“I’ll go hang this over the rail,” her father announced, his cheeks flushing a bit pink.
Claray wasn’t sure if the show of color was because he was holding the proof of her innocence, which was also proof that that innocence was gone, or what was causing it, but he was definitely blushing as he rushed out of the room.
Father Cameron was not blushing, however. In fact, he was giving her a rather dour look as he peered at them. It made Claray think perhaps the plaid was gaping open in front or something, but when she glanced down she found that wasn’t the case. She did see though why the prelate was scowling at them. The way Conall was holding the plaid in place made it look like he was cupping her bosoms.
Choking out a sound of embarrassment, Claray reached up to try to pull his hands away, but he wasn’t letting go. After a brief tussle, she simply turned in his arms so that his hands were at her back and scowled up at him. For some reason, that made the man’s lips twitch with amusement, she noted with an irritation that only increased when she heard that amusement echoed in Ross MacKay’s voice as he said, “Annabel and Kenna are up and ready. We’ll wait fer ye in the bailey.”
Claray glanced over her shoulder at those words, wondering what they would be waiting for, but the man was already ushering Aulay and a still dour-faced Father Cameron out of the room and pulling the door closed behind them. Frowning, she turned back to Conall. “What—?”
The question died there, silenced by Conall’s mouth covering hers in a kiss that had her melting against him with a sigh. Her response seemed to please him, and he reached down to clasp her bottom and lift her up until she could feel his erection pressing against her.
Moaning into his mouth, Claray wrapped her legs around his hips and kissed him eagerly back as he now rubbed against her core through the cloth of the plaid and her flimsy shift. The sensation had Claray burning for him, and judging by the groan it elicited from Conall, he was not unaffected either, so she was somewhat startled when he suddenly broke their kiss and dropped her, keeping hold of the plaid as he did.
Claray’s squeal of alarm ended on an “oomph” when she landed on the bed.
“Dress,” Conall growled, and then knelt on the floor at the foot of the bed and began to pleat his plaid . . . completely ignoring her.
Claray stared at him blankly until Squeak came and scrambled up her hip and chest to get on her shoulder. Reaching up, she patted him absently, and then stood and moved over to the chest to collect her dress. She didn’t don it right away, however, but instead moved to the tub and set the gown over the chair beside it. She then set Squeak on top of that while she quickly used the cold water and the now dry strip of linen from the night before to clean herself up.
She washed her face first, and then did a quick standing wash of the rest of her body, paying special attention between her legs to clean up any remaining mess from her breaching. When she finished and turned to rinse out the linen and hang it over the tub, she was embarrassed to see Conall kneeling by his pleated plaid, but watching her rather than donning it.
Blushing with embarrassment, she turned her back to him and set Squeak aside to snatch up the gown to quickly pull it on and do it up. Claray then scooped up the little kit again and set him on her shoulder as she went to find her brush on the fur by the fire. She’d barely started to pull it through her hair when the sound of splashing water made her glance back to the tub.
Conall was now having a quick wash as well, she saw. When he turned the cloth and his attention to the dried blood on his penis, she quickly whirled away and stared at the cold ashes in the fireplace as she finished brushing her hair.
“Claray,” Conall said a few moments later.
She turned in question to find he was now dressed and waiting by the door. When he held his hand out and raised his fingers in a come-hither gesture, she stood and set the brush on the table, then crossed to him. Conall took her hand the moment she was within reach, opened the door and tugged her out of her room to hustle her up the hall.
Fortunately, despite his apparent rush, he wasn’t making her run to keep up with him as her uncle had done back at Kerr. While her husband was much taller than her and probably could have moved much more quickly, he chose a pace that allowed her to keep up at a swift walk with just the occasional skip to keep from falling behind.
The great hall was just showing the first signs of life as he led her down the stairs. None of her siblings were up yet. In fact, there was no one seated at the trestle tables at all at the moment. But servants were moving around, yawning and stretching as they set about their early morning tasks, their gazes occasionally moving to the linen hanging from the railing.
Claray took one glance at the broad strip of white cloth with her blood on it, and then ducked her head and avoided looking at it again. Honestly, to her mind, it was humiliating to have it up there. Now everyone in the castle knew what they’d got up to last night. Which she supposed they would have known anyway, but still, it was embarrassing, so she was almost relieved when rather than lead her to the table and sit her there on display for everyone to gawk at, Conall led her to the keep doors.
It was only as he pushed through them, tugging her behind him, that Claray recalled his uncle saying something about waiting in the bailey. Even remembering that now, she was startled when she saw the MacKays all mounted next to her horse and Conall’s mount, with her father, his stable master, Edmund and her cousins Aulay and Alick Buchanan standing before them.
Her gaze following two MacKay men riding away from the group toward the gate, Claray opened her mouth to ask what was happening. Before she could, Conall started down the stairs, barking, “Where is Claray’s horse?”
“This is Claray’s mount,” her father announced, and she couldn’t help noticing his pride as he glanced to the black steed pulling impatiently at the reins Edmund was holding on to to keep the huge beast from charging up the steps to greet her.
“It’s a stallion,” Conall protested as they reached the bottom of the steps. “Ladies usually ride mares.”
“Aye. Well, she rides him well, and the stubborn bastard’ll no’ let anyone else on his back so I gave him to her two years ago,” her father explained as Claray slipped her hand from Conall’s to move to the horse and give him a soothing hug. The moment she touched his neck and leaned her head on him, the horse calmed, rested his head on her shoulder and raised his front leg to hook his foreleg around one of her calves in his version of a hug.
“I forgot the stubborn bastard liked to do that,” Alick said on a laugh as her horse dropped his foot back to the ground. “It’s the only horse I’ve ever seen hug back.”
Claray thought she heard Conall mutter something, but couldn’t make it out, and then he was beside her, urging her further along her mount. But when he tried to lift her into the saddle, she resisted and pulled back.
“If we are riding, I’ll need to don braies,” she protested.
Conall blinked at her and then lifted his head to stare at the saddle. “’Tis no’ a sidesaddle.”
“Nay. I never ride sidesaddle. ’Tis why I need braies,” she explained quietly, and didn’t add that that was the only reason she still had her beautiful horse. Her father hadn’t wanted her traveling to her cousins riding astride so had made her leave the stallion behind and travel in a cart. It had made for a much longer and uncomfortable journey there, but she was grateful for that now since her horse would have been left behind when Conall had carried her off from Kerr.