For Love of a Laird (Irvines of Drum Book 1) Read online

  That was it. His arousal was gone and now he was thoroughly disgusted with himself and his thoughts. She carried his brother’s child. He was a disgrace. Alexander would run him through for his lewd thoughts and he would deserve it.

  “The wound is infected, Robert, but doesnae need stitches. I can us some herbs and balms to heal it.” Placing the back of her hand gently on his forehead, he finally tore his gaze away from the water and looked at her face, now so close to his. She had wee freckles dotting her nose and the apples of cheeks, and this close, he saw flecks of green mixed with gold in her irises. She smelled of something fresh and floral, mixed with earth and herbs, like she had been working in the garden just before. Plaited brown hair was draped over one shoulder and he wondered why her gentle touch felt so soothing to his hot skin.

  “Ye are a wee bit warm, Robert.”

  “’Tis the hot water and the steam,” he replied softly. And his unfortunate attraction to her, he thought to himself.

  Her eyes locked on his and he saw her pupils dilate. She licked her lips nervously and nodded. “Mayhap. We will keep an eye on it. May I have the linen?”

  Furrowing his brow, Robert looked down at where he had very intentionally held the linen to hide his cock and bollocks. “I am not so sure ye want me to remove it,” he said carefully, and she blushed once more.

  “’Tis nothing I have never seen before, Robert.” Elizabeth raised a brow at him, and he stared at her silently like a daft fool, unsure if she was referring to a few moments ago, her time with his brother, or with other men from Dunnottar Castle. Either way, the thought of her with other men, especially his brother, was sufficient enough to turn his mood sour.

  “Fine. Take it.” He shoved the cloth into her hands, soaking her bodice slightly, but scowling and looking away. It wasn’t jealousy, he told himself. How could it be? It was simply disturbing to think of his brother lying with her, and disappointing to consider how many other men she may have lain with. She was a woman of ten and eight years, after all. Still, he did not want a wanton wife that would cuckold him in the future.

  “Somebody is in a foul mood,” she said, making a tsking sound that only irritated him further. She was bonnie, aye. But suddenly, he wondered if she would always grate on his nerves with her stubbornness and wit.

  When Elizabeth wrung the hot water carefully over the wound, Robert hissed and clenched his teeth. It stung like bloody hell, and more so when she took a fresh cloth from the side of the tub and patted the area dry. Shuffling through her basket, Elizabeth pulled out a jar of salve and opened the lid. Scooping out a glob of it with her fingers, she carefully dabbed it over the wound and though it hurt, he had to admit that she had the soothing touch of a skilled healer.

  “I am not in a foul mood. I am sore all over. I am tired. I am in pain. And I have lost my brother,” he ground out, feeling his usually cool temperament starting to boil over. He did not want to show his anger to Elizabeth and he was not sure why she made him feel like he could say so much, when he would usually hold it all in. It was like he was a volcano ready to explode and she was the beautiful land surrounding it, about to be decimated by the heat of his rage.

  “I ken, Robert. I am sorry.” Her voice was so soft and genuine, yet he still wished to shout at her. Why was he so angry with her?

  “How many men have ye been with, lass?” There. That was the truth of it. He was jealous, damn it all. He was to marry this woman and she freely admitted to having seen naked men before? Had she no morals? What if the child she carried was not even Alexander’s? That would explain how she already knew that a bairn grew within her. “Are ye wanton?” He gripped her wrists and Elizabeth gasped, nearly falling forward into the tub.

  “How dare ye!” Jerking one hand free, Elizabeth smacked him across the cheek, the sting of her wet palm making a sound loud enough to wake the devil. His head snapped to the side, but he kept his mouth shut, clenching his jaw, knowing damned well he deserved her ire. He was being a bloody arse, taking his grief out on her. “Ye can tend yerself, ye… awful beast!” A tear ran down her cheek and he knew himself for the bastard he was, but there was no time to apologize before she was out the door, slamming it so hard the floor shook.

  Well. That was one way to warm his future wife to him. Sighing, he shook his head and frowned. She did not deserve such treatment, even if he was angry about her comment. He had a right, he told himself. She was to be his wife. No man wanted a whore for his bride. Still, that was not what she had said, and for all he knew, she was referring to having seen him naked just moments before.

  The evening meal would occur soon, and he still wished to get some rest. Jumping out of the tub, he dried off and pulled the sheets back in his four-poster bed, anxious to feel the soft cool sheets against his flesh. He still ached but felt slightly more soothed. He hoped he could sleep after insulting Elizabeth as he had. At the meal, he vowed, he would apologize to the lady for his cruel treatment of her. No matter what, it had been uncalled for.

  Then, he would think of a way to tell the woman that she was now contracted to be his wife and pray she did not smack him across the other side of the face.

  Chapter Eight

  “Pack yer belongings, Tilda. I suspect we leave on the morrow,” Elizabeth wasted no time saying as she stormed back into her chamber, shaken by her encounter with Robert. He had been so kind to her before and now… well. He may be grieving the loss of his brother, but he had no right to treat her that way, nor speak to her as if she were nothing but a whore.

  She had seen him naked. Fully nude. Something inside her clenched in a rather desirous way, making her wonder if she was, indeed, wanton. She had never seen a nude man and he was mighty well built. It had caused inappropriate thoughts to consume her mind, making her turn red and go hazy in the brain. Oh, as a lass of ten and eight summers, she had thought about the pleasures of the flesh on enough occasions, but she had been rather successfully sheltered by her father, and then by her brother. She knew very little of the facts and suspected Matilda would have had that conversation with her the night before her own wedding to Alexander if they had known in advance that she would marry him so swiftly. Now, everyone assumed she had been wedded and bedded, everyone but Matilda and Mary, who Elizabeth confided in. And Robert, well, he thought she had lain with the whole of Dunnottar Castle, the lout.

  Thankfully, his treatment of her had erased any inappropriate thoughts that had temporarily addled her senses. Robert was much like what she considered most men to be, after all. Cruel, arrogant, and disrespectful because she was a woman. Scolding herself for ever believing he could be her ally in this place, she stormed over to the large armoire where her dresses were all hung carefully with care and sorted by color, thanks to her extremely organized maid and friend. Grabbing several in her arms, she yanked them down and tossed them on top of her bed.

  Matilda cringed and crossed her arms. “I spent much time on those! What do ye mean we are leaving?”

  “My husband is dead.” Stopping in her tracks, the words sank in and hit her straight in the heart. How could she say that so bluntly? Clasping her rosary, Elizabeth took a deep breath and plopped on the bed beside her dresses. “Tilda. I am eighteen years old, have been betrothed to one Irvine, married to another, widowed within a sennight of the marriage, and have now been brutally insulted by another Irvine man. There is naught for me here at Drum. Our contract has been fulfilled. Keiths and Irvines fought peaceably beside one another in Harlaw. The alliance stands. I shall head back to Dunnottar and await further instruction from my brother, as I am certain he has more plans for me.” Rolling her eyes, Elizabeth plopped back on the bed and hugged her silk pillow.

  “I suppose ye are correct. But I didnae think it was expected for us to leave right away.” Tilda furrowed her brow and sat beside Elizabeth on the bed, stroking her mistresses’ hair. Elizabeth’s eyelids fluttered as they tended to do whenever her hair was stroked. Her mama used to do that and it always calmed her, as
Tilda knew. Exhaustion hit her like the waves of the ocean that crash against the cliffs of her home and, more than ever, she wished to see them from her window once more. “Who insulted ye? Reginald? I vow, he is a loud-mouthed man but he doesnae mean half of what he says.”

  “Robert. I was told to tend to his wound, but when I arrived he was… bared. Completely.”

  “Oh. I bet that was quite a sight.”

  “Ye’re not helping, Tilda! The point is that he refused to let me tend to him and I told him it was nothing I hadnae seen before… which was, quite honestly, a lie. I just wanted him to trust me. Instead, he took me for a whore and asked if I was wanton.”

  Gasping, Tilda stopped stroking Elizabeth’s hair and touched her arm instead. “I am sorry, Lizzie. But he is in pain emotionally and physically. I am certain he didnae mean it.”

  “Mayhap not but he said it nonetheless. It doesnae matter. I have nay reason to speak to him ever again. I wish to pack up and leave this place. I dinnae belong.”

  “Ye do. I wish ye saw that. All the people love ye, especially Mary. I dinnae ken how ye turned yer husband’s pregnant mistress into a friend, but ye are verra loved here.”

  “Without a husband, I have nay place here. ’Tis not my home.”

  With a long drawn out breath, Matilda stood from the bed and drew the covers shut around Elizabeth, blocking the heat from the hearth. “We will do what ye wish, my lady, if yer brother allows it. We will discuss it with him on the morrow. For now, rest before the evening meal and mayhap ye will feel better.”

  Shaking her head and closing her eyes, Elizabeth curled up into a protective ball, reliving the scene with Robert once more and wondering why his ill opinions of her hurt so much. “Nay. I willnae go to the meal. I am too sick to my stomach to eat and dinnae wish to sit at the high table with that man. I wish to simply sleep until the morn and leave at dawn.”

  Tilda did not respond. All Elizabeth heard was the soft click of the door and she knew her maid had left, but she also knew she had been heard. She would close her eyes and get some rest, for tomorrow would be a long day of travel.

  Still, she could not help the tears that slid down her face. Tears for the husband she lost before she truly got to know him. Tears for the people she had grown to love in such a very short time. Tears for the loss of a man she once respected, who truly had never existed.

  Romance, love, chivalry. It was all a glorified falsehood written by poets to entertain the fancies of ridiculous women. None of it truly existed, at least not for her.

  Both seats to his right were empty at the head table. One was supposed to be the laird’s seat, but he was unable to bring himself to sit there. It did not feel right. Leaving it vacant felt like the proper thing to do. Still, the void felt wider than ever as he was forced to accept that his brother would no longer occupy his spot at the head table, never fill the great hall with the sound of his laughter, never spar with him in the lists. He was gone.

  Knots pulled at his stomach, for more than one reason. The other vacant chair was a reminder of how abhorrent he had been to Elizabeth. The lass had done naught to him but attempt to tend his wound, yet he had released a venom filled with rage, grief, hatred, and an inexplicable jealousy. He was usually a master of his own emotions, but today, he had lost control and he wondered how much of it was the loss of his brother and how much that Elizabeth affected him in a way he could not fathom. Either way, he felt her absence keenly.

  Was she mourning her husband or simply avoiding him? Either way, the constant jabber of his cousin, Sharice, bored him to tears as she sat at his left and picked at his trencher. “Ye ken, my father told me that that there is a man in the village who claims to have seen a goblin once and…”

  What in hellfire was she talking about? She had been speaking of a midwife just a moment ago and now she was on to goblins? He loved his cousin, but she was spoiled and rather daft at times. Popping his knuckles beneath the table, Robert couldn’t stand it anymore. He needed to find Elizabeth and apologize for his treatment of her. It was not at all like him to disrespect a woman and he hated himself for the pain he had caused her. It had been evident in her eyes. He deserved the slap she gave him and more.

  Standing quickly from the bench, Robert looked at Sharice and forced a smile. “Interesting tale, indeed,” he said, not having heard anything she said about goblins. “I apologize, but I must retire. ’Tis been a taxing day and there is much to be done on the morrow.”

  Stopping her chatter, Sharice frowned and grabbed his hand. “I am sorry, Cousin. I ken I talk too much and too fast when I am nervous. I only mean to distract ye from yer pain, not bore ye to tears.” She smiled and squeezed his hand, warming his heart.

  “Ah, Sharice. Ye are a good person. I apologize. My mind is elsewhere.”

  “I ken that. I feel terrible for Lady Elizabeth. She seems truly distraught over her loss.”

  Nodding, Robert thought of the conversation he overheard earlier on the other side of her chamber door. No wonder she was so distraught, being with child and losing her husband. She must worry what was to become of her, having no idea her fate was to marry him, the very bastard who insulted her. Aye, he owed her a visit and an apology.

  Squeezing Sharice’s hand in return, he released it and walked away from the table, feeling the eyes of the entire room on him, though everyone pretended to go about their business. Aside from the toasts made in Alexander’s honor at the beginning of the meal, everyone had decided to celebrate his life, rather than mourn his death. Alex was never one to mope about and would want the entire castle pissed drunk and passed out, rather than crying and sulking. Robert had attempted the same, but after one cup of ale, his stomach rejected everything.

  There would be no joy for Robert, but life had to go on and Elizabeth deserved to know where she stood. He would simply have to marry her as soon as possible and attempt to pass the child off as his own. It was still possible at this point. Yet, he would not let on that he knew of the bairn, for it was not a conversation he was meant to hear. When she was willing to tell him, he would listen. Until then, things had to be sorted.

  “Robert, wait.” The sound of her brother’s voice caught him just before he made it to the first step up the tower. Turning around, he saw the man whose eyes looked so much like his sister’s, approaching him swiftly.

  “William,” Robert greeted stiffly, wondering what he had to say.

  “My sister’s absence is unnerving. ’Tis not like her to disappear, even if she is grieving.”

  Robert bit his lip, not wanting to admit to her brother how awfully he had treated his sister, yet he would rather take the fall, than have her brother displeased with her. “I am afraid I have something to do with that. We had… words, this afternoon. She left rather displeased with me. I dinnae think my company was welcome tonight, and I cannae blame her.”

  Tilting his head and narrowing his eyes, he saw a small smirk slide across William’s face. “So, that red mark across yer face is courtesy of my sister, aye?”

  Placing his hand on his cheek, he grimaced, not having known he still wore the evidence of her ire. “Aye.”

  Chuckling, William shook his head. “She is a spirited lass. Doesnae accept what she doesnae wish to. Yet she accepts much without a fight, such as being passed down from father to son… to son. Ye must have truly crossed her.”

  “Aye. I did. I was just about to apologize to her.”

  “Smart man. Dinnae cross my Lizzie. She willnae accept it, nor will I.”

  Hearing William’s warning clearly, Robert nodded. “I assure ye, I will never mistreat yer sister.” Again, he thought to himself, feeling worse than ever yet deciding William need not know the rest of the details. He’d had enough fighting for a lifetime.

  “Good. Make sure she is aware of the contract. ’Tis yer burden as laird and future husband to bear the ill tidings. I have already done so twice and dinnae envy ye the task.”

  “I already mean to tell her. I
t shall be done.” Nodding, they went their separate ways as he turned and took the steps up the second story two at a time, determined to be done with his tasks of apologizing and telling her the news of her fate.

  Reaching her chamber door, he knocked gently three times but, after a moment, knocked hard when no answer came. Opening the door slowly, the rusted hinges creaked, but nobody stirred within. The hearth fire burned low, allowing a wee bit of light to illuminate his way as he walked in.

  Looking around, he saw her armoire doors wide open with nothing inside. Had she taken off? Heart jumping into his throat, he stepped quickly toward the four-poster bed and slid the curtains open quickly. A woman screamed from within, pulling the covers up to her neck, eyes wide in terror.

  “Elizabeth. I am sorry. ’Tis just me, Robert.”

  “Why are ye here?” she demanded, anger ringing clearly in her voice. “Ye think me a whore and wish to try yer fortune? Piss off, Robert Irvine. I am nay man’s whore and shall never touch ye!” Rolling over, she faced away from him and he felt himself smile. Her brother was correct. She was a wee feisty thing when crossed.

  “I am sorry about what I said earlier, Elizabeth. It was cruel and unnecessary.”

  “And none of yer business, at that!” she spat, looking over her shoulder to scowl at him.

  Clearing his throat, he mustered up the courage to say what it was that truly needed to be said. “I am afraid that is where ye are wrong, my lady.” Looking at the other end of the bed for the first time, he saw all her dresses thrown into a pile and frowned. “Why are ye packing yer things?”