Chapter 13
Annella opened her eyes, blinked, and then gaped briefly at the woman who was leaning over her, before saying, "Mother?"
Well, that's what she tried to say. But what came out was a croaking sound similar to the one she'd made after the fire. Alarm
immediately raced through Annella, but her mother didn't seem surprised or overly concerned. She simply patted her arm soothingly
and turned to pick up a mug from the bedside table, then slid an arm under her upper back to raise her enough to drink from
it.
Annella almost whimpered with relief when the cool liquid slid past her dry and cracked lips and over her tongue to fill her
parched mouth. She didn't swallow right away. Instead, she used her tongue to swish the refreshing liquid around, trying to
let the fluid reach every nook and cranny of arid flesh before finally allowing the sweet nectar to slide down her throat.
"More?" her mother asked, and moved the mug back to her lips again when she gave a weak nod.
Annella wanted to gulp the beverage thirstily down, but knew that wouldn't be a good thing and might result in her simply bringing the liquid back up. With that worry in mind, she forced herself to simply take in a mouthful of the liquid, pause to move it around before swallowing, and then do it again. Annella managed four such swallows before her stomach warned her that was enough for now.
When she paused, she whispered, "Thank ye." Her mother immediately took it away to set the mug on the bedside table again.
She didn't lay Annella back down right away, but instead took a moment to quickly stack pillows behind her back with her free
hand, to help her remain upright. Only then did she ease her back against the pillows.
"There," Annabel MacKay breathed out with satisfaction as she quickly tucked the linens and furs around her daughter. "How
do you feel?"
Annella rather felt like hell, but didn't think her mother would appreciate her saying so. As a healer herself, and one trained
by the woman asking that question, she knew what she really wanted to know. "I feel as dry as bone. Me head hurts. Me shoulder's
painin' me, and..." She hesitated, and then gave up her recitation of her symptoms and asked, "What happened? When did
ye get here to Gunn? Is this Gunn? Or am I at MacKay? Where's me husband?"
Her gaze quickly flickered over what she could see of the room around them. Annella relaxed a little when she saw they were in her bedchamber at Gunn. No signs of damage remained though. It looked as fine as it had before the fire. Although, there hadn't really been much damage to begin with other than the rush mats being destroyed, a bit of scorching of the floorboards and some smoke stains on the walls, bed drapes and bedding. The fresh rush mats could be covering the scorching if they hadn't been able to remove the marks with a plane and scraper. But any smoke damage had been washed from the walls, and the bed drapes and bed linens had obviously been cleaned.
That look around also gave her an idea of the time. She could see it was late night from the darkness that the lit candles
on the bedside table and the fire in the fireplace were struggling together to push into the corners of the room.
"Annella."
Hearing the sharp note of concern in her mother's voice, she turned to her in question. Worry was etching furrows into her
mother's still beautiful face.
Ignoring all of the other questions Annella had asked, her mother focused on her first one, and asked tensely, "Do you not
recall what happened to you?"
Annella opened her mouth to say no, but then paused to consider. She'd obviously been ill for some time. What was she not
remembering? After a moment of searching her mind for her last memory, Annella found several nuggets that she was sure brought
color to her face: Graeme disappearing under her skirt, his talented tongue moving over her heated flesh, her straddling his
hips, taking him inside her and then riding him.
The next memory that flashed across her mind was much less pleasant as she recalled spotting the bow and arrow protruding from the bushes directly in front of her across the clearing. The rest of the memories then crashed over her in one large wave.
Eschina had tried to kill them.
Frowning, Annella shifted her head and tucked her chin down close to her neck to try to look at her right upper chest just
below the shoulder. There was nothing to see. The wound she'd taken was covered by a nightgown, and probably linen binding
under it, she supposed.
"Someone named Symon removed the arrow and tended your wound," her mother told her, actually sounding relieved. No doubt because
Annella's attempt to look for the wound had made it obvious that her memories were intact.
Picking up the mug of mead again, her mother urged her to drink more as she told her, "Graeme said this Symon person had to
push it through and out yer back. He said you " did no' like that ."
Annella nearly laughed at her mother's dry tone and bad accent as she imitated Graeme, but that was impossible with a mouthful
of mead. In the next moment, the desire to laugh died, and she swallowed hard as a brief memory flashed through her mind.
It was of her waking up to find herself in terrible pain and surrounded by several men. She recalled Graeme, Payton, Teague
and even Angus trying to hold her down and Graeme bellowing "finish it" as she screamed and thrashed in agony. She must have
fainted then, because no other memories were coming to her.
"How long was I asleep?" Annella asked finally when continued poking and prodding didn't reveal any more memories.
"I understand 'twas near to a week," her mother told her quietly, turning to set the mug back on the bedside table when Annella pushed it away. "Yer husband said they did their best to clean the wound ere binding you, but you came down with a fever anyway. It kept you under these last six days."
"Oh," Annella breathed, but thought, well, that explained why she was so parched on awaking.
"To answer your earlier questions, aye, you are at Gunn. Your father, your sister, myself and our traveling party arrived
three days ago. As for where your husband is, it took me more than two of the three days we have been here, but I finally
convinced him to go below for the sup tonight, and then find his way to a bed. From what your brother said, Graeme has not
slept since you were injured other than dozing off here and there while watching over you. I do know that other than occasionally
dozing off sitting up in a chair, he did not sleep in all the time that I sat here with him. It took two full days of harassing
him and a promise to fetch him the moment you woke before he agreed to sleep, and he only did so then because your fever had
broken and you were out of danger."
"I'm awake, but ye have no' woken him," Annella pointed out with a faint smile.
"I lied," her mother said with a slight shrug. "I have no intention of waking him until I know if you are happy, or wish us
to take you away. So"—she arched an eyebrow in question—"are you happy, sweetling? Or did your brother force you into marriage
with a brute you cannot bear to share a bed with?"
Annella's lips compressed at the question. Graeme definitely wasn't a brute, and she had absolutely no problem sharing a bed with him. If anything, she enjoyed it too much. Certainly, if Father Gillepatric knew how much she enjoyed her wifely duties, he'd be demanding the Gunn coffers' entire contents of coin to pay her indulgences. He'd probably also have her on her knees begging God's forgiveness for the rest of her days.
She definitely didn't think she wanted her parents to take her away. Annella hadn't been planning on running away to MacKay,
she'd been thinking to visit. She missed her family. But they were here now. They could visit, and then next spring or maybe
even sooner, perhaps she and Graeme could go visit her family at MacKay in return. As for whether she was happy...
"He does no' talk to me," she blurted, some of her frustration leaking into her voice.
Her mother blinked, tilted her head slightly to contemplate her, and then asked, "At all?"
"At all," Annella assured her, and then sighed and said reluctantly, "Well, he... did talk to me one time. I was tending
the blacksmith—he took a terrible burn," she explained. "It got infected, and I went down to get out as much of the infection
as I could. When I finished and came out of the blacksmith's cottage, Graeme was waiting with a sack of food since I'd missed
the sup. We walked back, ate on the steps o' the keep and then talked some while we walked in the gardens."
Annella was smiling at the memory, but then her smile faded and she sighed. "But he has no' talked to me like that again. No' even to ask me questions about Gunn that he needs to ken the answers to so that he can rule efficiently."
Irritated now, she turned her gaze to her mother. "Did Payton tell ye that me husband nearly caused a war with our neighbors
and allies, the Morgans? And all because he did no' ken what was going on and did no' bother to ask?"
Annabel opened her mouth to respond, but Annella wasn't finished.
"Or, did he tell ye that me husband moved his mother and her maid out o' his father's chamber—which was a fine thing because
she was apparently tormenting him," she assured her. "But when he removed his mother and her maid, he left poor old Bea to
tend to him. Alone. How was she to properly tend to him on her own, I ask you? She could no' move the poor man around by herself.
But me husband did no' think o' that and did no' talk to me so that I might point it out."
Annella nodded firmly to emphasize his lapse, before continuing, "And then there is the matter o' the wagon o' cloth he wasted
coin on purchasing from the cloth merchant. A wagonload !"
"I am sure—" her mother began.
"And he tried to cast Raynard out fer drinking too much," Annella growled, her irritation mounting again with each example
of how her husband's lack of communication with her had caused problems. "Raynard is a good man, who never drank until just
recently when he lost his wife and wee bairn to a fire. He needs time to heal. And Graeme would ken that if he had troubled
himself to simply talk to me."
"Aye, well," her mother started soothingly, but Annella interrupted her again.
"How do ye make Father listen to ye?"
Lady Annabel hesitated, and then, rather than answer that, asked, "Do you spend any time alone with him?"
"Aye. Nay." Annella shifted impatiently in the bed. "He's always gone when I wake up. I usually do no' see him until the sup,
and then he's usually talking to Payton and the other men. After that we retire to our bedchamber."
"And what happens then?"
Annella felt her face flush with embarrassment as some very carnal memories came to mind of what usually happened when her
husband joined her in bed.
Apparently, her expression and blush were answer enough for her mother. A gentle smile of amusement claiming her lips, she
said, "I see... and do you enjoy that portion of your marriage?"
Annella huffed out a breath of air and said honestly, "Too much. Several nights, I have been determined to talk to him when
he reached our chamber, but all he need do is look at me that way he has, and every thought o' talking falls out o' me head."
She sighed, smiled crookedly and admitted, "The bedding really is all that cousin Jo and her friends claimed it was when we
visited Sinclair."
Her smile faded then and she told her, "And I'm very annoyed at William for making me miss out on those pleasures for six
whole years while he was off traveling about and getting himself killed."
"Did William looking at you make you feel the way your husband does?" her mother asked with interest.
Annella was surprised at the question, and actually had to think back to try to recall. All she really remembered about her
wedding day and night, as well as the night before it—which was all the time she'd had with William—was being nervous and
anxious. Scared, really, like the untried young bride she had been.
When she admitted as much to her mother, Lady Annabel asked gently, "Yet you did not feel that way with Graeme?"
"Nay, but 'twas an entirely different circumstance, Mother," she argued with a small frown.
"And an entirely different man," her mother pointed out. When Annella simply stared at her with uncertainty, she explained,
"Not every man will affect you as your husband obviously does. And the bedding with William may not have been as... pleasurable
for you."
"Really?" she asked, sitting up a bit in her surprise. "I just assumed all men..."
When Annella hesitated, her mother said, "Our old cook, Angus, made pasties much better than the cook who replaced him when
he passed, do you not think?"
"Ayyyye." Annella drew out the word, unsure why her mother had changed the topic so abruptly. When the older woman than raised
her eyebrows and waited, as if expecting her to say something, Annella said the only thing she could think of. "Millie, the
cook here at Gunn, makes fine pasties, but they are still no' as good as the ones old Angus made at home."
"This is your home now, dear," her mother reminded her gently, and then said, "But, my point is, when it comes to pasties, the cook makes all the difference. A different cook means different recipes and different skills." After a brief pause, she added, "And 'tis the same with husbands and the bedding."
Annella leaned back against the pillows as she considered that. It had never occurred to her that men were like cooks and
pasties. Actually, that was rather concerning, she thought, and asked her mother to clarify. "Does that mean if William had
no' left and then died, that I might have been stuck with bad pasties in the bedchamber for all the days o' me life?"
"'Tis possible," her mother said with a shrug. "But he also might have talked to you more."
She went stiff at that. "So, I must choose between good pasties in the bedchamber, or a husband who would speak to me?" Annella
started shaking her head before she even finished the last word. Not leaving time for her mother to respond, she protested,
"That does no' seem fair."
"Life is not always fair, daughter," Annabel MacKay said gently.
Annella scowled at the comment, but then her eyes widened as another thought occurred to her. Pity entering her expression,
she patted her mother's hand. "I'm sorry, Mother."
"For what?" she asked with confusion.
"For yer having suffered a lifetime o' bad pasties being married to Father."
Now it was Lady Annabel who was sitting up straight. "I have not suffered anything. Your father has given me wonderful pasties from the first time we enjoyed pasties."
"But he talks to ye. I have seen it," Annella pointed out, frowning now as well. "And ye just said—"
"I know what I said," her mother interrupted impatiently. "But I just meant..." She paused briefly and then explained,
"Some women have husbands who speak to them, but perhaps are not as good at pasties in the bedchamber. While other wives have
husbands who give them good pasties, but perhaps have difficulties speaking to them as much. However, there are also some
wives, like myself ," she added firmly, apparently not wanting Annella to think poorly of her father, "who are lucky enough to have husbands
who speak to us and give us amazing pasties in the bedchamber. Do you see?"
Annella slumped unhappily back against the pillows. "Aye, I see. I should resign meself to a husband that gives me amazing
pasties, but will no' talk to me."
"Not necessarily," her mother said at once. "Making pasties is a skill. If our old cook had passed on the recipe and his steps
in making them, I'm sure any future cook could learn to make them just as well."
Annella narrowed her eyes and tried to follow along with what her mother was saying. She seemed to be suggesting that a husband
could be taught to be better at the bedding? But by whom? She couldn't have done the training. Aside from having had no experience
or skill in that area herself before Graeme, she couldn't even call the bedding the bedding while talking to her mother, but was using pasties instead. How could she have possibly done the teaching? Not that it really mattered anyway, she supposed. He was amazing at tupping, and certainly needed no training in it. Getting him to talk to her was the problem.
As if Annella had spoken her thoughts aloud, her mother said, "In the same way, I am sure a husband can learn and be convinced
to talk more to his wife."
"Oh," Annella said simply. She lowered her gaze briefly as she considered that and then shifted her eyes back to her mother
and asked, "How?"
After a hesitation, Lady Annabel confessed, "I am not sure. Your father did not have to be taught or convinced to talk to
me. I was actually the quiet one. We were not encouraged to speak at the abbey where I was raised. We actually had periods
where we were not supposed to talk at all." She grimaced at the memory and then added, "Aside from that, I had not even spoken
to a man other than the priest since being sent to the abbey as a young child. Yer father was the one who had to coax me into conversation."
"Well, how did he do it?" Annella asked.
Her mother considered the question briefly, and then said, "By asking questions. He asked me about my parents and my life
first at Waverly and then the abbey, and..." She shrugged. "He just kept asking questions until I was comfortable enough
to talk without needing questions to prod me."
"Hmm." Annella frowned over that and then asked, "But what if Graeme does no' wish to talk to me?"
"Oh, I do not think that is very likely," her mother assured her with a faint smile.
"Well, he has no' shown any great desire to talk to me up to now," Annella pointed out dryly.
"That is odd, because all he did the two days we sat watch over you together was talk."
Annella blinked in surprise. "About what?"
"You," her mother said softly. "About how fine a job you had done at running Gunn and taking care of its people since coming
here. He admired ye for that and complimented your father and I for raising such a fine, capable lass."
She snorted at that. "He was no' even here to know if that's true or no'."
"Aye, but he said his clan members told him and he could see the results of your leadership in how well-fed, rosy-cheeked
and happy his people are. He said 'twas obvious they all love and respect you." Her mother smiled faintly when Annella blushed
and glanced away, and then continued, "He also informed me you are beautiful, kind and intelligent, and he considers himself
lucky to have you to wife."
When Annella turned wide eyes back to her, Lady Annabel grinned and added, "Graeme said that the first time he saw you bellowing
at Raynard, then slamming a pot over his head to shut him up while you tended his wound, he knew you were the woman for him."
Groaning, Annella covered her face with her left hand. She hadn't realized her brother, Graeme and the other men had been
there for that. For some reason she'd just assumed they'd arrived later, while she was bandaging up Raynard or something.
Actually, the truth was she'd rather hoped that was the case so she didn't have to feel bad or embarrassed at her less than
ladylike performance that night. It seemed she hadn't been that lucky.
"I think Graeme loves you, sweetling," her mother said gently, and when Annella glanced up with amazement, and then shook her head in denial, Lady Annabel nodded firmly. "And I do not think you will have to find a way to make him talk with you. He did tell me that just before the attack in the clearing, you had complained about his not bringing issues to you that he might have with taking on the position of laird. And he had meant to address the matter and speak to you on it, but then his mother shot you with her bow and he never got the chance. He regretted that mightily."
Annella bit her lip and avoided her mother's gaze now. It hadn't exactly been just before the attack. There had been some
houghmagandie between the two.
"So, you see? I think all will be well," she assured her. "While Graeme has been away in battle these last ten years and may
not be used to or comfortable with talking to ladies, he wants to talk to you. And I think if you ask him a question or two
to help him along, all will be well."
Annella nodded with a sigh, and then said wryly, "And if no', at least I am no' suffering with bad pasties."
"What's this about bad pasties?" Ross MacKay asked, stepping into the chamber.
"Husband." Annella's mother stood and went to the tall, strong man, then braced her hands on his chest and leaned up on tiptoe
to kiss his cheek in greeting. "What are you doing up? I thought you would have gone to bed hours ago."
"I missed me wife and worried fer me daughter so thought I'd come to check on ye both." He kissed his petite, blonde wife on the forehead, slipped his arm around her waist and ushered her back to the bedside. Releasing her there, the MacKay bent to give Annella a cautious hug and peck on her forehead as well.
"'Tis good to see ye awake and recoverin', daughter," her father said as he straightened. "Ye near to ga'e yer mother and
I fits when we arrived to learn ye'd taken an arrow in the chest, gone down with a fever, had been fightin' it fer days and
had no' regained yer senses at all yet."
Annella smiled crookedly, unsure if she should apologize or not. She didn't get the chance to decide before her father continued,
"And then we found out that while we'd traveled here to rescue ye from this place and take ye home now that ye were a widow,
ye'd gone and married another damned Gunn."
"Husband," Lady Annabel said in a warning tone.
"Well, she did," Ross said with irritation. "We sent Payton and the boys on the search to hopefully find proof that her neglectful
bastard o' a husband was dead so she could be free o' the Gunns, specifically that nasty old bitch mother o' her husband's.
They did find her husband's body, and I thought her misery here was finally done, then she went and married the other brother
and nearly got herself killed by the old bitch who birthed him."
"Husband!" Lady Annabel barked in shock.
"Payton made me!" Annella said quickly in self-defense. "I wanted to come home. But first they said I should help Graeme take up his position as laird to smooth the transition for our people, and then Payton made us marry."
"He did, did he?" her father asked with interest. "And why would he do that?"
Annella opened her mouth, closed it and then leaned back against the pillows. "I think I'm growing weary. Goodness, wounds
and fevers take the strength right out o' a body."
"Hmm." Her father sank to sit on the edge of the bed next to her, caught her chin and turned her face toward his. "We can
ha'e the marriage annulled and take ye home with us, do ye wish it."
"Nay," Annella said quickly. Swallowing, she said more calmly, "We are wedded and bedded. 'Tis done."
"But are ye happy?" her father asked solemnly.
Annella hesitated, unsure how to answer that. She had moments of pleasure in her marriage, and moments of pure frustration
and fury. She wasn't sure she could claim happiness though. In the end, she said carefully, "I am no' unhappy."
Her father raised an eyebrow. Not satisfied.
"He treats me verra well," she tried again.
His second eyebrow rose.
Scowling resentfully at her father, she snapped, "I want to stay."
A slow smile curved her father's lips. Letting his finger drop from her chin, he glanced over his shoulder at his wife. "Payton
is right. Our sweet, shy daughter has grown a backbone o' steel."
"I somehow doubt he put it that way," Annella scoffed, recalling his complaining that she'd grown stubborn and difficult.
Her father didn't deny it, he merely kissed her forehead again and then stood to turn to her mother. "Come, wife. Ye've no' had sleep these two nights. Our daughter's awake now. Ye can rest."
"Oh, but I was going to wake Graeme as I promised and then go see if Cook left broth for Annella," her mother protested as
Ross MacKay took her arm to lead her to the bedchamber door.
"'Tis all taken care o'," he assured her soothingly. "When I arrived and heard yer voices from the hall, I sent one o' the
soldiers guardin' her door to wake the lad. Told him to go see about findin' her some broth after that. Annella will be fine.
Her husband'll see to her now he's had some rest."
Her father prevented any further protest by ushering his wife from the room.
Annella let her head fall back on the pillows and closed her eyes. She didn't know if she had a steel backbone, but she had changed since coming to Gunn six years ago. She wasn't sure if the change was for the better or not, but she was glad not
to be crying herself to sleep every night as she'd done during her first year here. That year had been the hardest of her
life so far; married, yet abandoned by her husband. A lady and chatelaine, yet struggling to carry the weight of her husband's
duties as laird as well. All without the love and support of her family, and instead the recipient of Eschina's vile insults
and curses.
An image of Eschina lying in the clearing, a knife through her throat, rose up in her mind and Annella frowned as she recalled
her father's words. I sent one o' the soldiers guardin' her door... Why were soldiers still guarding her door? Eschina was dead. Wasn't she? The possibility that she might not be was a rather distressing one. The woman had made it obvious she would not rest until she saw both her and Graeme in the ground. Dear God, she hoped the woman was dead.