Page 19 of A Temptress in Tartan

“Aye.”

“Whatever for?”

“To remind me once again that I am not wanted here.”

“God’s teeth,” he swore and set the bucket down. “I’ll find the frogs and return them to the outside.”

“Nay,” Elizabeth protested. “I do not mind the sound. In fact, I find it rather comforting.”

He frowned. “You do?”

She nodded. “It reminds me of summers near the loch, when I would lie on the shore, looking up at the stars and listening to the soft repetitive croaking of the frogs. If you close your eyes, you can imagine them serenading you.”

He gave her a skeptical look, then grinned. “I suppose one can imagine anything if one tries hard enough.”

She smiled in return. “At least Mariam didn’t place an adder in the sheets.”

His grin vanished. “You think Mariam did this?”

“I suspect it,” Elizabeth said then gestured to the bucket. “What is that?”

“Get up for a moment,” he replied, taking the bucket in his hands once more.

She wrapped the bed sheet around her and rolled to the edge just as he poured the contents of the bucket in the middle of the lower bed linens. She gaped at him in horror as a red splotch of color darkened the cloth. “What did you do?”

“You wanted blood. I got some from the slaughterhouse.” He gestured toward the bed again. “Now get back in bed.”

Her eyes went wide. “I’ll not sleep in blood.”

He shook his head, dazed by the conversation. “First you want blood. Then you don’t want blood. Which is it to be?”

“Whose blood is that?”

“It’s the stag’s blood from our meal tonight. I gathered some of the blood they set aside.” He stared down at the bright red splotch. “Do you think it’s enough?”

“Sweet Mary . . . ’tis more than enough. They will definitely think I surrendered my maidenhead, but they will also think you abused me all night.”

He frowned. He had no idea how much blood would be spilled by a virgin on her wedding night. All he knew was war. And to him, what was on the bed was hardly any blood at all. “Well, that amount will have to do since there is no taking it back.” With a shrug, he hid the bucket inside the armoire in the corner of the chamber. “I’ll return this to the slaughterhouse in the morn.” Turning back to the bed, he peeled out of his clothing then slid onto the soiled sheet, pulling the coverlet over himself. “You can stand there freezing all night, or you can lie beside me and warm yourself. I intend to get some sleep while I still can.” He turned on his side and, propping his head on his elbow, looked up at her. “You did well tonight, Elizabeth. I doubt other women would have done so well given the challenges you faced first with the whisky, then the singing, and now with the frogs.”

Hot color stained her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said, her voice so quiet he had to strain to hear it. She hesitated another moment before she finally lay back down on the bed and pulled the coverlet over her body, shielding herself from his gaze.

The fire crackled, the light passing over her face, brightening her eyes, her cheekbones, her lips. She was so lovely when she was at peace like this. Peace between a Ruthven and a Douglas. Who would have thought it would only take a few days to accomplish such a feat? Pleasure wound through him, spiraling until it became a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

In the half-light he relaxed back into his pillow and listened to the croaking of the frogs. She was right. The sound was soothing. “Tell me about your summers by the loch.”

“You wish to hear about that? Something from my past as a Ruthven?” she asked nervously.

“There is no Ruthven or Douglas in this room tonight. Only two people who are curious about each other. Tell me about the loch.”

She relaxed into the softness of the mattress. She laughed nervously. “You truly wish to know about my past?”

“Aye.”

There was another short pause before she drew a deep breath and said, “As a child I was drawn to the water of the loch near our home. At sunset the water would turn from green to black, and the frogs that had been hidden from view all day would come to the shoreline . . .”

Chapter Six

Lachlan had encouraged Elizabeth to talk too long the night before. Even so, they were on their way at sunrise, shortly after Lachlan had secretly returned the bucket to the slaughterhouse. They had bid their farewells before much of the household had awakened, a fact with which Elizabeth was well pleased. It meant avoiding further challenges by the residents of Ravenscraig or any possible comments about the amount of blood in her and Lachlan’s bed.