Chapter 11

Chapter 11

With the help of a gillie who directed him, Michael found Ian Dubh's chamber easily. When he entered, the older man was reading a parchment, weighty with red wax seals, at a table lighted by a number of candles and cressets. Other such documents, neatly rolled, lay in a tumble nearby.

"Come in, lad," he said, looking up. "I trust all is well with your lass."

"Aye, sir," Michael replied, shutting the door. "But I do not want to keep you up longer than necessary, so pray, let us proceed at once to the matter at hand."

"I have the documents here," Ian Dubh said, gesturing toward the tumbled pile of rolls on the table. "You may peruse as many as you like, and I'll give you fair copies of the two that pertain particularly to the St. Clairs. The one suggesting that your grandfather helped arrange for the Templars to come here is most interesting. You will find, however, that he spelled his name differently from the old style."

"I know, sir; he spelled it ‘Sinclair,' the way one pronounces it," Michael said. "My mother prefers the French spelling, however, and Henry indulges her preference just as our father did."

"Does he? I had heard as much, but believing that your esteemed grandfather's wishes must prevail, I own, the news did surprise me."

"It would not if you had enjoyed the privilege of meeting my mother."

"I see. Well, come round here, and I'll show you the references to Sir William. Before I do, though, there is one other detail that you should know."

"Indeed?"

Ian Dubh nodded. "I left one thing out of my tale about the ghost ships," he admitted. "Sithee, I was not alone that night."

"No?"

"I was but six years old, and I own, I'd not have had courage enough at that age either to defy my father or to sneak out after I was supposed to be in bed."

"But you did both."

"Aye, but to follow someone else, someone I greatly admired."

"An older child?"

"Aye, a close cousin, and one whose father had even more right than my own to order things at Castle Tarbert."

With a tingling sense of anticipation, Michael said, "If, as you told us, your father was constable at Tarbert, he yielded authority to only one man."

"Two, if one counts the King of Scots," Ian Dubh said, "but in view of the controversy that raged over who was king at the time, we need consider only one."

"His grace's father, Angus Og. So the cousin you followed was …"

"His grace, of course," Ian Dubh said. "In view of his illness now, I took advantage of your interlude with our Isobel to intercept the gillie Lachlan has arranged to send to Ardtornish, and conveyed my own orders to him."

"May I ask what they were?"

"To see that his grace becomes acquainted with your presence here. I think that you should speak with him, if he agrees. Sithee, but for having seen the ships myself, and knowing at the time that Angus Og was aware of their presence in West Loch Tarbert, I have learned no more than what little I have read of the matter. Indeed, when I pointed out the existence of these documents to his grace, he refused to discuss them, saying that what lies in the past should remain in the past."

"Then why do you believe he would speak with me?"

"Because I also told the lad to say that your life has been threatened. His grace has a great fondness for Isobel, so I believe he will want to meet you in any event, to give your marriage his blessing. Then we shall see what we shall see."

With that, he proceeded to acquaint Michael with the documents and to explain more about them than Michael had energy to absorb. The hour was late before he got to bed, and he fell at once into a deep sleep.

Isobel's first glimpse of the new day was Mairi's smiling face, as that lady leaned over her and said cheerfully, "Wake up, Isobel. The priest is here, and I have come to help you dress for your wedding."

From that moment, Isobel felt as if all control over her life had fallen to others, that she retained none for herself. Being checked, restricted, and compelled were constraints that she resisted with every fiber, but the people who commanded her were those she was least accustomed to disobeying, so when they massed against her, as they did now, she found it impossible to protest with her usual energy.

Not that she did not try.

As Mairi whisked her out of bed, Isobel said she was not by any means certain that she wanted to marry just yet.

"Nonsense," Mairi replied briskly. Then, to her maid, she said, "Brona, it is the moss-green silk we want."

Isobel tried again. "But, Mairi—"

"Cristina is even now gathering your flowers for you, my dear. I know many consider it bad luck for anyone but the bride to gather them, but I know too that you care as little for such superstitions as Cristina does, so you will be grateful to have one less task to perform. You know that neither Hector nor Lachlan is blessed with much patience, and if I judge your Michael correctly, he possesses little more than they do. Moreover, it has been my experience that once men have determined upon a course of action, they do not happily brook delay."

In this manner, she kept up a running discourse that allowed Isobel time only to reply to such questions as her ladyship fired at her from time to time almost midsentence. Did she want her hair up or down? Did she think the moss-green silk would look well with a dark-blue-and-yellow shawl? Did she not think that perhaps she would prefer to wear stout shoes rather than flimsy slippers with her wedding dress, since they would be taking ship for the north directly after the ceremony?

It occurred to Isobel only as she was answering the last question that doubtless Mairi was attending her rather than Cristina, whose right it was as her elder sister, because the latter believed Isobel was unlikely to offer Mairi resistance, let alone outright defiance. If that had been Cristina's reasoning, Isobel admitted—if only to herself—she had been right. As for declaring her independence to Lachlan or to his grace's priest, who had clearly arisen betimes to travel from Ardtornish for the sole purpose of performing her wedding, or insisting that she would wait a while longer to marry, she could not bring herself to do either.

Thus it was that she went meekly downstairs with Lady Mairi to the great hall, where she discovered that nearly all the inhabitants of Duart Castle had gathered to see her married. Hector and Lachlan stood near Michael on the dais with the thin, grizzled parson. Sir Hugo, standing beside Michael, smiled and winked at her. When she smiled back, Michael glanced at Hugo, but Hugo ignored him and winked at Isobel again.

Cristina moved forward to give her the bouquet of flowers she had gathered. As she did, she plucked two pink roses from it and put them in Isobel's hair, which Isobel wore in loose flaxen waves down her back. Standing back to judge the full effect, Cristina said, "You look more beautiful than ever, dearling."

"'Tis true," Lady Euphemia agreed. "None of the rest of you will ever match our Mariota for looks, but I'm thinking that today our Isobel draws close."

"Thank you, Aunt Euphemia," Isobel said, but even to her own ears, her voice sounded weak, because the last thing she wanted was to be like Mariota. Catching Michael's gaze on her, she suppressed a grimace, straightened her shoulders, and tried to believe he deserved whatever he got from their marriage.

The priest stepped forward, spread his arms to silence everyone in the hall, and directed Michael and Isobel to the makeshift altar at the front of the dais. From that moment, the proceedings took on the semblance of a dream, and it seemed only minutes later that Isobel heard him say, "I present to you Sir Michael and Lady St. Clair. You may kiss your bride now, sir, if you choose."

Michael grinned, and before the entire Duart household, he put an arm around Isobel to draw her close, tilted her face up to his, and claimed her lips in a kiss that heated her to her toes. As she felt herself melting toward him, she collected her wits, became fully aware of her audience, and stiffened abruptly.

Michael held her closer, and in prolonging his kiss, he touched the tip of his tongue to her lips, but he did nothing else other than to kiss her right cheek and then her ear. As he kissed her ear, he murmured, "It is done, sweetheart. Do not forget that you have promised to obey me and to be meek in my bed and at my board. I shan't be a harsh husband, but neither am I one to relish feminine fits of temper."

"You said we would talk first," she muttered, trying to ignore the fluttery sensations that heated her body, and surprised as she had been before that he could read her mood so well. She hoped that no one in their audience was doing the same.

"Aye, well," he said, "events moved faster than my brain did this morning, and, too, I saw no sign from you that you objected."

Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of hearing her admit that she had allowed similar events—or Mairi—to sweep her right to the altar, she kept silent.

Servants swiftly produced a simple breakfast of bread, meat, and ale, and afterward, Hector slung Lady Axe, his legendary battle-axe, over his shoulder. The others gathered up their belongings, and everyone who would join the flotilla descended the steep path to the harbor and boarded galleys to begin their journey.

Five miles later, when the ships turned into Ardtornish Bay, Isobel, lost in her own thoughts, glanced at Cristina in vague surprise that they were stopping so soon. But Mairi said with a grin, "Surely, you remember that we sent word to my mother yestereve of our intent to depart today. She sent her reply with the parson this morning, promising to be ready, but we are all to go up to the castle first, because my father desires that you present your new husband to him."

Isobel had forgotten all about Princess Margaret, but glancing at Michael, she noted his lack of surprise, and guessed that he had known all along that they would stop at Ardtornish. He smiled, and although his smile had the same effect on her that it always did, she vowed to herself that, one way or another, he would pay dearly for having put her in such a position.

Then he stood and reached a hand out to her. Taking it, feeling it enfold hers, and looking into his smiling eyes, she recalled with a start that one other aspect of marriage existed to which she had given much too little thought.

Michael had only begun to savor his success in winning Isobel. He had thought her beautiful from the start, but seeing her now, dressed as she would be for court, with her smooth, rosy cheeks, her blue-gray eyes showing only gray today, her flaxen hair hanging like a gilded sheet nearly to her waist, and her low-cut gown framing pillow-soft breasts, he thought no one could be more beautiful, and he wondered again what the oft-mentioned Mariota had been like.

Well aware that this was no time to indulge his curiosity further, he and his lady led the way up steep steps carved into the cliff from the harbor to the great black-basalt castle on its jutting promontory above. Inside, they continued up more steps to the great chamber, then through it to a smaller one beyond.

The inner chamber contained a great blue-curtained bed, its drapery exquisitely embroidered with red, green, and white birds and flowers. In the bed, propped up against cradling pillows, lay MacDonald, Lord of the Isles.

Clearly weakened by his illness, he looked gaunt and, to Michael, much older than Ian Dubh. His hair was thin and white, his pale blue eyes watery and reddened, his face gray and shadowed with stubble. As they entered, he straightened on the pillows, and as his gaze caught Michael's and held it, Michael found himself enduring a shrewd, measuring gaze and hoping that he would not fall short.

Ian Dubh had stayed at Duart, and Lady Euphemia remained in the hall with the waiting women, so only Hector, Lachlan, and their lady wives had accompanied the newlyweds into his grace's presence.

Mairi stepped forward, and when he extended a hand to her, she grasped it as she bent to kiss his cheek. "Good morning, sir," she said. "I have brought Isobel and her new husband to meet you before we all depart for the north."

"Aye, lass, I see that," he said, and his voice was strong despite his illness.

"I warrant I should present them to your grace properly, as Sir Michael St. Clair and his lady wife," Mairi said with a grin.

Michael bowed and Isobel curtsied as MacDonald said, "Step forward, the pair of you. I would learn more about this hasty wedding."

Mairi opened her mouth to explain, but Michael forestalled her by saying calmly, "I regret the necessity for haste, your grace, but I must be at my brother's side when he is installed as Prince of Orkney, and it seemed wiser to take my lady wife with me than to leave her behind. My enemies know we have been together long enough for her to learn something of my affairs, and although I know less than they believe, I want her safe and will worry less if I keep her with me."

MacDonald's eyebrows rose. "Do you think us unable to protect her, sir?"

Michael smiled and waited for an answering gleam before he said, "I know you can protect her, your grace, but although I've arranged settlements with Hector Reaganach, I warrant you will agree that such matters arrange themselves better after marriage than before. You see, I want her protected in more ways than one."

"You make an excellent argument, lad," MacDonald said, adding bluntly, "Does that mean that you've already bedded the lass?"

Noting Isobel's flaming cheeks, Michael suppressed another smile as he said, "Not yet, sir. We have felt some need for haste today."

"It will not hurt your enemies to wait an hour or so longer," MacDonald said. "Whilst she retires with Mairi and Cristina to the bedchamber my lady has set aside for her, and prepares herself for you, you may remain here and bear me company."

This time, Michael did not risk looking at Isobel. Her gasp had been enough to tell him that she had not yet wholly accepted this duty of marriage, and he had no wish to stir her to rebellion in his grace's bedchamber. Nevertheless, he was relieved when Ladies Mairi and Cristina took command of her and led her from the room.

Hector and Lachlan clearly hoped to stay, but MacDonald dismissed them with a gesture, and Michael found himself alone with him.

"Draw up that stool, lad," MacDonald said. "I'll wager Ian Dubh told you the pertinent facts of our history, since his message to me, although cryptic, made it clear that he wants me to speak to you of what the two of us saw that night."

Michael obeyed the request to draw up a stool and sit but did not reply, seeing no sense in pointing out that, regardless of what message Ian Dubh had sent, the decision lay entirely with MacDonald as to whether he would speak.

"Both of us suffered for our sins that night," MacDonald said with a small, reminiscent smile. "I'm guessing he told you all he knows of the matter, augmented by what little his prized documents have revealed of it since."

"Aye, sir, he told me about the four ships he saw when he followed you to the shore below Castle Tarbert. He said they disappeared by morning and the two of you could learn no more about them."

MacDonald chuckled. "I made the mistake of deciding when they vanished that I'd keep my tongue behind my teeth, but my daft wee cousin had less sense and suffered the same overweening curiosity then that plagues him to this day."

And him not even a Macleod, Michael mused.

"What makes you smile, lad?"

Recollecting himself, Michael said, "It has recently come to my notice, my lord, that such curiosity seems to abound in the Isles."

"So it does," MacDonald said, twinkling. "I know Isobel well. Indeed, I'd ask you to tell me how you met and all about your brief courtship, but I know you are aching to consummate your union, so I'll not keep you. Doubtless you want to know anything I can tell you about those ships."

"Aye, sir, an it please you."

"I think that, with enemies threatening, you need to know at least as much as I do, but I may not know as much as you hope." He was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Then he said, "What I do know derives more from my long rule as Lord of the Isles than from direct knowledge of the facts."

"I collect from what you said about Ian Dubh's curiosity as a child that he spoke out of turn and thus drew attention to your disobedience."

"Aye, that's true, but that earned us naught but a fine skelping. In time, my father did come to explain some few things to me that may prove helpful now. I do not know what, if anything, you know about the Knights Templar."

Since this time Michael had expected the reference, he did not react except to say, "I know that my grandfather was a member of the Order, your grace, as many other Scottish nobles were. I know that Pope Clement ordered their disbanding and the arrests of all members. Ian Dubh said Clement was a pawn of Philip of France."

"Aye, and supposedly following Clement's edict, Philip commanded the arrest of every Templar in France. We ignored the edict here, of course. Edward of England was creating nuisances throughout Scotland, particularly along our coasts—here in the west as far north as Isla, and along much of the west coast of Ireland, for that matter—but even Edward lacked the authority to enforce Clement's edicts here. And of course Robert the Bruce had no inclination to do so."

"But surely, in time, with such an edict in place …"

"Even now, the only one hereabouts who heeds the Pope is the Green Abbot of Iona, and he does so only when it suits his purpose, as I suspect it does now."

"Then you, too, believe the abbot may be involved with my trouble."

"I do," MacDonald said. "He overstepped his mark years ago when he and some of his minions attempted to assassinate both me and the King of Scots in one traitorous act. The King ordered him to keep to the Holy Isle for the rest of his days, and for the most part, he has obeyed that command. But Fingon Mackinnnon is his own man, and should he ever show himself to you, I'd warn you to take great care. Your lady knows she must not trust him, but he knows her, as well."

"What happened to those four ships?" Michael asked, believing MacDonald was rapidly tiring, and hoping to learn more before he had to let him rest.

"I cannot say for certain, because my father believed as I do that the fewer people to know such details, the safer it was for everyone," MacDonald said. "He said men who wanted me to know they had been party to that affair would tell me themselves. None has, but I do know that the most likely places for those ships to have offloaded cargo were Castle Sween, Kilmory, and Kilmartin, all places where your grandfather and the Bruce wielded influence. I also know that the Templar fleet comprised more than four ships and that Sir William, and subsequently your father and brother, developed what amounts to a St. Clair navy that can match or surpass that of any ruler in Europe or Britain."

"Aye, we do control a good many ships," Michael agreed. "But surely, most of those that came here from France must be old or have fallen apart by now."

"Perhaps," MacDonald said. "But ships do not just crumble to dust, lad, not if they're well cared for, and your family makes a practice of caring for theirs. Of course, their great wealth allows them to refit more than most shipowners can."

Michael could not pretend to ignore the implication this time. "Faith, sir, do you think my grandfather took that treasure for himself? Because if you do—"

"Stand easy now," MacDonald said. "I make no such accusation. I know your grandfather's reputation for honesty and integrity, and I do not for a moment believe he'd have done such a thing. Moreover, I know that your family wealth derives primarily from your father's marriage to Isabella of Strathearn."

"But?"

"Aye, well, surely you've noted yourself that your family is even wealthier than hers, wealthier even than the Norse King, by most accounts. 'Tis one reason, I suspect, that that wily gentleman agreed to let your brother Henry assume what Henry chooses to call a princedom, and not just any princedom, I might add, but the highest in all of Scandinavia, save that of the Norse King himself."

"Ian Dubh told me how much Henry is paying for it," Michael admitted. "Nonetheless, there apparently were and still are other claimants to the title."

"As there are other Templars who must know of the treasure's existence, if not its exact contents."

"But do not most people believe that the Templars no longer exist?" Michael asked, wondering if MacDonald would reply the same way as Ian Dubh had.

"Aye, sure, here in Scotland they became Knights of St. John instead," MacDonald said, eyes twinkling again. "One thing my father told me is that nearly all Templars who fled arrest in their own countries—knights, sergeants, and minions alike—came to Scotland, even from Ireland, where none was arrested until seven years after the Paris incident. Thus, hundreds came to Scotland, and you must realize that they all knew their Order had controlled vast wealth, and most must have realized or learned at some time or other that the treasure had gone missing."

"So Scotland offered refuge to all who would come," Michael said.

"Aye, of course. By the time Philip tried to confiscate the Paris treasury, Robert the Bruce had been King of Scots for over a year, although he endured five more years of struggle to unite Scotland and rid it of Edward's English army before our victory at Bannockburn finally settled things."

"And the Templars played a part in that."

"A large part," MacDonald said, "because not only did Bruce welcome such finely trained soldiers, but most of them had managed to flee with their equipment and weapons. So as far as he was concerned, they were his treasure. My father was one of his closest friends, and between them, with your grandsire's help, they made certain that Templars everywhere knew Scotland welcomed them. To be sure, they did not all come at once, but they came in large numbers and small for years after that awful Friday in Paris. And they turned the tide at Bannockburn."

Michael nodded, saying, "Then what happened afterward?"

"I fear I know little more that can help you, for although I suspect a number of men of having played a part in guarding the treasure, as I said, none has admitted as much. However, if your grandfather controlled it, it lies safely hidden, and I'd warrant its hiding place is on St. Clair property—and property that has been in the family a long time, because such property is least likely to leave St. Clair control."

"Then most likely it lies at Roslin, but Henry and I have searched the whole castle."

"All the old Templar holdings are controlled by others, so I'd suggest that you search again. But meantime, lad, I'd advise you not to keep your bride waiting any longer. Our Isobel has a temper, you know, although she rarely indulges it."

"I doubt she has displayed it to you, my lord."

"Nay, but news travels with speed through the Isles, as you will see."

"If one desires a rose, your grace, one must respect its thorns."

MacDonald chuckled, looking ten years younger. "So I have been told, lad. Indeed, your father told me years ago that that is an ancient Persian proverb."

"My father?"

"Aye, and as I recall, he recited it to me just before he married your mother. Now, go to your wife with my blessing, sir. I wish you both well."

"Thank you, your grace," Michael said sincerely as he bowed and left the old man to his rest. He liked MacDonald and could easily understand his popularity, but once outside the bedchamber, Michael's thoughts were for no one but his bride.

Isobel had never felt more constrained than she did as she waited with Cristina, Mairi, their maids, and her aunt for Michael to claim her as his own. She had scant knowledge of what that meant, living as she had, first in the household at Chalamine, motherless from her third year, and then at Lochbuie, where the laird and his lady enjoyed the luxury of a private bedchamber.

She wished she dared command everyone to leave her and go about their business, but she knew that although the two maidservants might obey, Cristina, Lady Mairi, and Lady Euphemia would not. Moreover, lying naked beneath a blanket that was not even hers, she felt more vulnerable than usual.

At last, though, unable to keep silent any longer, she said, "I have only the vaguest notion of how men and women couple. Should I not know more about it?"

Cristina said guiltily, "I suppose I should have talked with you about what to expect, dearling, but everything happened so quickly that I didn't think of it."

"Nonsense," Mairi said. "You will find that you know exactly what to do, Isobel, and if you have any doubts, Michael will show you." With a grin, she added, "If my own experience was typical, you will enjoy it very much."

The maidservants giggled, and Isobel wished she had not spoken. But then the latch clicked and the door opened almost before awareness set in that it was her husband who walked in so unceremoniously. On his heels came the priest.

Michael said, "I'd take it as a kindness if you would lose no time in blessing this bed, parson."

The priest smiled indulgently. "All bridegrooms are impatient, sir, but you will want everything as it should be." Nevertheless, he was efficient, and Hector and Lachlan appeared in the open doorway as he was finishing the brief ritual.

Michael observed their arrival with visible wariness. "I'm grateful for your assistance, my lords, but I would be alone with my lady wife if you please."

The two men glanced at each other, eyes mutually atwinkle, and Isobel had a sudden fear that they would insist on bearing witness to her conquest, or at least on assisting Michael to prepare for bed, as she had heard was frequently the fate of bridegrooms. But Michael turned to Lady Mairi and said, "I warrant the princess Margaret would welcome your assistance with her preparations, madam, and that of the lady Cristina and your maidservants, as well."

"Aye, sure, she will," Mairi said, chuckling and taking firm hold of her husband's arm. "Come along, you men, and let the happy couple get on with their important business, so that we may all depart for Kirkwall as soon as possible."

Within moments, the chamber was empty, and Isobel watched with mixed relief and wariness as Michael barred the door.

He turned and smiled. "I have faith in them, but I believe you will feel more comfortable if you know that no one can walk in on us."

"Comfort is not a word that springs to mind just now," she muttered.

He strode to the tall window and yanked the curtains shut, dimming the light inside to what little could slip through the narrow opening where they met. Then, moving to the curtained bed, he seemed to loom over Isobel.

"You need not fear me, lass," he said gently as he began to unfasten his doublet. "I will take the greatest care not to harm you."

"Will it hurt?" she asked.

"It may hurt a little the first time," he said.

"Will what you do give me a child?"

"Do you want a child?" he asked, smiling again.

Noting that the thought seemed to make him happy, she felt a prickle of concern but pressed the point nonetheless. "Will it?"

"I cannot say. It may."

"Then we should wait until we can talk more about certain things," she said.

"Nay, lass, it is my sacred duty to consummate our marriage quickly. I would see you protected as my wife, and to that end, I want to be sure that no one else can have any cause to contest our union."

"We can just tell them that we consummated it," she said reasonably.

"Could you tell such a lie to Hector and the others?"

The thought sent a shiver through her. Lying to Hector was never a good idea, but if such a lie were necessary, for Michael … "I think I could," she said.

Even in the dim light she saw his eyebrows shoot upward. "Does that mean you would tell lies to me?"

"I don't lie," she said, squirming a little. "Sometimes, if it is necessary, I may shade the truth a little or neglect to tell the whole truth."

He sat on the bed, and she started to ease a little away from him, but he stopped her with a light hand on her bare shoulder. His hand was warm, but the look in his eyes was cool. "Could you lie to a priest who asked if we had consummated our marriage, or to his grace?"

She had been about to insist that she could lie to the Green Abbot without a single twinge of conscience, but his grace was another matter. "Nay, not to his grace."

"Do you recall my reaction to finding you on my ship?" he asked softly.

His tone sent another shiver through her, but she said, "I do not know why you must bring that up again, sir. That incident lies in the past."

"Aye, it does," he agreed, stroking her bare arm. "But you would do well to remember that I do have a temper, sweetheart, and take care not to rouse it again."

She frowned. "Do you mean you'd be angry if I refused to couple with you?"

"Nay, lass, you have as much to say about that as I do, for I do not believe in forcing women. I will insist that we consummate our marriage, but I would ask for your submission. I have no wish to bed an unwilling wife. My warning just now had to do only with your apparently casual attitude about lying to people other than his grace. I would have you understand that it will be as dangerous for you to lie to me."

"Then I will try not to," she said. "It is only that sometimes one feels obliged to lie a little. For example, if someone asks one for an opinion of a new dress or hat, or asks other such questions, lying may be the only tactful way to reply."

Taking her chin firmly in hand, he made her look at him as he said, "If I ask you a question, Isobel, I want an honest answer."

"And will you give honest answers to my questions, sir?"

"I will," he said. "If I cannot, I will tell you that I cannot, and I will try to explain why. Sometimes secrets belong to other people, and when someone entrusts me with a secret, I am obliged to honor that confidence."

"Mayhap I, too, have such secrets."

"Do you?"

She could not meet his gaze. "Not just now," she admitted. "I was only thinking that I might one day. If I told you that that was the case—"

"A woman should not keep secrets from her husband," he said flatly.

"I see," Isobel said. "Only husbands may keep secrets."

He sighed. "That is not what I meant to say. Nor have we sufficient time now to talk this matter out as we should. I agree that we must discuss it further, because you make a good point, but right now we have an important duty we must fulfill."

"Consummating our marriage," she said. "Perhaps making a baby."

"Aye," he said, proceeding to take off his doublet.

As she watched him unlace his breeks and kick off his boots, she nibbled her lower lip silently. But when he stood and faced her, clearly ready to claim her, she said, "There is one secret you must know before we couple, sir. Mariota was mad."