"Joan," he growled. "She fears she'll embarrass me because she does no' ken how to sing and dance and nonsense like that."
"Oh, well that's just nonsense," his mother said with disgruntlement as she continued into the room. "This is all Finola's fault for attacking her the other morning when Joan sat to break her fast at the low table. In fact, Finola said something then about the marriage being annulled."
"You heard that?" Lady Annabel asked with surprise.
"Aye. I had slipped into the kitchens to have a word with Cook. I saw Joan at the table on my way there, and I suppose I should have explained then about the high table and had her move, but I didn't want to embarrass her so said nothing." Sighing, she shook her head. "If I had, it would have saved her the humiliation of Finola's attack."
"Finola attacked her?" Cam asked grimly, wishing the witch was still alive so he could throttle her.
"No' with her fists or anything," his mother said quickly. "She just was very, very cruel, calling her ignorant and saying she'd embarrass us all." She glanced to Lady MacKay and added, "I was about to intervene when I saw ye coming down the stairs. I kenned ye would handle it though, and thought Joan might be less embarrassed was it you and no' me so I eased the kitchen door closed and waited until I thought it was over."
She glanced to Joan and a soft smile curved her lips. "She loves ye son if she's offering annulment to keep from embarrassing ye. I've been trying to find ye a wife, but ye found yerself that and more, a partner who loves ye will work to make ye happy." Her mouth firmed. "There'll be no annulment."
"Nay, there will no'," Cam agreed solemnly.
"What the devil's taking so long, Bearnas?" Artair Sinclair complained, suddenly in the doorway. "Ye were supposed to send Cam out to--bloody hell!" his father barked, spotting Joan. "What'd ye do? Paint her with pitch?"
"Son, yer father is in the hall and wants a word," Lady Sinclair said calmly, shifting so that Joan couldn't be seen from the doorway.
A startled laugh slipped from Cam's mouth and he stepped up to his mother to kiss her cheek. "Thank ye," he said solemnly and then moved to urge his father out of the room and into the hall.
"She's a muckle mess," Artair Sinclair said grimly.
"Aye," Cam agreed on a sigh.
"Well, this is why," he announced grimly, holding up a small object. "We found this in the mare's saddle."
"What is it?" Cam asked, taking the tiny sword.
" 'Tis a hatpin," his father said grimly. "I only ken because I bought one fer yer mother once from a traveling merchant."
"And it was in the mare's saddle?"
"Aye, it was set in the underside o' the saddle so that weight on it would stick the horse in the back."
"So when Joan mounted . . ."
"The horse was stuck by the pin and was desperate to get her off," his father said dryly.
"And it's Mother's?" Cam asked with disbelief.
"Nay. Her's had a different hilt," his father said at once, and then frowned and shifted to the side to make room for the servants who had brought up the water and linens as they now left the bedchamber. Once they'd all hurried past and started downstairs, his father continued, "I showed yer mother though. She was coming out of the kitchens when I came inside. She says Lady MacFarland had one just like it."
"Finola," Cam muttered.
Laird Sinclair nodded. "And we ken it could no' ha'e been her."
"Nay. It could no' ha'e been her," he agreed. "But someone's out to hurt Joan."
Laird Sinclair let his breath out on a disappointed sigh. "I wondered if that were no' the case. Yer mother helped Lady MacKay tend the lasses when the cider made them ill, and she mentioned to me that it was Joan's cider that had something wrong with it. And then when Jinny came out o' the kitchens and saw Lady Finola she said the wench was wearing Joan's gown." He smiled faintly and added, "She was more upset that the woman had gone and died in Joan's gown than she was that the woman was dead." Shaking his head he gestured to the hatpin Cam held and added, "And now this."
Sighing, Artair ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. "I'll arrange for men to guard yer chamber door while Joan is recovering, then to accompany her everywhere once she's up and about until we resolve this. If 'tis all right with you," he added.
"Aye." Cam said, glad to have her guarded.
Nodding, his father turned away. "I'll let ye get back to her then. Keep me informed on how she's faring."
"Aye," Cam murmured and turned to slip back into the bedchamber.
His mother and Lady Annabel were just pulling the linens and furs up to cover Joan as he entered the room. Lady Annabel glanced to him as she straightened and announced, "I cleaned the wound as well as I could, and put some salve on her bruises to help them heal quickly. Now all we can do is wait."
"I'll watch over her. Ye two go on back to what ye were doing," Cam said at once, moving up to the bed to peer down at his wife.
"Are you sure?" Lady Annabel asked. "I do not mind sitting with her.
"Nay. Go on. I'm fine," he assured her.
Annabel hesitated, but then nodded and began to gather her items.
Once they'd left the room, Cam peered down at Joan, then removed his weapons and plaid, lifted the furs covering his wife and slid into bed next to her. If he was going to wait and watch over her again, it was going to be from the comfort of the bed . . . and with her in his arms, he decided, and caught Joan's arm to pull her over to rest against his chest. This time, he would be the first thing his wife saw when she woke up.
Chapter 16
JOAN OPENED HER EYES AND FOUND HERSELF peering at her husband's sleeping face. A smile immediately pulled at her lips. This was a sight she'd woken up to more than once during their journey to MacKay and she'd enjoyed it each time. Cam looked young and untroubled in sleep, not at all the ferocious warrior, or the laughing friend, or the seductive lover, all of which he could be by turn when awake. Campbell Sinclair had many facets, and Joan liked every one of them. There was not a side to her husband that she did not love.
And he had told her he loved her, she recalled and briefly closed her eyes at the memory. Cam loved her. The thought was a thrilling one, and made her want to squeal with glee, but she didn't want to wake him up that way.
"Cam loves me," she whispered with wonder. "And I love him."
Her aunt had said as much the day they'd married, but Joan had merely shrugged off the suggestion. She supposed she hadn't been ready to accept it, or maybe she'd been afraid to accept it because if she loved him and he didn't love her . . . the pain that could have involved would be devastating, she knew.
Sighing, Joan opened her eyes and peered at him again, her smile slowly fading. Now she need only fear that his love would wither away once the first heat of passion died and he began to care more that she couldn't do all those things true ladies were trained to do.
The thought was a depressing one, and she wanted to quickly push it away, but didn't allow herself to. Instead, she started thinking of ways to avoid that. Joan didn't want to have her marriage annulled. She did love him and she wanted to be his wife, she just had to learn to be the wife he needed and was expected to have. And surely if she practiced hard and often, if she gave it her every effort, then surely she could learn to shoot a bow and ride as well as dance and sing? She just needed time to manage that, Joan told herself. And to her mind, the best way to ensure she had that time was to ensure she kept his desire for her burning hot until she'd gained those skills.
It was a plan, at least, Joan thought grimly. An alternative to the proposed annulling of the marriage, and that was better than nothing, she decided and contemplated how best to start that.
The answer seemed obvious. They were already in bed and while Cam had his shirt on, she didn't see any evidence of his plaid. Joan began to push down the linens and furs covering them both, pausing when she got them to her waist and could get a look at the damage she'd taken that morning.
Damn, she t
hought with amazement. Her side was black and blue and red all over. The bruising hadn't fully formed yet, obviously, but she could already tell it was going to be as bad as her face had been after Toothless had finished with her. It should be less painful though. At least she hoped it would be. After the beating she'd taken, every time she'd spoken or made an expression, or unconsciously reached up to touch her face, it had ached like crazy. She shouldn't have the same problem with her side. Well, so long as she wore loose clothes and didn't bump up against things or touch it.
Sighing, Joan finished pushing the linens and furs down and then eased to her knees with a grimace. Moving wasn't too bad, but it wasn't completely painless either. She could live with it though, Joan thought, and then glanced around, her eyes settling on a pot of ointment on the bedside table.
Leaning over, she picked it up and lifted it to her nose to smell it, smiling when she recognized the scent. It was a numbing salve. Her aunt must have mixed it up when Cam had brought her back. She'd probably applied it then too, Joan supposed, and wondered how long ago that had been. In the end, she decided it didn't matter. It wouldn't hurt to apply more.
Joan dipped her fingers in and quickly began to rub it over her side, wincing at the first touch. Oh aye, touching it would be a good thing to avoid, she thought grimly, relieved when the task was done.
Setting the small pot back on the table, Joan turned back to Cam. While his shirt was still on, his plaid was missing as she'd hoped. Even as she noted that, he murmured sleepily and rolled onto his back.
A small smile immediately claimed her lips. This position was just perfect for what she intended.
CAM WAS HAVING A WONDERFUL DREAM. He and Joan were by the waterfall they'd camped by on the way north. He was lying on his back on his plaid, and Joan was bending over him, her long hair brushing across his stomach as she pushed his shirt up his chest.