t do his back or his head any favors, but he was long past caring. At least out here, he could get some sleep without worrying that his new wife might try to strangle him in the night. That was good enough for now.

Tomorrow, he would figure out what to do about the king’s messenger, and the ultimatum he’d been given in regards to the relationship between him and his confrontational new wife.