In Bed With A Stranger(28)

"I see you are very confident in your position, Bythe."

The cook's expression flickered with a hint of relaxation. Anne  unbuttoned one sleeve at her wrist, folding the fabric back along her  forearm.

"Yet there is always work for another set of hands in any kitchen."

The rest of the work slowed to nearly a standstill. Anne reached for the  knife, hefting it in a firm hand. She grasped a slippery fish with the  other, not a hint of hesitation in her. With a few skilled slices, she  cleaned it, removed the bones carefully, inspecting the skeleton to make  sure she had them all. She felt the weight of every set of eyes on her.  But that was something she could thank Philipa for teaching her.

How to keep her back straight under pressure. She would not falter.

She finished the fish without looking away from her task even once.  Laying the meat on a clean tray between cleaning bowls and the ones  holding the spices, she reached for another fish.

"I see yer mother taught ye yer way around the kitchen, Mistress." Bythe  took up another long knife. With a quick slice, another fish was well  on its way to being ready for cooking. "Since I heard ye were at yer  English court for some years, I'm pleasantly surprised to see ye so  practiced."         

     



 

Anne laid another fish on the tray. She didn't want to outright lie by  claiming that she'd worked in the kitchens at court. Yet she had to find  some answer.

"I was sent to the kitchens at Warwickshire when I turned eleven." That much was true.

Bythe nodded. "My mother worked her entire life at this table. I turned  pastry on it when I still needed a stool to see over the top."

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.

"I suppose it is a good thing that I understand how you prefer to have  matters settled between us." She dished up a hearty slice and presented  it to him. Her gaze was steady, the plate unwavering. Challenge shone  from her eyes, sending heat down his body. Need prickled along his skin,  her stance sparking more lust to fill his cock. The organ twitched,  swelling to stand up beneath his kilt. She lifted one eyebrow.

"I thought you said your words were for Cullen. Do you suspect me of foul play?"

The conversations near them died abruptly, his men casting worried looks  at them. With a frown, she broke off a chunk of pie. She tossed it into  her mouth without a thought, chewing and swallowing it quickly.

She deposited the plate on the table, her face turning red.

"I find I have no stomach for meals frosted with suspicions."

She lowered herself before turning in a huff and flurry of skirts. But  she did it artfully as though she was accustomed to holding her  displeasure inside.

He found that fact most unsettling of all.



A man should not be able to hurt her feelings.

Anne fought off tears while her feet moved quickly through the tables.  Pain filled her. She hissed with frustration when she entered the  hallway. She should not care. It made no sense. So what if the man had  doubted her cooking? Let him and every one of his men go to bed with  rumbling bellies.

Yet it chafed. His suspicions. She had given him her chastity to prove  her worth. That gift she might only bestow on one man her entire life.  Hurt filled her chest. She didn't go up the stairs. The chamber was  filled with the memory of the night before and that drew more pain from  the wound.

The turmoil gave her feet more speed. Walking through the entry doors of  the tower, she moved into the bailey. There was much of Sterling that  was still a mystery.

Moving across the courtyard, she paused near the stables. The horses  snorted in their stalls. The musty smell of hay permeated the air. It  was quarter moon now. Little light shone down from the night sky to  pierce the night. Along the walls, fires were lit in iron torch cages.  They were set along the castle fortifications every twenty feet. There  was no lantern left near the stables for fear of fire. The horses were  expensive. No one dare risk losing some of them to a mishap caused by  the wind.

But enough light drifted down from the walls. Moving into the stable,  she marveled at the number of horses. Hundreds of them stood quietly in  the dark all in neat rows. Reaching up, she rubbed a velvet-covered  muzzle.