True to the Highlander(83)

“You will no’ leave this chamber, or there will be consequences.”

“Consequences? How dare you talk to me as if I were a child. I’ll give you consequences.” She stomped to the door and made it to the hallway just as Malcolm lunged for her.

Tears filled her eyes, and she ran to Hunter’s room, flattening herself against the wall by his door to listen. Malcolm hadn’t pursued her, and her heart ached with misery.

She let herself into the chamber and peered at the outline of Hunter’s small frame in the bed. She sighed, climbed in beside him and snuggled his warm body against her chest. Malcolm hadn’t given her the reassurance she craved. Come to think of it, when had he ever said the words she longed so desperately to hear? He had never said he loved her. Tears slid down her cheeks, and her heart ached. Hoping he’d come and apologize, she waited for him until exhaustion took hold, and she fell into a fitful sleep.




Malcolm lay flat on his back in bed and glared into the darkness. True’s accusations stung. How dare she order him about as if he were a mere lad. What he chose to tell or not to tell his father was completely at his discretion, and he could find no fault with his decision. His father had more important things to contend with at present than his son’s marital state.

Still, he’d glimpsed the hurt in her eyes, and a pang of guilt followed by regret pushed his anger aside. Should he have gone after her? Nay. If he gave in, she’d have him always chasing after her. ’Twas best she learned early on who held the authority in their marriage. Firmness was needed in his dealings with her. Aye, firmness, and there would be a consequence for her defiance.

Smiling, he imagined all kinds of ways she could make it up to him. Without thought, he reached across the bed for her, only to be reminded of her absence. He growled. Let her sleep elsewhere. He was fine without her.

The night wore on, and still he could not sleep. He tossed and turned, feeling the emptiness of his wife’s side of the bed acutely. Tangled in the bed linens, and aggravated with himself, he threw the covers off and lit the candle by his bed. There was no hope for him. He pulled on his robe and left the room. Sliding through the door to Hunter’s chamber, Malcolm cursed his own weakness and stole to the side of his foster son’s bed.

As expected, True slept soundly beside the lad. She looked as if their quarrel had not affected her in the least. His heart swelled with love and pride as he looked upon his little family asleep side by side. She and Hunter had filled the empty places inside him, and he’d do everything in his power to keep them safe and well.

Sighing, he lifted his wife without waking her, cradled her against his heart and made his way back to their chamber. Without her beside him, he could find no peace.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN



A wave of nausea forced Alethia to sit down. She took the chair before the hearth in the chamber and took deep breaths until the urge to vomit diminished. As ill as she felt, she couldn’t help smiling with secret joy as she reviewed the symptoms. Fatigue, nausea, tender breasts and she had to use the garderobe all the time. She counted back to her last period and figured it had been around the end of January, about seven weeks ago. Still, she wouldn’t tell Malcolm until the critical first trimester had passed.

It had been two days since her argument with Malcolm, and they hadn’t resolved anything. In his customary overbearing way, he’d ordered her never to sleep elsewhere ever again. She’d capitulated. Partly because she knew he was right about sending word to his father—William would be home before any letter reached him—and partly because she’d grown used to sleeping against his warmth.

A brief knock interrupted her thoughts, and Hunter entered. “I’m hungry.” He came to stand before her. Leaning against her knees, he plucked at her gown.

“Me too. Did you wash?” she signed.

Hunter rolled his eyes and kept his hands still.

“Come to your room.” She tied a strip of leather around the end of her braid. “You will wash before we eat.”

Hunter stomped beside her, a frown on his face. “Do you make Da wash every day too?”

“I don’t have to. He does it on his own.” She laughed at the look of disbelief on his face. Tonight, Hunter would have a bath. Her stomach growled. Once the nausea left, mega-hunger took its place. Another symptom. In the past week, she’d even awakened in the middle of the night from hunger pangs. She’d see Molly about snacks to keep in the chamber—something to satisfy her hunger and perhaps help alleviate the morning sickness plaguing her.

Hunter, washed, brushed and disgusted by the whole unmanly process, ran ahead of her toward the stairs. Once she arrived in the great hall, she found him already seated and eating. He’d fixed her a bowl of porridge smothered in some of the newly made maple sugar, just the way she liked it, and set it at the place beside him. She took her seat. No one lingered in the hall. She’d been staying in bed longer and longer each day.