Page 2 of The Plight of a Scottish Lass
Tamsin would not react, no scream or tears. If she did, she knew from experience that a second blow would follow.
“My lord, how would I do that?” She was but eight and ten. How did one make a child in your belly a girl or a boy? There must be a way that she did not know. But first, she needed to make herself with child again. Was there a way to guarantee the brute’s seed would take again? She was so naïve about the ways of women and men that the topic embarrassed her.
Every eve she prayed it would happen again soon so he would go to another’s bed. She hadn’t had her courses in a while, so she was hopeful, but her belly hadn’t grown yet. The reprieve she’d had once since she’d had an enormous belly from carrying their daughter was something she hadn’t expected.
She enjoyed the privacy immensely. She hated the act. The brutality of it, the way her husband hurt her, tested her strength every time. She’d rather he had three other women to bed if he would leave her be.
The next blow caught her in her belly and came from his fist, so powerful it knocked her off her feet and she landed on the table behind her.
The servants gasped behind him.
Unable to see clearly, Tamsin huddled into a ball, her hands cradling her belly. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
“Extilda,” he called out. “Take Alana and send her to my mother’s house.”
“Nay,” Tamsin shouted, attempting to sit, but unable to because of the pain from the blow that still gripped her insides. That she could tolerate—beatings, neglect, starvation, even imprisonment. Her only wish was to not be kept away from their daughter. “Please, my lord. I will keep her quiet.” She adored wee Alana.
He grabbed her by the hair and lifted her off the table. “You will not see her again until you bear me a son.” Then he shoved her back.
Only this time, she missed the corner of the table and slid off the edge onto the floor, landing on her side. A trickle of blood burst from her womb, a warmth washing between her legs. She cradled her belly, a sudden fear engulfing her. She hadn’t even known she was carrying.
A serving woman yelled, “Get the midwife! She will be delivering.”
Raghnall bent over and spit on her. “A son. Remember that it must be a boy.” The sound of his footsteps on the stone floor told her he was leaving. She peeked around him when the searing pain struck, the kind that told her a bairn was on its way. One she wasn’t aware had been inside her.
The servants had called her plump, ungainly, and foolish. Her husband had called her unlovable. Why hadn’t she realized she’d been carrying again? If only her mother had lived long enough to explain such things to her instead of having to learn the intimate truths from serving girls.
Blushing, a thought came to her she wished to deny. She hadn’t wanted another bairn except to keep her husband atbay. Suppose she had a lad resembling Raghnall. What if her husband raised a boy who resembled him in every way?
“Alana. I want Alana,” she whimpered when the woman helped her to her feet.
“Come. You will surely lose this one. You are not far enough along. The midwife is on her way. Do not make matters worse for yourself.” The woman pinched her arm as if to enforce her instructions.
Tamsin pinched her back.
Chapter Two
Eli and Alaric
Near the Isle of Mull, Summer, 1316
Elisant Ramsay Grant leaned over the bow of the ship, the wind whipping the random strands of burnished gold freed from her plait, but she ignored the mess the climate was making of her hair. The beauty of their journey was more than she could have expected, and she vowed not to miss any of it.
“Alaric, have you ever seen anything as lovely as this?” She reached up and brushed the blond strands from his face, the journey wreaking havoc with his long hair. Since he was the most handsome man in the Highlands, she loved staring at him, especially the way his muscles moved when he practiced his sword skills. His goal was to have the same reputation his uncle Connor had as a swordsman—the best in the land.
Alaric wrapped his arm around her shoulders, tugging her close before he dropped a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Aye, I have. The beauty is quite close to me.”
Eli elbowed him with a grin and replied, “I mean it. Have you seen the sea before?”
“I’ve had a lovely view of the water near Roddy and Rose’s castle, and it is quite stunning, but not like this. And if you look north, you can see Loch Linnhe. This is so unique, so…mesmerizing. That’s it. It makes me want to never tear my gaze away.”
She ran her fingers down the side of his chiseled jaw. “I have never seen the sea before, husband dearest. This is a first for me. It’s stunning. The water, the waves, the sparkles when the sun pops out enough to shine its rays upon the glorious sea. I don’t know which I love the most.” Then she leaned in to whisper inhis ear, “Imagine making love on this rocking ship. Would it not be an experience?”
Eli loved the physical part of their marriage as much as Alaric did. She didn’t know why people were uncomfortable discussing that part of a couple’s life because she loved it.
Alaric squeezed her hand, nibbled her earlobe, then whispered, “Aye, I would, but we cannot. Stop thinking on it or you will embarrass me.”
He gave her a pointed look that made her glance at his trews, then she tossed her head back and giggled.
