Never Love a Highlander (McCabe Trilogy 3)

She yanked on the gown and held it up as best she could before cracking the door open to peer into the hall. It was dimly lit by half-burned wall candles and, as best she could tell, empty.

Thank God.

She pushed out of the chamber and fled down the hall to hers. She stripped off the dress and donned what she was more comfortable in. Warm trews, a worn tunic, and leather boots. She needed to clear her head despite its horrendous ache, and the only way she knew to do that was with a good fight.

Caelen awoke to find his bed empty and a cold draft blowing over his privates. He yanked up the furs with a muttered curse and then searched the room for his wife’s whereabouts.

She was nowhere to be found, which irritated him. He was always the first one up and about in the keep. Even Ewan, who rose early and retired late, never managed to rise earlier than Caelen.

It was a time he had grown to crave for its solitude. While the rest of the keep slept, he began the day, sometimes with a swim in the loch and other times honing his fighting skills.

He tossed aside the furs and stood naked as he stretched and allowed the first brush of cold to blow over his skin, awakening him. His blood surged to life, throwing off the lethargy of sleep.

He poured water from a pitcher into the washbasin and then splashed his face and washed out his mouth. Either his wife was mortified or she was sending a clear message about her feelings on the marriage. Either way, parameters had to be set, and there was no time like the present to let his new bride know the way of things.

After he found her.

After dressing, he slipped into the hall. Normally he’d not worry about being quiet, but the king was in residence and everyone had stayed up late into the night, plus he had no wish for anyone to know his wife had fled his bed.

He scowled as he stopped outside her chamber door. To hell with knocking. He pushed open the door and was greeted by darkness and … cold. No fire was lit.

It occurred to him that he hadn’t lit a fire in his own chamber, a practice he was accustomed to, but Rionna was a slight lass and no doubt she’d woken with chattering teeth.

He wasn’t used to accommodating others. Particularly in his private rooms. But he was married now, and he supposed some concessions would have to be made. He’d show his wife that he could be a reasonable man.

He strode inside but found the bed empty and undisturbed. Slung over a chair was her wedding dress. The one he’d taken off her the night before.

Where had she gotten off to at this hour?

Suspicion nipped at his gut until his belly clenched. Surely the lass wouldn’t be fool enough to sneak to a lover’s bed on her wedding night. What other reason would a woman have for leaving the warmth of her bed in the middle of the night?

If there was a problem, she should have awakened him. He was her husband now, and it was his duty to solve any issues that arose.

The more he pondered, the angrier he got. Old betrayals still soured his belly, despite his best effort to put them behind him.

It was hard not to dwell on all that Elsepeth had done when she’d changed the entire course of the McCabe clan. His current marriage was the result of her betrayal. His attempt to remedy the foolishness of youth and allowing emotion to cloud his judgment.

For years, his clan had struggled to survive its near decimation at the hands of Duncan Cameron. Only in recent months, with Ewan’s marriage to Mairin and the birth of Isabel, were things finally looking up for his kin.

How could he refuse to do the one thing that would solidify a union that would bring about the destruction of a man hated by him and his brothers above all others?

By God, he may have had no choice but to wed Rionna McDonald, but it didn’t mean he was going to be made a cuckold, or that he’d let his wife run wild as her father had done for years.

He was now her laird whether she liked that fact or not, and if she did nothing else, she’d obey him.

The sound of steel striking steel drifted through her window. He frowned and strode over to lift the fur. Her room overlooked the courtyard, but who would be sparring so early. And why?

He leaned out to see torches surrounding a small area in the middle of the courtyard. Two men were sparring furiously. One of the fools was going to get himself killed. As one turned, Caelen caught the flash of golden hair and the decidedly feminine set of the lips pursed in concentration.

Hell.

One of the fools was his wife.

He let the furs fall back to cover the window and he turned to stalk from her chamber. Shaking his head, he descended the stairs only to have Cormac fall in next to him when he strode into the great hall.

“Did you know that Rionna was out sparring?” Caelen bit out.

Cormac’s eyes widened and he looked abashed—and uncertain as to what to say.

“Nay,” he finally muttered. “I only just arose.”

Caelen glanced at him in disgust. “Are you growing soft and lazy on me?”

Cormac grinned, undisturbed by Caelen’s censure. “I find now that I have a soft, warm lass in my bed every night, ’tis hard to find motivation to rise so damn early.”

Caelen grunted.

“The question is, why your lass is out of your bed the morning after she wed with you. One might draw some interesting conclusions.”

Caelen sent him a chilling glare.

Not in the least bit worried over Caelen’s mood, Cormac continued. “Why, the very fact that she has the strength to spar suggests that you did something … well, not right.”

Cormac’s smug teasing made Caelen’s lips turn up into a snarl. “I’d wager that Christina wouldn’t care too much for a toothless husband.”