than usual wedding. At least, she thought it had probably been more stressful than the average wedding but couldn't be sure. It was her first.
Feeling a bit mollified, Evelinde forced herself to stand and begin to remove her gown. She would dress and fix her hair as quickly as possible, then return below. They had guests. Her first. She'd made a poor showing at the initial meeting but hoped to repair the impression. If she could.
Chapter Eight
Marriage was horrible.
Evelinde grimaced as the thought ran through her head for about the hundredth time since she'd sat down to mend a small tear in her green gown. It was three days since the Comyns had visited. Evelinde had quite enjoyed seeing them once she was dressed properly. Ellie, Lady Comyn, was a charming, amusing, and elegant woman like her own mother had been. The sort of woman Evelinde had hoped to be, but apparently had failed miserably at becoming.
Sighing, she sewed another stitch, her eyes seeking out her husband where he sat at the table talking to Fergus. Apparently, Cullen could speak, Evelinde thought bitterly as she watched his mouth move in what appeared to be a whole sentence rather than one of the grunts he doled out to her.
The man rarely bothered actually to say anything to her. Evelinde tried repeatedly to engage him in conversation with no success. Hoping to encourage him, she'd chattered on about her life growing up, her parents, her brother, her mare, and so on. She'd even managed to slip in a reference to her beloved tapestries and her sorrow that she hadn't been able to bring them. What she'd spoken of most, though, was Mildrede and Mac. She missed them terribly and said so at every opportunity In turn, Cullen had grunted.
He hadn't even given her an answer when she'd asked what duties he would like her to take on now that she was at Donnachaidh. Met with the usual discouraging silence, she'd let that go to keep her promise to Biddy and asked if he couldn't have some men aid the women with the heavier tasks in the kitchens and elsewhere in the castle. All she'd received for her trouble was a look that suggested the very idea was mad.
If it weren't for the fact that Evelinde had seen his lips move in what appeared to be actual conversations with others, she would have thought the man incapable of forming whole sentences. However, she had, and Evelinde now suspected the truth was that he simply didn't care to trouble himself to speak to her. She was beginning to think he was regretting their marriage. Not that he was mean or cruel, but he also hadn't touched her again since consummating the marriage. It seemed that what she had thought was a beautiful, exciting, and world-shattering event had not even been enjoyable for Cullen. Else why had he not repeated the experience?
That was the question running repeatedly through her mind as she'd lain in the dark next to him at night, listening to him breathe: Why did he not touch her again?
Evelinde was miserable. She missed Mildrede and Mac, felt bereft and lost in her new home, and had not even her husband's kisses and caresses to comfort her. Instead, she moped about during the day and lay awake in bed at night, tears streaming silently from her eyes as she imagined this to be her life from now on: a silent, uncaring husband and not even a friend to speak to.
Well, there was Biddy, Evelinde reminded herself. But Cullen's aunt was forever busy, hustling about the kitchen, directing staff and chopping up chickens or performing other such tasks. Evelinde hated to bother her while she was so busy filling in for Donnachaidh's normal cook, so tried to avoid pestering her too much, which left her lonely, and growing more so all the time, to the point that last night she'd wished briefly that she were back at d'Aumesbery. While Edda could make life unpleasant, at least Evelinde had someone to talk to there, and during those rare moments when she managed to get away from the keep, she'd found peace and a measure of happiness riding Lady or sitting by the clearing. Something she feared she would never find at Donnachaidh.
Aye, it was turning out that marriage was not as wonderful as she'd thought the day after arriving here. Evelinde sighed as she noted that the last few stitches she'd sewn were crooked.