Bride For A Knight Page 0,60

the bawdy widow, Jamie appeared content to stand before her with a closed expression, his jaw set and his mouth clamped tight.

He did run a hand over his face and wish himself anywhere beside where he was presently standing. Somewhere, where the devil wasn't on the loose and out to get him.

Saints, even Cuillin was fixing him with a baleful, unblinking stare. An accusatory stare if e'er there was one. And coming from a male dog who'd ne'er denied himself his own pleasures, his disapproval stung.

All men visited willing-armed and succoring joy women, and he had a greater reason than most to do so. Ignoring that reason, he crossed the room to where Aveline stood near the hearth fire.

"Who told you of her?" he asked, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Gelis, I'll wager?"

Aveline's chin lifted a notch. "Then you admit there is a Gunna of the Glen?"

Jamie inhaled deeply and glanced at the ceiling. "Of course, there is a Gunna of Glen," he said, releasing the breath and looking back at her.

"See here, lass," he began, "there have always been such women and ever shall be. So long as men have a need, there will be such women as the fair widow of Glenelg."

He winced, realizing his mistake as soon as the words left his tongue. His wee Aveline was jealous.

Proving it, she pulled free of his grasp and went to the window. She whisked open the shutters and peered out into the streaming night.

"So she is as beautiful as Gelis claimed?" she asked, her back even more rigid than before.

Jamie bit back a curse and followed her. "Most joy women are comely," he said, stopping a handsbreadth behind her but not touching her. "Though I vow some of the older ones are not so savory."

"Older ones?" Aveline whirled around. "Just how many such women do you know?"

"Just one," Jamie told her true. "I only e'er went to see the Glenelg widow. She is the only such woman I have e'er known."

Two spots of color appeared on his bride's cheeks and she looked down, fussing at her skirts.

She said nothing.

Not that she needed to for waves of distress rolled off her, each one lancing Jamie more than the last.

He wanted to soothe and reassure her, not make things worse. Scowling openly now, he shoved a hand through his hair. He was sorely tempted to forget his chivalry and do bodily harm to the fiery-haired bit of MacKenzie baggage who'd told her of the lusty widow.

Jamie swallowed, misery weighing on him. Even the neck opening of his tunic was growing tighter by the moment. Worse, he was also finding it increasingly difficult to breathe.

Duncan MacKenzie had once warned him that facing a woman's jealousy was more daunting than crossing swords with any manly foe. And Jamie now saw the wisdom of the Black Stag's words.

Feeling more discomfited by the moment, he glanced around the bedchamber, looking for inspiration. Anything he might seize upon to wend the night in a different direction.

One that didn't feel like a white-hot vise clamping around his chest. Blessedly, his gaze lit upon a small hole in the deep-set arch of the window. Just a minor fault in the masonry, a place where a bit of stone had fallen or been worn away by weather or years.

But perhaps it was his salvation.

Hoping it so, he put back his shoulders and cleared his throat. "Would you not rather speak of the MacKenzies' marriage stone?" he asked, stepping forward to smooth a strand of hair off his lady's brow. "I have seen it many times and can tell you a few tales of the stone and the good clan's feasting revelries."

Aveline's head snapped up, but her expression hadn't improved at all.

"How long were you in the hall?" She looked at him. "'Tis obvious you know Hughie Mac regaled us with the legend of the MacKenzies' stone."

Jamie frowned, torn between admiring her persistence and wanting to throttle her for being so difficult.

"I heard every word of Hughie's tale," he admitted, not surprised by her arcing brows. "I stood in the shadows, not wanting to spoil the moment, then joined a few kinsmen for some hot roasted ribs and honey bannocks. You caught my eye just as I was washing my hands after our repast."

Her brows lowered at once, drawing together in a frown that surely bode ill.

"Since you spent so many years squiring at Eilean Creag, you will know their traditions well," she said, something about her tone letting