Page 28 of How to Heal a Highland Heart
Before he knew it, he was giving her one. “Yer dimples dunnae compare to yer eyes when yer smile reaches them and lights them, though. They go from twin pools of beckoning darkness to the likes of loch water with the moon shimmering down on them.”
Where the devil had that come from? Who was the daft one now?
“I…I…I’m sorry.” She shook her head.
“Ye’re sorry for being beautiful?”
“Aye?” The look she gave him was one of utter uncertainty, as if she could not trust his compliment, as if something horrible might happen next. He wasn’t sure what to say, and before he could decide upon the right words, she spoke again. “I can retie the plaid.” She immediately looked away from him and set to work. He suspected she’d done it purposely to avoid any more conversation.
He watched as she undid the plaid while darting looks at him. When she drew the folds of cloth away from her body, the full outline of her loveliness stole his breath. She was all curves and shadows under her léine, and the desire to explore what was hidden there was almost unbearable. If he’d not had a pressing need to gain loyalty and obedience from the Kincaides and bring the clan under his own, he would have skipped the tradition of the wedding feast. But there was a necessity to celebrate this new beginning with the men and women of their combined clan. Joining with his wife would have to wait until later that night.
Patience darted several long looks at him, almost as if she were studying him, and then she started to tie the plaid. Again, she did so completely wrong. It was as if she’d never worn one before. “Did yer lady’s maid always put yer plaid on for ye?”
Patience stilled, her gaze flying to him. “Nay. I—”
“Ye’ve nae ever fashioned a plaid before, have ye, lass?” He softened his voice, hoping to ease some of the embarrassment that was skittering across her face.
Her shoulders slumped as shook her head. “Nay, I did nae ever have the opportunity to.”
He frowned. “Did ye nae wear yer father’s plaid, or either of yer husbands’?”
She bit her lip. It was a response he was coming to understand showed she was unsure just how truthful to be. “My father forbade me to wear a plaid, and my first husband—”
“Ivan Sutherland?”
“Aye,” she said, grasping a long strand of her unbound, glistening hair and winding it furiously around her finger. “He—” She sucked in a long breath. “Well, he—” She turned her face away then, and with her free hand, she swiped at her cheeks. Was she crying?
Brodee’s chest squeezed tight. What the devil had Sutherland done to her? And how the devil had her father treated her? Every indication was that she’d been abused mentally, possibly physically, by her father and husbands. It sickened and enraged him. “Lass?”
The great hall door swung open with a swish, and William stood there. He looked between both of them for a moment, his eyes widening just a bit as he took in Patience’s near-naked state. William jerked his gaze to Brodee. “If ye intend to show solidarity between ye and the lass, the two of ye need to actually be at yer wedding celebration.”
Brodee gave a quick nod. The desire to ask Patience how Sutherland and her father had treated her and why she’d never had the opportunity to fashion a plaid nearly singed his tongue, but he bit the question back. If there was any hope of her telling him, he doubted she’d do so in front of William, if at all. He stepped toward her, and she flinched. Motioning to the plaid, he said, “May I? I’m verra quick with it. I’m certain ye can make a plaid look much better than I can, but we should return to the great hall.”
Intense astonishment touched her face, and her mouth dropped open. Then she gave him a look of such gratitude that he was stilled by his own shock at what her appreciation evoked in him. Triumph swelled in his chest. This was not part of his plan. He should turn from her now. And yet she was like a Siren, and he a sailor on a ship sailing unstoppably toward her.
His blood rushed through his veins in acute awareness of her as he stepped close. When he inhaled, the scent of wild flowers and rain filled his nose. God’s teeth, who smelled like that? Like the promise of renewal and freedom? He made quick work of setting the plaid to rights, and then backed away and assessed her, to ensure he’d done a good job. She looked as if she’d been born to wear that plaid. The thought brought him a moment of pleasure, which irritated the devil out of him. “Where did ye get the plaid?” he asked, realizing he did not know. He would have given her one of his tonight.
“I left it in her bedchamber,” William said from behind Brodee. “I went to look for her, and I noticed the Kincaide plaid on her floor had been torn to shreds.”
The play of emotions across Patience’s face—surprise, embarrassment, and then trepidation—fascinated Brodee. “We’ll be right behind ye, Will,” Brodee said as a hint to William to leave, which he took with a nod.
The door swished shut, leaving Patience and Brodee standing face-to-face once more with no one around and nothing between them but air. He wanted to kiss her with every fiber of his being. Instead, he swallowed the desire and said, “When we are alone, I’ll teach ye how to put on my plaid.”
She nodded, her gaze watchful and wary. “Why did ye keep my secret?”
“Ye are my wife,” he said. “’Tis my duty to protect ye, and that dunnae just include from physical harm. I will nae give others a reason to taunt ye or belittle ye. Will ye trust me?” he asked, holding out his hand to her. He could not say why exactly, but hearing her say now that she would trust him meant a great deal to him suddenly.
“For this moment, I will. Beyond that, I kinnae promise anything.”
Again, an overwhelming sense of triumph filled him. Little battles—that’s what he would wage with his new wife. And eventually that would lead to his winning the war. “Then I’ll take this gift and hope for more.”
He started to turn, sure she would not take his hand, but when her fingers caught his and she gave him the sweetest shy smile he’d ever seen, he wrapped his hand around hers, and stilled himself against the chains on his soft emotions that rattled. He kept hold of her hand, determined to protect her and protect himself, too. He opened the great hall door with his free hand, and a sea of noise flowed out on the air. When Patience tensed under his touch, he ran a soothing finger over her palm, but he frowned at the rough spot on the inside of her hand.
It wasn’t that he minded a callus. It bespoke of a woman who did not shy away from work, yet he’d have expected a woman in Patience’s position not to do much manual labor. He released the open door and turned toward her once more to catch her other hand with his before she could think to protest.
Nervousness skittered across her face. “What is it?”
He refrained from answering, unsure she’d give him an honest response. Instead, he turned her hands so her palms faced up, and he glanced down. “What in God’s teeth happened to ye?”
