“Did ye now?” Wedderburn kept his eyes on her as he paused to take a long drink of his whisky. “I’m surprised, as he is Regent Albany’s man.”
“’Tis true that we Douglases have had our disputes with Albany over the years,” she said, giving the men a bright smile. “But my sisters and I couldn’t hold that against D’Orsey. He’s every bit as charming as everyone says.”
“Charming?” Wedderburn said, and poured another drink for himself and Cochburn.
The two were going through the whisky at a rather alarming pace, and that hard look was back in Wedderburn’s eyes. Alison hoped to God her new husband was not a mean drunk. That was something a wife needed to know.
With her mind on Wedderburn’s drinking and how little she knew about him, she almost forgot that he had asked her about D’Orsey.
“Aye, D’Orsey is charming and unfailingly courteous as well.” She felt a trifle nervous under Wedderburn’s silent gaze and found herself babbling on. “I saw him on the lists once, and he is most impressive with a lance. He won the tournament, of course. None of the other men stood a chance. Ye should have seen how all the ladies were sighing over him and dropping their handkerchiefs…”
She was about to add that she had been Beatrix’s age and thought the ladies all very silly, when she realized that her husband’s eyes had gone from cold to icy and that Cochburn’s smile was gone as well.
“You’ll excuse me if I lack D’Orsey’s exceptional manners,” David said between clenched teeth, “but Laird Cochburn and I have important matters to discuss.”
She blinked at him. The conversation had started off so well. What had she had done to deserve his none-too-subtle reprimand?
“In private,” he added when she was too surprised to move, as if he thought she was too slow-witted to understand she had been dismissed.
She felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. So much for his worthless remarks about respect.
“Good evening to ye, Laird Cochburn,” she said, fixing her attention on the older man. “I’m delighted to have ye as a guest inmyhome.”
Without sparing a glance for Wedderburn, she spun around. She quelled the urge to run, held her head up, and refused to let a single tear fall before she reached the stairs.
***
Alison awoke with a start when Wedderburn came stumbling into the bedchamber reeking of whisky. Her mother had taught her to avoid drunken men, and Wedderburn could be frightening enough stone cold sober. What violence might he be capable of drunk?
She lay still as death and pretended to be asleep. If he chose to force her now, there was nothing she could do. She hated this feeling of helplessness.
The mattress sank as he flopped down atop the bedclothes and flung one heavy arm over her. She turned her back on him and wondered if she could slip out. He did not appear to notice she was there, but then he mumbled something, rolled onto his side, and nuzzled her neck. Panic seized her when he pulled her against him and pressed his erection against her backside.
When Blackadder died, she believed she was done with being treated as no more than a body to accommodate her husband’s needs. That brief taste of freedom had changed her.
“I won’t have this!” She shoved Wedderburn’s arm off her and scrambled out of the bed.
Unfortunately, she was on the far side from the door. She clenched her hands, fear coursing through every muscle, and prepared to defend herself, though she was aware that the effort would be utterly useless. She knew better than to fight. From Blackadder, she had learned it was far less humiliating and painful to submit at the outset. And yet she could not do it.
She waited, but nothing happened. When her heart stopped beating so loudly in her ears, she heard a snore coming from the bed. She put her hand to her chest and tried to calm herself as she listened to Wedderburn’s steady breathing. When she was certain he was sound asleep, she tiptoed to the chair where she had draped her gown. Then, keeping an eye on his still form sprawled across the bed, she dressed in the near darkness and fled.
CHAPTER 18
Alison lay awake the rest of the night, squeezed between her daughters and snoring Flora, dreading the coming day. When morning finally came, damp and dreary, she was tempted to send the girls and Flora down to breakfast without her and spend the day with the bedclothes pulled over her head. Instead, she kissed her daughters good morning, helped them dress, and steeled herself to face Wedderburn.
When they went downstairs, she was surprised to find that their nocturnal guest had departed before breakfast. Wedderburn was not in the hall either,praise God.
Several of the men who had been gone the previous two days with Wedderburn were still asleep on benches, despite the usual morning activity going on around them. During the meal, she overheard bits of conversation from the others about how many they had fought and riding through the night.
She wondered again where they had gone and why. Her new husband appeared to have plans beyond taking the Blackadder castle—and her.
When he did not appear at the noon meal either, she took a tray of food to leave outside their chamber door. Though Wedderburn would come downstairs eventually and find her, ready food might buy her more time. Balancing the tray on one hip, she pressed her ear against the freshly mended door. When all seemed quiet inside, she heaved a sigh of relief.
The door suddenly opened, and she screamed as she fell into Wedderburn with her tray. The expanse of his bare chest filled her vision. A quick glance downward revealed that at least he wore his breeks. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to his face. With the dark shadow on his unshaven jaw and his hair falling across his eyes, he looked startlingly handsome.
And even more dangerous.
***