"To Westmore, you beast. To your bed."
"To my . . . Oh." He seemed to finally register that her burning cheeks were now hot with something other than ire, and his eyes narrowed. "Well." A new firmness rose to cradle itself in the softness of her belly. "Home then."
And after he'd taken her home, after
he'd lain her body into that lush fur and sunk himself between her legs, Alex was able to set aside their argument.
He was a brooding man. She knew that, just as she knew herself to be hot-tempered and bolder than most men could bear. But she loved him for what he was and for what he accepted in her.
The first months could be rough going; Lucy had told her that just a week before. Give it time, she'd whispered. Things have a way of settling into place.
But they would not settle if she held a grudge over every slight and misjudgment, so Alex made peace with his test and vowed to wait for everything to fall into place.
"Jeannie Kirkland, ye blasted spawn of Satan, where the hell is my flask?"
Jeannie winced and clapped a hand over Alexandra's giggling mouth. She tried not to sneeze when the girl's black curls tickled her nose. "Shh."
They pressed closer to the wall, feet sticking out too far beneath the musty tapestry. But her brother stomped past them and down the hall till his boots slapped against the stairs.
They heard a faint shout of "Jeannie!" and burst from their hiding place in a cloud of dust and laughter. Jeannie tugged her new friend along.
"Come, Alex. I can't believe you haven't been up here."
They stole down a short hallway at the very back of Westmore keep and through a warped door at the end. A narrow stairway curved up, disappearing into the darkness.
Jeannie threw open a trapdoor and led the way into the starry night. The flask sparked silver in the moonlight as she held it high.
"The finest whisky ever made by man, lassie, and worth a king's ransom." She took a swig, grimaced, and pushed it toward Alex.
Alex took a sip and, though she didn't cough, she couldn't keep the rasp from her voice. "Fine. Very fine."
Jeannie laughed outright. "Liar. Don't worry, it gets better the more you drink."
She took another sip before she handed it back to Jeannie. Jeannie raised the flask again and felt the liquor burn a path to her stomach and upwards too, setting her eyes and nose tingling.
By God, she loved it up here on the parapets, had always loved it. The night bloomed above them in a swath of stars. The moon hung like a great belly in the east, surely too heavy to rise any farther. It was beautiful here, but cold as well. The whisky was a welcome warmth.
"So?" Jeannie drawled after another swig.
"So, what?"
"Ach, don't play dumb. How do you like being married to our Collin? My brothers kept me away as long as they could, but three weeks was too much for even them to bear. They were dying to meet you."
She and four of her brothers had raided the castle mid-afternoon, demanding to see the bride. The new Mrs. Blackburn had bubbled over with happiness to see them, but she fell silent now.
"Surely it's not so bad?" Jeannie prodded.
"No, it's not so bad. In fact, I think it's rather good."
"Mm. I always suspected the man would make an excellent bed partner."
Alex made a strangled sound, but Jeannie knew without a doubt that she wasn't offended. Growing up with brothers had a way of expanding a girl's horizons.
"Um. Yes. He is. Absolutely."
Jeannie thought of the bed she'd like to be warming and couldn't stop the sigh that fell from her lips.
"Did you . . . ?" Alex started. "That is . . . Did Collin never court you?"