Work resumed around them but not the conversation. The others were listening, waiting to judge her character. She was their mistress, yet English. There were many who didn’t think the two could coexist. More than one English bride had spent years in her chambers, remaining a stranger even as she bore the next generation. She did pity her half-sister that fate. With Mary’s vanity and spoilt nature, she would have been bitterly unhappy at Sterling.
I like it though.
It was another one of those unexpected thoughts. They were coming more often now. Maybe her mind was becoming soft. She’d heard about prison breaking first the personality of its victims and then the body.
She mustn’t think about such a fate.
With a stiff back, she began spicing the fish. There was much to do and Anne dedicated her attention to the tasks. There was a sense of security in doing the things that she would have been doing if she were still at Warwickshire. She kept her mind away from the fact that she hadn’t slept behind the kitchen.
But her body refused to forget that she’d spent the night with Brodick. Heat whispered over her skin. Need awakened from places that two days past she’d never noticed she might feel. Such as the skin on her thighs. Gooseflesh spread up her arms with the recollection of the way Brodick stroked it. His hands were large, the skin suffused with heat.
Her blood ran warmer, her heart beating faster. Even sore, her passage began to clamor for another taste of his hard flesh. She failed to understand how being impaled could feel so good.
Yet it had.
Her lust had truly opened Pandora’s box because now she craved more. She could feel the insanity flowing along with her blood. It unleashed a desire to be stripped bare like Brodick had taken her. No clothing to separate them.
And just as any lunatic at Bedlam, she was cheerful in her insanity. Her lust was welcome because she knew what delights were to be gained by feeding it.
She would adore a babe.
That idea sobered her, washing her fever aside. It was the secret of her heart, the desire for a child. Living under Philipa had robbed her of that joy. She’d buried it deep down inside her to avoid the pain of watching her friends grow large and round with child.
Brodick wanted a child from her.
Temptation urged her to take the chance offered her. Conceive and let the details be damned.
It might be she that ended up cursed if she did. Setting her thoughts to remaining childless, Anne forced her cheerful ideas of a babe back down to where she’d buried them.
She would not find happiness here. Such a reward couldn’t possibly result from so ill a deception.
Yet that did not stop her from lamenting.
“I have heard a most interesting rumor.” Cullen was in full teasing form. Brodick rolled his eyes. He was more interested in finding his wife, but that only made him grimace. Enjoying her was one thing. No man needed to be drawn to a woman when there was work to be done.
Cullen smirked. “It seems yer wife spent the day in the kitchen.”
“Doing what?”
“Ye sound mighty suspicious for a man who had his doubts about his bride’s purity proven so recently.”
“Dinnae play with me, Brother. Someday soon ye’ll marry and I’ve a fine memory.”
A hint of contriteness covered Cullen’s face. “Och well, I forget that ye cannae stand for a wee bit o’ teasing. Ye buckle like a moist reed.”
“Cullen…”
His sibling grinned. “Ye’ll know soon enough. She cooked yer supper. I hope yer stomach is stronger than yer tolerance to jesting.”
Brodick turned his attention to the table, fearing what he might see. Attending court didn’t teach a woman how to turn a loaf of bread. But as mistress of the house, his wife could do whatever she pleased in the kitchen. None of the staff would argue with her, even if they knew she was incorrect.
“I have nae seen you so pale since Father caught ye with yer first woman.”
His brother laughed at him, his voice echoing down the supper table. The food there looked wholesome and normal enough to his eye. But it was taste that mattered.
“You will nae be so smug if she laced supper with foxglove.”
“Still so ready to tell me that you will not doubt me at every opportunity, my lord?”
He flushed, the soft voice reprimanding him better than any slap might have. He was being a brute, even if he had been verbally sparring with his brother.
“I meant that for my brother, nae you.”
She paused, sweeping the men at the table with her gaze. Her lips set into a tight line.
“I see, my lord.” Her voice was tight as she added his title.
His wife passed him. A large meat pie in her hands. Steam rose from it, spreading the scent of spices in the air. The men at the table watched them intently. His wife set the pie down. She cut into it with a knife, letting a cloud of steam loose.