Devil of the Highlands Page 0,19

arrived, and they'd been able to break away from the nasty cow and move farther along the table to confer. It had saved him from strangling his betrothed's stepmother… probably not the best memory for Evelinde to have of their wedding day.

Cullen's gaze slid back to the top of the stairs again, and he wondered where his bride was. He was eager to get her out of this cursed castle.

"Well," Edda d'Aumesbery suddenly stood. "Evelinde is obviously taking her time. I shall have to go chivvy her along, else we shall, no doubt, be left here awaiting her pleasure all afternoon." She turned a gaze full of happy anticipation to Cullen. "I do hope you can take the girl in hand and teach her to be more prompt and obedient. I fear her father spoiled her horribly, and she needs a strong hand."

Cullen ground his teeth but simply stood, and announced, "I shall go up."

The catlike smile that immediately claimed the woman's face rubbed his nerves raw. He had no doubt she was anticipating his taking his fists to the lass for her dallying. Cullen had never raised a hand to a woman in his life. He'd have liked to at the moment, however. He wanted to slap that smug smile off Edda's face. Mouth tightening, he strode to the stairs and bounded up. He could not get out of this castle quick enough.

Cullen reached the top of the stairs just as a maid slid out of one of the doors and hurried up the hall toward him. Her steps slowed, and her eyes grew wide with alarm when she spotted him.

"Where is Evelinde's room?" he growled, impatient with her fear. Truly, a little caution around strangers was healthy, but the servant's open terror was insulting. Still, he supposed he brought it on himself by letting everyone think the worst.

When the girl turned and gestured silently back to the room she'd just left, Cullen nodded and moved swiftly to it. He didn't knock. He pushed open the door, stepped in, and opened his mouth to demand to know what was taking so long, only to have his jaw sag. There were two women in the room with his bride—her lady's maid and another younger maid. Neither had noted his arrival. They were too busy dragging a naked Evelinde across the floor with her arms pulled over their shoulders. She hung limp between them, head sagging forward and legs—apparently unable to hold her weight—dragging behind.

Cullen slammed the door closed to get their attention, and the women paused at once and peered his way. All except his bride, who simply continued to sag between them.

"What the hell is wrong with her?" he snapped, crossing the room to the trio. The maids immediately began to back away, dragging Evelinde with them.

The younger woman simply shook her head frantically in response to his question. It was the older one, the one he believed was Evelinde's maid, who explained, "I told Alice to put some tonic in Evelinde's mead. It was to help soothe her sore muscles."

"Oh, aye, her muscles are soothed," Cullen snapped, lifting Evelinde's head to see she was conscious, but dazed and seemed incapable of holding up her own head. He gently eased her head back to rest against her chest again and glowered at the maid. "If I'm ever ill, doona even think to treat me."

"Alice gave her the wrong medicinal," Mildrede snapped. "And too much."

Cullen just pursed his lips doubtfully, his gaze sliding back to his bride. "How long will it take to pass?"

Mildrede hesitated, considering the matter, then shook her head, and admitted, "I am not sure. A while."

"But it'll na harm her?" he asked.

Mildrede shook her head.

"Can she speak?"

"Aye." The word was little more than a slur from his bride's bent head.

Cullen nodded, then scooped Evelinde away into his arms. "Then we can be wed."

"Just a minute!" Mildrede squawked, as he turned to head to the door. "You can not take her like that. She is naked!"

Cullen paused to look down at the woman in his arms. He'd been so upset and worried by her state he'd quite managed to forget she was naked. He had to wonder how that was possible as he peered at her now, his gaze traveling over her breasts, down her stomach to the golden thatch of hair nestled at the apex of her thighs, and finally over her shapely legs.

"Come, set her on the bed, and we will dress her," Mildrede said.

Cullen