Page 40 of A Knight To Call My Own
Another sob caught in her throat. “You should not make promises you may not be able to keep, Ian. ’Tis not very chivalrous of you, nor does it speak highly of your knightly vow you swore to protect me.”
Ian cursed beneath his breath and dug the heel of his palm across his eyes as if to rid himself of his dilemma afore he came to rest on top of her. He tried to kiss her, but she refused to let him soften what he was about to do to her. “Lynet…”
Tears racing down her cheeks, she gazed at him directly. “I shall hate you for this ’til my last dying breath,” she swore.
“Damnation!” All the fight went out of Ian as he hastily checked the door and sat up. “Be quiet and lift yourself up.”
Confused, she did as she was told and felt as he grabbed at the cloth beneath her. Taking a dirk, he ran the blade across the palm of his hand. The slice quickly pooled red with his blood that he dripped onto the whiteness of the fabric.
“Cry out, as if you are in pain,” he demanded of her and she let out a small scream. It must have satisfied those out in the passageway and served as justification she was no longer a maid. Lynet swore she even heard one person clap his hands in glee. She could only assume their happiness was for thoughts of her dowry filling the coffers of the estate. Lynet knew there was nothing inside of her to be pleased about, since she had denied her husband his rights to her body.
Ian continued sitting there on the edge of the bed, not moving. Lynet was still in shock of what he intended to offer the crowd outside their chamber. She lifted her hand towards him, and yet, afore her touch could ease the tension between them, he stood. Grabbing the fabric, he quickly strode to the door.
“Here is your proof,” he tossed the cloth out of the portal and slammed the door in the faces of those murmuring their words of encouragement.
Grabbing his boots, he made his way to the hearth and proceeded to don them. Ripping at the edge of his tunic, he tore the fabric ’til he was able to tie the cloth around his injured hand using his teeth to tie the knot. Lynet could only pray none would question the bandage.
Ian pulled off a chunk of bread and placed a piece of cheese between it. He came to the bed only to stare down at her ’til a rosy blush flushed her face. She clutched the fur at her side to cover herself from his roving eyes.
Still, he stood there in silence, ’til Lynet could take it no more. “Ian, I−”
He held up his hand to halt her words afore she could utter her apology. When he spoke, his words were layered with anger as tense as the air between them. “Do not ever question my honor again, Lynet, or so help me you shall regret it. I may not be as accommodating the next time.”
He gave her a brief bow and left their chamber, without another word. Alone once more with her thoughts, she could only ponder how she had had the nerve to stand up to him, but more importantly, how she would breach the rift she had knowingly put between them. ’Twas more than she had ever dared afore. For the second time in a matter of days, she shed tears for what she had lost. Gone was any respect Ian felt for her, as was evident in his parting look at her. She had the sinking feeling the love that had only just begun to bloom between them had suddenly vanished, and ’twas all her doing. What had she done?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Had it really been over a fortnightago that Ian had stormed out of their chamber? He had made a decision that eve, and he would not go back on the promise he had made to himself. He had vowed he would not dare touch Lynet, lest she willingly came to him of her own accord. He should have known making such a vow would be a huge mistake.
Every night he came to their chamber in the hope she would reach out to him. Allowing her only a few moments to make some form of an effort, he would quickly come to the conclusion he was wasting his time. Each eve, he gave up waiting for a signal she would welcome him into her bed. Defeated, he would grab a pelt to lie down in frustration upon the floor near the hearth. ’Twas not the first time his sorry backside had spent an uncomfortable night upon the ground, nor apparently would it be the last. The stone flooring was no different, except at least he did not have to worry about rocks digging into his sorry arse. And yet, furs and his plaid were a poor substitute for warmth when his wife lay but inches away from him. He must be the biggest fool in all of Scotland and England combined.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, Ian took up the rake and again began the tedious task of tossing fresh hay into the now clean stall for his horse. ’Twas a mindless chore for the laird to be shoveling manure and mucking out the filthy stable, but he gladly put all his energy into such a menial job. At least the chore did not give him time to ponder the misery of his own failure when it came to his marriage bed.
“Ye would make a good stable lad,” Angus said with a chuckle from the doorway. “I have not seen the place so clean in a long while.”
“I am sure the horses will, at the very least, appreciate my efforts, seeing as no one else appears to care for the steeds’ wellbeing,” Ian replied. Finishing his task, he leaned the tool against the wall with the others. He picked up a rag and began cleaning his hands afore tossing it into a pile needing to be laundered. “I would ask why they have been so neglected. I could also ask the same with regards to the rest of the estate, but can most likely figure out the answer for myself.”
“Yer uncle has been busy.”
“Aye, as I said, I guessed as much. He does not leave me a great deal to work with, that is, if there was even anything of some miniscule value after my brother’s greedy ways.”
“Ye should not speak ill o’ the dead, even if he deserves it.” Angus pushed off the door frame and held out a flagon. “Here…this may help. We willna go lacking fer wine and ale. Food is an entirely different matter.”
Nodding his thanks, Ian pulled the cork and took a long hard drink of the cool brew to quench his thirst. “Any other words of wisdom you care to impart?”
“Ye wish me tae speak freely?” Angus asked with a raised brow.
“I believe you earned that right after aiding me with freeing my lady.”
“Ye know, we have not seen the last from the Davidson laird. He willna like that ye bested him, no matter the woman is yer wife.”
Ian stretched his sore muscles. “Tell me something I do not know, Angus. We will keep our eyes open and be on the lookout for trouble. ’Twill surely follow Lynet wherever she may go, and I suspect being my wife will not change that.” He sat down on a bale of hay and motioned for Angus to do the same, offering the man a drink from the flagon.
Ian watched the Scot’s indecision, giving him a moment to take a good look at a man who had traveled far just to find him. It appeared Angus was not much older than Ian himself, if they were not of similar age. Ian could see the man spent many an hour training with the broadsword he had strapped to his side, considering his fit appearance. This led Ian to have nothing but respect for the Highlander, since Ian was not one to live an idle life, either. Dark brown hair hung loose to his shoulders whilst brown eyes peered warily at him, almost as though he dared not speak his mind. He also sprouted a full week’s worth of whiskers, and hidden underneath was a square jaw.
Ian continued to hold out the leather flagon towards the clansman, who finally took ahold of it and sat, even if ’twas done with considerable hesitation. “Go on, Angus, tell me what I am up against that others will not dare say to my face. I am not even sure who I can trust here,” he urged, relaxing back against the wall to await the worst. “How bad can it be, other than from what my own eyes have already shown me?”
“Aye, ye have that aright, me laird,” Angus said, after wiping his mouth and handing the brew off once more to Ian. “Yer Uncle has done a fine mess o’ things tae further burden yer people after all yer brother did tae start the clan’s ruin. We are almost tae the point o’ starvin’, we are, especially when Edric has done nothing tae cease the raiding o’ our cattle and sheep.”
