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Chapter 6

Angus stood with his legs wide apart and his arms folded over his chest, watching the boat with Euphemia and William, as well as their servants, approach the shore. On either side of him stood Laomann and Catrìona. Somewhere behind was Lady Rogene, whose presence he felt because of the slow, warm burning of his cock.

God’s bones, how could he be aroused even now, still thinking of her milky skin and that small, feminine frame under the proper lady’s dress that Catrìona had given her.

His brother had accepted Lady Rogene yesterday and was glad to give a Douglas woman in peril shelter and protection. But he still didn’t know that she’d be the one writing the contract.

Earlier this morning, Angus had sent a lad to check on Father Nicholas’s health, and he’d returned with the news that the old man was worse. It was some sort of flu, and Father Nicholas was coughing much. The healer was with him, so he’d been taken care of. But there was no chance he’d be well enough to write the marriage contract.

It was a beautiful morning to greet their guests. Birds chirped, the sun shone, and there was almost no wind, so the loch stood still and waiting. Water splashed softly as the oars rose and fell, drawing the boat closer to shore.

Her hair reflected gold in the sun. Euphemia was still pretty, and was probably able to bear a child. But with every inch that the boat approached, dread grew heavier in his gut. He glanced at Rogene over his shoulder and found that she was staring right at him. She quickly lowered her eyes.

So it was not just him thinking of her. She was affected, too. Her lips reddened ever so slightly, her cheeks blushed. And if he wasn’t mistaken, her nipples hardened and protruded through the material of her dress.

God Almighty, help him. He didn’t remember ever desiring a woman as he desired her. Why would God send him a temptation like this right before he was bound to marry another?

He sighed and turned his attention to the boat again. This was just infatuation, nothing but a craving of his flesh. He had a duty before him—the duty to his clan—and he’d be damned if he didn’t meet it.

The first boat with the honorable guests arrived and bumped softly into the wooden jetty. The rest of the boats followed. The servants helped their masters to climb out of the boats and step onto the jetty. Euphemia was dressed in a beautiful red woolen cloak with white fox-fur trimmings. With her golden hair, bright-blue eyes, and pleasant features, she was a sight.

For any other man.

Not for Angus. As she climbed out and straightened, looking at him, the heavy stone of dread sank deeper into his gut.

Behind her, her mousy daughter came onto the shore, also, and Angus felt for the lass. It couldn’t be easy to have a mother like Euphemia.

It wouldn’t be easy to have a wife like her.

“Welcome,” Laomann said, and clasped the Earl of Ross’s arm in a handshake till the elbow. William greeted Angus in the same way and passed farther into the castle. Euphemia stopped in front of Angus and smiled, slowly looking him up and down. She licked her lower lip, and Angus had the unsettling sensation that she’d been undressing him in her head.

By God, this must be flattering for any man, that a noblewoman would behave like a harlot for him. Angus wanted to shake her off and never see her again. He wanted another to look at him like that. And, by God’s blood, if she did, he wouldn’t be able to resist her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rogene walk the path leading towards the castle, and stop, watching him. The thought made his shoulders clench. Then she kept walking.

“Welcome, my lady,” he said.

“Good day to ye, Angus,” Euphemia said. “And thank ye. I was looking forward to this.”

He cocked his head and held her gaze. She offered a small, sly smile, and walked up the path and into the castle.

When everyone was settled to feast in the great hall, Euphemia was placed next to him. Servants brought plates of bread, cheese, smoked and dried fish, bowls with butter, platters with dried apples and plums, as well as savory and sweet pastries baked yesterday. The great hall was filled with scents of food and ale. There were about a hundred men, both Ross and Mackenzie, sitting around the long tables of the great hall, filling the room with a murmur of voices and occasional bursts of laughter.

Angus asked Euphemia politely how the journey went. He didn’t need to ask many more questions, as she was happy to keep talking about the journey, and how they’d been stopped by a storm on the way, and that they’d have arrived five days before, and that she was quite tired… He only offered her “hmm”s and “aye”s, and his eyes kept going back to Rogene.

She sat with his sister, watching everyone and every detail of the great hall as though she’d entered a land of elves and faeries. She ate a bit, but Angus had a sense that she wasn’t used to or wasn’t comfortable eating with her hands, and her left hand kept reaching out to a space next to her tray. She also kept wiping her hands against a cloth, and he found that odd, as one cleansed the fingers sometimes after the meal but not during. He always kept clean and hygienic and washed in the loch at least every other day. But he was not the rule.

She must like keeping clean, too.

Suddenly, he realized Euphemia had stopped talking. She narrowed her eyes at Rogene, too.

“Who is that that ye keep ogling, my dear betrothed?” she asked.

Angus cleared his throat. Ah, to hell and back. “Lady Rogene of clan Douglas, my lady. She is a guest of our clan and will be writing down our contract.”

Euphemia sat silent, and he turned to see her face. She looked stunned, speechless, then burst out in a small laugh.

“She? Our scribe?”

“Aye. Father Nicholas is ill.”