observed.
“It’s still disgraceful.” And they all agreed. “Someone should run those Whiskey Girls off.”
“You can’t run off the distiller’s daughters,” another told her with a laugh.
There was a sharp reply, but Anne didn’t hear it, for at that moment a red-headed boy took her horse’s bridle and said, “Do ye need help, Miss? I’m goin’ to be takin’ Beaumains to his stall. He’s ready for a nice rubdown.”
The horse beneath her shifted his weight as if letting her know he had been patient long enough. He swished his sweeping tail in her direction.
Anne confessed, “I can’t get down.”
“Oh.” The lad looked around and hurried off into the crowd to return in a second with a thick log, three feet high, which served as a mounting block. Anne was relieved for the opportunity to dismount with some dignity. Still, Beaumains was a tall horse, and she glanced around to see if anyone had noticed her less than graceful scramble down.
People were more involved with themselves than the antics of a stranger. The crowd was beginning to disperse. The hunters had returned victorious and there was no longer a reason to linger, save for one last tankard of ale. The people shifted and moved around her, making their goodnights to one another or plans for the morrow.
With the expediency of the young, the stable lad had walked off with the horse leaving Anne still standing on the mounting block. She felt very alone and out of place. Again she looked to Aidan and what she saw made her eyes pop open.
He was no longer drinking with Fang. Instead, he was now surrounded by the same women who had welcomed Hugh. The Whiskey Girls. They’d abandoned Hugh without a backward glance.
One of the Whiskey Girls laughingly messed Aidan’s hair with a bold familiarity that made Anne’s blood sizzle. They were definitely sisters with the same coal black hair and ample, jiggling bosoms which they thrust up at her husband in a decidedly provocative manner.
Then, the hussy who’d pulled Aidan’s hair took his hand holding the tankard and rubbed it, tankard and all, back and forth across her overflowing breasts, the nipples already tight and hard against the tight material of her skimpy bodice.
And Aidan let her.
Reason fled; shyness evaporated, as did her promises made earlier during her pretty speech about allowing him his “distractions.”
Anne would be damned to be so publicly humiliated. And she didn’t care about his “needs.” Something possessive rose inside her. In a voice as sharp as a governess’s, she said, “Take your hands off my husband.”
Her words cut through the air. Everyone froze in surprise, including the erring Whiskey Girl and Aidan.
“Husband?” the Whiskey Girl repeated dumbly.
“Husband?” the good women of the clan echoed.
Chapter 4
In the ensuing dead silence, Anne reflected that perhaps her announcement had been a bit brash.
There was naught she could do now. She met Aidan’s gaze with her head high. This was not how she’d wanted to be first presented to his people. But if she didn’t stake her claim, he would send her away without anyone being the wiser.
She wasn’t being replaced by a tart. And she wasn’t leaving her castle—even if the look her husband sent her way could sear meat.
Reading her mind, he insolently put his arm around the shoulder of youngest and prettiest Whiskey Girl, who to Anne’s surprise stepped back. “I’ll not be going with a married man, even if he is a laird. My mother didn’t raise me that way.”
“Don’t worry,” Aidan assured her. “My wife will not be with us long.” He raised his voice to reach every corner of the courtyard. “This is Miss Anne—” He paused. “What is your last name?”
“Black,” she said defiantly, giving his surname.
“It is not Black.”
“It is.” Anne hated arguing this point in front of everyone but she had no choice. “I have my marriage papers to prove it.” She held up Hugh’s hunting sack where she’d stuffed the documents in with her clothing.
Aidan pleaded his case to his clan. “It’s a proxy marriage,” he explained. “I’ve never set eyes on this woman before in my life until today. Hugh and Deacon can tell you it’s true.”
“It’s true,” Deacon agreed readily, helping himself to the keg of ale.
Anne frowned. Deacon had been set against her from the beginning. But if Aidan could present his story to the people, so could she. She turned in the direction of the woman who had complained earlier about the Whiskey Girls. “Lord Tiebauld’s sister Lady Waldo