Chapter Thirteen
Earlier that day, Ewan had fished a shell out of a tidal pool and given it to his new bride. She’d accepted it with unabashed delight, smiling as she’d turned it this way and that. True, it was a fine specimen—a large spiral, fully intact, its ridged surface mottled with leopard-like spots. Its rosy aperture, as smooth as glass, matched the colour of the evening sky. Ewan had oft seen similar shells in the warmer climes of the world but couldn’t recall ever seeing such a thing on a Highland beach.
Now, the lass’s hand visibly trembled as she placed the seashell atop the bedside table, next to her sprig of white heather.
“If you put the aperture to your ear,” Ewan said, unbuckling his sword belt, “you’ll be able to hear the sea.”
She turned to him, her expression dubious. “The sea?”
“Try it.”
She did so, smiling as her eyes widened. “How… how can this be?”
“I dinnae ken, in truth.” Encouraged by her response, he returned her smile. “But I’m glad it pleases you, Elspeth.”
Like a candle being extinguished, the lass’s smile vanished and her expression sobered, as if she’d just remember where she was, and why.
While on the beach—for the most part at least—she’d appeared to be at ease. They’d walked and talked, stopping here and there to explore the rock pools, admire the sunset, and watch the waves. Ewan had been infected by the lass’s enthusiasm for her surroundings. His life as a Templar also fascinated her, judging by the questions she’d asked. For the most part, he’d humoured her curiosity, though doctrine forced him to deflect some of her enquiries.
Her intelligence was unquestionable, yet Ewan had the impression she lacked education. Somewhat irregular for a noble lass. She readily admitted she couldn’t write, although she expressed a desire to learn.
When asked about her own childhood, she’d shied away and changed the subject. Ewan had let it go. His own upbringing had also been somewhat irregular. Unlike most sons, neither he nor Ruaidri had been fostered out, but trained in the ways of knighthood by their father.
As the glory of the sunset blazed across the sky, Ewan had dared to raise his bride’s hand to his lips. He’d heard her breath catch and felt her hand stiffen.
After, he’d threaded his fingers through hers and led her back to the castle, where they’d gone straight to Ewan’s chamber—their chamber. While they’d been gone, it had been made ready for them.
The light from several candles cast a soft glow over the space. A bowl of fragrant dried herbs sat on the bedside table, their subtle scents suffusing the air. A tray of bread, cheese, and fruit had been placed on another table by the window. Beside it, a flagon of wine and two goblets. The canopied bed had been spread with fresh furs, its linen sheets doubtless warmed with hot-stones.
It was an intimate welcome.
And the lass had become as skittish as a hare.
She replaced the shell on the bedside table, hesitating a moment before turning to face Ewan once more. An image arose in his mind—that of a mouse caught in a trap.
But then, Ewan was not without some trepidation of his own. None of his experiences compared to this. Oh, he knew how to pleasure a lass. It was not something a man forgot, even when that man had abstained for many years. But he’d readily admit to a lack of experience in the art of wooing and seduction. Certainly, he had never lain with an innocent. The women he’d bedded had all been willing, oft times their services paid for. Nor would he ever force a lass to surrender to him, especially not his wife.
“Are you hungry, lass?” he asked, gesturing to the food tray. “You didnae eat much today.”
“Not terribly, in truth. Later, maybe.”
“Right.” He cleared his throat, strode over to a chest in the corner, and removed a parcel from it, its linen-wrapping neatly tied with a blue ribbon. “Sit with me then,” he said, settling himself on the edge of the bed and patting the spot beside him. “I have something for you.”
She fidgeted and tied her fingers in knots at her waist. “Ewan, I think you should ken—”
“I’ll never make you do anything you dinnae wish to do, lass.” He patted the spot beside him again. “Please, just sit with me.”
With some hesitation, she did as bid, dropping her gaze to her lap. Ewan’s heart quickened as he breathed in her scent, its sweet bouquet already familiar to him. He took a moment to examine her. A rosy hue coloured her cheeks—put there, likely, by the sea breeze. The same breeze had also dishevelled her hair, pulling several strands free from her braids. Her downcast eyes allowed him to better see her thick fringe of dark lashes, with their tantalizing curl.
She was, he thought, a picture of innocence and beauty. And she was his. He felt a sudden flare of protectiveness, the strength of which surprised him.
“I wanted to give you some wedding gifts, but I confess I wasnae quite sure what you might like.” He handed her the parcel. “So, I hope you like these.”
“Thank you.” For a moment she appeared bewildered, as if the concept of receiving a gift was foreign to her. “But… I have nothing to give you.”
“No matter.” He gestured to the parcel. “Go ahead. Open it.”
With the parcel resting on her lap, she loosened the ribbon and unfolded the wrapping to expose what lay within. Her soft gasp drew a half-smile from Ewan. Then, to his gratification, she laughed—a short, sweet, sound of delight.
“Oh, ’tis so bonny!” She brought the comb closer to better examine it, stroking its polished surface with a fingertip. “I dinnae believe I have ever seen the like. What is it made of?”
“Tortoiseshell,” he replied. “Do you like it?”
“Very much.” Eyes bright, she flashed him a smile. “Thank you. And what is this?”
Setting the comb aside, she lifted a silk shawl from the wrapping and held it up. Like a banner, it unfurled, revealing swirling patterns of sapphire blue and emerald green.
“I thought the blue would match your eyes,” Ewan said, and then frowned as the silence stretched out. The lass simply sat there, gazing at the shawl, saying nothing. Ewan shifted. “It doesnae please you?”
To his dismay, she shook her head.
“Ah.” He shifted again. “Is it the colours you dinnae care for?”
“You misunderstand, Ewan. ’Tis simply that I cannae find the words.” She snuggled the shawl against her cheek. “’Tis beautiful. So soft! And the colours are glorious.”
Ewan felt a warmth in his groin and fought off an urge to touch her. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I love it. I love them. You brought them with you? From France?”
He wondered, vaguely, if that mattered. “Nay, I acquired them here.”
“Oh.” Her brows lifted. “I didnae ken such things could be found hereabouts.”
Unable to resist, Ewan reached over and lifted a sprig of lavender from her hair, allowing his knuckles to graze her cheek. “I’m afraid the wind stole much of your garland.”
The response was instant, akin to a curtain being pulled, or a door closing. Body tense—and clutching her gifts—the lass slid from the bed. “Um, I should put these somewhere safe.”
Ewan bit back a sigh. “Elspeth.”
“Aye?”
“There’s naught to fear.”
“Do you mind if I put them back in this chest? For now, anyway.”
“What is it you’re afraid of, lass?” He heard the lid of the chest open and then close. “The act of love is a fine thing when shared ’tween husband and wife. A natural thing.”
A sigh drifted to his ear. Then she came and stood before him. “I’m no’ exactly afraid, Ewan. ’Tis just…”
He rose, took her hands in his, and studied her. Contrary to her denial, fear lingered in her eyes. “’Tis just what?”
Her chest rose and fell as she looked down at their joined hands. “I have something to ask of you, and I pray you will try and understand why I ask it.” She met his gaze. “I fear, though, it might be… too much for you to allow.”
Frowning, he inclined his head. “Ask it then, and we’ll see.”
“I ask that... that you grant me some time. Before you… before we consummate our union.”
His brow cleared. “Is that all? Aye, of course. We can eat, if you like. Have some wine before—”
“Nay, I…” She shook her head. “I mean, some extended time, Ewan. A sennight, perhaps, or even a wee bit longer. I would prefer to know you better before I give myself to you. You’re still a stranger to me.”
It took Ewan a moment to grasp what she’d said, and several more to respond. The unorthodox request more than warranted a denial. The lass was of age, and he had his rights. Yet, upon consideration, he had little choice but to acquiesce, since the alternative would give him no pleasure. But he would not concede without a stipulation of his own.
“I’ll no’ pretend to be happy about it,” he replied, “but I’m a man used to restraint, and shall continue to practice it for now. As I told you this morning, we have the rest of our lives to figure out this marriage. That said, I would ask something of you in return.”
She blinked. “What is it?”
“Dinnae shy away from me anymore, Elspeth. I might be a stranger, but I’m still your husband. Let me at least show you affection without reprove. From now on, I would see trust in your eyes rather than fear. You have no cause to fear me.”
Her lip trembled. “Aye, of course. Thank you, Ewan.”
Ewan nodded an acknowledgement and bit back a sigh.
Lasses. They were more complicated than he remembered. He glanced at his sword, where it rested against the wall. Seemed like he’d be busy in the practice yard for the next few days, working off some unspent urges.
His gaze then drifted to the bed. Being a monk had not made him a saint.
He released her hands. “Turn around, lass.”
The familiar wariness arose in her eyes. “What—?”
“Trust me. Turn around.”
She did so, saying nothing as Ewan loosened the laces on her gown, though the rise and fall of her chest implied that her angst remained
After this, he doubted he’d see such fear again. It was a test for her. And it was a trial for him. The soft nape of her neck beckoned, begging to be kissed. The scent of her tantalized, causing him to harden. “There,” he murmured, dropping his hands. “When you’re ready to retire, you should have nae trouble removing it.”
Jaw set, he turned, grabbed a pillow and a couple of furs from the bed, and spread them on the floor beneath the window. He felt her bewilderment, but said nothing.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice little more than a whisper,
Ewan scratched his jaw. “Preparing my bed.”
“But… you cannae sleep on the floor!”
“You cannae expect me to lie beside you, Elspeth. ’Tis asking too much.”
“Then I will sleep on the floor!”
“Nay, you’ll sleep in the bed. I’ll be fine. The furs are comfortable enough.” The guilty expression on the lass’s face actually amused him, and he surrendered to a genuine smile. “But right now, I’m starving. Will you eat with me?”
Later, much later, Ewan lay on his furs and listened to the gentle rhythm of his wife’s breathing as she slept. The enigma of her left him seeking answers. She possessed obvious passion, yet appeared to be shackled by uncertainty and fear. He wondered at the source. An event in her childhood, perhaps, which she found difficult to speak of.
The lass wanted time, and he would give it to her. Partly because, besides the fear he’d seen in her eyes, he’d noticed something else. Something that made him believe their union would, eventually, be all he hoped for.