Page 10 of Wed to the Highlander
Eagerly, the maid rushed over. When she pulled the ribbon and lifted the lid, she let out another delighted sound. “Scented soaps, my lady! French, I’d wager. There’s lavender and rose and bergamot. Laird MacPherson is thoughtful, isn’t he? Oh, look!” She held up a small pink glass bottle. “There’s bath oil, too. Shall I add some?”
Maggie picked up one of the soaps and inhaled the delicate rose scent. It was a small thing. A gesture. But it was intimate. Personal. The sort of gift a man might give a woman he meant to seduce—or cherish.
She replaced the soap in the box. “Not tonight. Please put it all back then check the dark blue valises. There’s a warmer nightgown packed in them somewhere.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the girl said, sounding as disappointed as she looked.
From a true husband, such a gift on her wedding night would make any bride giddy. But that wasn’t her and Duncan, and tonight wasn’t that night. She’d wait until he gave them to her himself.
Once Nora had packed everything away, she located her nightgown, made of the softest muslin with lace trim at the collar and wrists. Her mother had ordered it, part of her last-minute trousseau, along with several warm gowns. Maggie had refused to take part, unwilling to lend credence to their hasty union—a farce that served only his convenience.
“You’ve been very kind,” she told the maid with a faint smile. “But I can manage the rest on my own.”
The girl curtsied. “Of course, my lady. I’ll go check and see if your supper is ready.”
Once the door closed, Maggie exhaled.
Alone on her wedding night. How long would Duncan wait? He’d said it gently, but the clock was ticking.
She wasn’t naïve. The terms of his inheritance were clear, and she’d heard enough hushed conversations between her brother and the solicitors. Duncan needed an heir. And soon.
The worst part was…she wasn’t angry anymore.
She was scared.
Because no matter how thoughtful he’d been—how careful, how steady—she didn’t know if she could give him what he needed before his patience ran out. Before hers did.
And if she failed him, what would that make her? A disappointment. A burden. A wife in name only.
A noise in the hallway had her tensing, but no one knocked. Hurriedly, before supper arrived, she reached for the bar of soap provided by the inn. It was grainy-looking, not the smooth-milled kind Duncan had bought. She lifted the bar of soap to her nose and grimaced. It smelled faintly of lye—sharp, sour, and nothing like the smooth-milled kind Duncan had bought.
“Aye, well,” Maggie muttered, scrubbing at her arms. “Bit off yer nose tae spite yer face, didn’t ya, lass?”
Her imitation of Duncan’s brogue was far from perfect, but the words rang true—and stung a little more than she expected.
***
The tavern was warm and low-lit, thick with the scent of woodsmoke and hops. Duncan sat in a quiet corner near the hearth, a tankard of ale in front of him and a dram of whiskey untouched beside it.
He stared into the amber depths, but the burn in his chest came neither from the fire nor the drink.
Upstairs, in the room he’d arranged with care, his wife lay alone.
It wasn’t how he’d imagined their first night together.
He hadn’t expected passion. Not after a ceremony rushed by scandal and a journey long enough to wring anyone dry. But he had hoped for something more than silence—more than the tight, wary look in her eyes when she’d whispered, “It’s too soon.”
Even by rail, the journey from London had been exhausting. She hadn’t eaten properly. Hadn’t slept. She’d said it gently, and he hadn’t argued.
He wouldn’t be the man who pressed his new bride into something she wasn’t ready to give.
Still, leaving her in that fire-warmed room—knowing she was finally his—had tested every ounce of his self-control.
He reached for the whiskey and drained it in a single swallow. It didn’t help.
He’d planned this journey to ease things for her—to keep her from the whispers in London, the cold stares of society. The private train car alone had cost more than he could justify with the state of the MacPherson accounts, but she’d needed comfort and privacy and to feel safe with him.
She hadn’t asked for any of it. But she’d accepted it, and he’d taken that as a small victory.
