The kiss was too high. Too dangerous in itself. "By what right—"
"By might. 'Tis simple enough."
"Brute force—"
"Don't bother trying to guilt me. Ask my mother. It doesn't work."
Well, well. No chivalry here, she noted. But all in all, the deal he offered was more reasonable than the myriad alternatives. He could demand all his husbandly prerogatives rather than one small kiss each morning. She could live through it. "A kiss each morning? That's all you seek in return for my not mentioning Adam to you? And I get my coffee every day?"
"Stay away from Adam. Don't let me find you near him. Don't say his name to me."
"For a kiss each morn?" She had to tie this down to the letter of his law.
"For a boon each morn."
"That's not fair! Just what's a boon?"
He laughed. "Who told you life was fair? Who misled you so sorely? And considering that we're wed and the alternative to my kind offer is sharing full conjugal privileges, what right have you to squabble over fair?"
"Well, you could pin it down a little for my peace of mind! Otherwise I'll wake up dreading things unknown."
His face darkened. "I seek to give her carnal pleasure and she'dreads things unknown.' " Bitterly he turned away.
"I didn't mean it like that—" she started to say, hating the bitter lines set about his eyes. She had put them there. But for her own safety, she had to keep them there, so she broke off quickly.
He didn't hear her anyway, so caught up was he in his dark brood as he stalked away.
Much too late, as he faded out of sight around the corner, she recalled her coffee beans forlornly. They were tucked in that pouch he wore around his hips. And he'd relocked the buttery.
* * * * *
A shower. That was it. What Adrienne wouldn't give for thirty minutes of steam rolling in thick clouds, a rich lather of Aveda soap, shampoos and body oils and a fluffy white towel to dry off with.
She paid careful attention to embellishing the finer nuances of her fantasy shower to keep her mind off Him while she located the gardens. She found them behind the castle; one had to cut through the kitchens to get there, or walk all the way around the castle—and all the way around was a long walk.
"Well, poke in a little more than your wee nose, I'll say. I'd like to be seeing all of our new lady," a voice beckoned from within the kitchen.
Adrienne stepped in curiously. The kitchen was unlike anything she'd imagined existed this far back in time. It was huge, well-designed, and spotless. The central focus of the room was a massive column fireplace that offered an opening on each side, quadrupling the cooking areas. A stone chimney climbed to a vent at the high ceiling. Upon closer inspection, she realized that the kitchen had been built as a freestanding addition to the castle proper, designed to be airy and well vented. Windows lined the two perimeter walls, counters of gleaming oak circled the entire area, and the floors were of palest gray quarry stone. No rotting foods here, no rodents or bugs, this kitchen vied with her own kitchen back home in the late twentieth century except it didn't have a dishwasher. Stairs descended to larders, pantries were cleverly nooked into alcoves, and beyond the open windows sprawled lush gardens. Upon the sills sat tiny jars of herbs and spices.
"You find our kitchen passing fair?"
Adrienne nodded, awestruck, and turned her attention to the smiling man. He was tall and tanned, with a lean body and forearms that were heavily corded with muscle either from wielding a sword or working with his hands. His dark hair and close-cropped beard were both streaked with silver, and when his clear gray eyes met hers, they sparkled with curiosity and welcome.
"The Hawk designed it himself. From his travels. Said he'd seen wonders to make life far more pleasant, and used them all to better Dalkeith, I'll say."
The laird of the castle had been in the kitchens?
"He cut the counters and built the cabinets himself. Likes to work with wood he does. Busies his hands he says. Though where he finds time is beyond me, I'll say." The man rolled his eyes and folded his hands behind his head, leaning his chair back into a puddle of sunshine that streamed in the window. "Name's Tavis, milady," he offered. "Pleased to be welcoming you."
"I'm Mad Janet," she blurted in response to his kindness.
"Don't know much about mad, but Lydia's taken a liking to you and that's one discriminating woman, I'll say."
Adrienne took another step into the kitchen; her eyes swept the room admiring the simple genius with which it had been designed. Everything tidy and easily accessible.
"Lydia is out back," Tavis encouraged. She's been expecting you for some time now, I'll say." He winked at her. "Don't let these Douglas overwhelm you, milady. Stubborn, opinionated people they are, but hearts of purest gold. You'll not find another like the Douglas in all of Scotia. Welcome, I'll say, and if you need anything, you've only to come find Tavis of the tannery." He flexed his strong hands. "I still make the softest hides this side of Uster. Perhaps on t'other side too." Pride gleamed in his smile as he shooed her toward the door.