The Marriage Contract (Marriage #3) - Cathy Maxwell Page 0,36

previously?

She hoped it was so.

Stepping up on the dais, she could have taken a seat next to her husband, but she suddenly turned shy. It was almost hard to look at him. Like yesterday, he wore leather breeches, well-worn boots, and a white shirt. He’d slicked his wet hair back from his face, and she could smell the scent of his shaving soap. It had become a heady fragrance for her.

She took a seat down the table from him.

He didn’t seem to notice where she sat. He and Deacon were discussing the sheep they had purchased the day before. Much of their talk was of little interest to her. She spent her time almost slavishly, but covertly, staring dreamy-eyed at her husband.

Mrs. MacEwan served breakfast while Fenella followed with the additional plates. Mrs. MacEwan made a great show of placing a board of piping hot bread in the center of the table. Then she set a plate of sausages in front of Anne. She served Deacon next.

Aidan smiled. “Sausages are my favorite breakfast.” His eyes almost twinkled with expectancy.

Mrs. MacEwan slid his plate in front of him and Aidan’s smile fell. His sausages were blacker than two pieces of coal. He looked to Deacon’s plate, then Anne’s, and finally raised his gaze to Mrs. MacEwan.

“Aren’t my sausages a bit overdone?”

“Burned to a crisp,” Mrs. MacEwan said proudly. “Which is what I’ll do to you if you ever harm our precious countess again.”

Embarrassed, Fenella tried to divert her mother and pull her back to the kitchen, but Mrs. MacEwan was on a mission.

“Your wife,” she said, “is a fine, fine lady.”

“She’s English,” Deacon said, his mouth full of sausage.

Mrs. MacEwan whirled on him. “She’s the laird’s wife and one of us now. You should have seen her yesterday. She worked harder than anyone!”

Deacon shot Aidan a glance that said clearly, I told you so.

But Aidan ignored him. Instead, he said, “Thank you, Mrs. MacEwan.”

She made a hasty curtsey. “I dinna mean any disrespect, Laird.”

“I understand, Mrs. MacEwan.”

“Enjoy your breakfast, Laird.”

“I will.”

She turned and left the room, her expression satisfied. Fenella hurried behind, her expression mortified.

Anne was almost afraid to look at her husband. When she did, she found he was eating the burned sausages.

He met her gaze. “My clansmen are an independent lot,” he said, explaining Mrs. MacEwan’s behavior to her unspoken question.

Deacon burst out laughing. “They’re Scottish!” Aidan started laughing with him. The two were laughing so hard, they had trouble finishing their breakfasts and even Anne was caught up in their mood.

But if she thought Aidan was done with her, she was wrong. No sooner had they finished their meal than he said, “Come with me, Anne.” He started out the front door. She had to skip to catch up.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“You’ll see.”

She followed quietly a moment and then, “Have you, Deacon, and Hugh always been friends?”

“We’re actually cousins. All related in distant ways, the way many of we highlanders are. They came to me when I first arrived and told me I wasn’t fit to be laird until I could best them.”

“So did you?”

“Not on the first go round.”

“Go round? What did you do?”

“I wrestled them.”

Her nose scrunched in distaste at such an activity. “You wrestled? Isn’t that considered common?”

“Yes, it is a very common sport, and we had a bloody good time at it, too.” He continued across the courtyard and up a path to the stables, which was a stone barn not quite as old as the main house. A gull flying on the currents overhead called mockingly to her.

“Why are we here?” she asked.

“You’ll know in a moment.” He walked in.

One of Fang’s youngest sons and his friend were waiting for him. “We turned them out, Laird.”

“Good job, Davey,” Aidan said to the Mowat boy.

Anne looked around, impressed. There were thirty boxes. “Do you have this many animals?” A fat yellow-orange tabby who appeared to be an outstanding mouser greeted her by rubbing against her skirt.

“I have seven, including Beaumains. It’s enough for my needs.”

“Indubitably,” Anne murmured.

He shot her a glance as if he wasn’t certain she didn’t tease him. Remembering her conversation with Norval the first night, she asked, “Do you breed horses?”

“I’m thinking about it, but sheep have always been king here. You should see the sheep sheds. They are four times this size.”

“Where are they?”

“About a half mile toward Wick and further inland. The earls of Tiebauld learned long ago it wasn’t wise to keep livestock too near the