Her maid brushed her hair, all the while praising her beauty. With her hair shining, she was helped into the high bed, where she sat with the blankets pooled around her waist, waiting for her husband to enter.
It seemed like hours passed. She had slumped back along the pillows and actually dozed off when she heard the door open. She popped up from the bed and pressed a smile to her cheeks.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” she said, hearing the nervousness in her voice.
Her husband stumbled as he came closer. He looked her over and winced away as if she were a hideous ogre. She looked down at herself, seeing the neckline had shifted and one of her nipples was on full display.
“Your breasts are disgustingly huge,” he said, obviously physically repulsed.
It was her understanding men liked large breasts. She remembered her brothers fighting over a lass solely for that reason. Yet, her husband didn’t like hers.
Her earlier assumptions proved true. Scottish men were far different from English lords in their preferences.
“My apologies.”
“Don’t speak. Your rough tongue is nearly as distasteful as your figure. Come closer so I can see what I’m cursed to bear for my former wife’s clumsiness.”
On shaky legs, Marian moved around the foot of the bed and stood before her husband as he frowned at her with hatred. She’d expected pain on her wedding night. A quick thing, but this was different.
Her husband disliked everything about her. He didn’t grope at her as she’d been told might happen. Instead, he drew back as if hoping his robe wasn’t soiled by contact with her skin.
She was completely lost. Her skills of fitting in were of no help in this situation. Instead, she stood mutely with her eyes on her feet as he continued his appraisal. He pointed out how her hair was too light—he preferred brunettes. How she was too tall, which was almost humorous as she was the shortest fully-grown woman she knew.
He poured a glass of port as he continued telling her all the ways she had failed him. Ways she was unable to do anything to change. When it appeared he’d finished, she sniffed back the tears of disappointment and raised her head. She’d been reared for this duty, and she’d not fail.
“Perhaps it would be easier for you to lie with me if it were dark. If the candles were—”
Her suggestion was cut short when he struck her across the mouth to silence her. She felt the intense heat and tasted the coppery flavor of her blood as she stumbled back.
“How dare you suggest I’m incapable of performing my duties as a husband, despite how inhospitable the vessel may be?” He struck her again, this time hard enough she lost her balance and fell to the floor by his booted feet.
She remembered thinking how shiny they were when he drew back and kicked her in the stomach. Air left her lungs in a gush, and for a few moments she wasn’t able to breathe in. Her vision fluttered on the edges.
She longed to go home. Except she was married to this monster, and this hell was now her home. There was no escape. She was trapped.
He turned toward the door, and she slumped in relief that he was leaving. She’d have time to tend to her wounds and come up with a plan to stay clear of him. Except he hadn’t left. He had just gone to the table by the door to retrieve something. When he turned she saw it was a knife.
“Mari, Mari,” he said.
Except the duke had never called her Mari. Only Cameron used that name. “Wake up,” he encouraged, and she opened her eyes to find the Scot sitting on the bed. She jumped back and he held up his hands, showing he meant no harm. “You were having a nightmare, lass. Are you well? You’re soaked through.”
She looked down at her thin shift, noticing how transparent it was in the low light. Covering herself, she looked up in time to see interest and appreciation in his eyes.
He was not disgusted by her. She’d seen the way he looked at her earlier at dinner. And then he’d slept on the floor so as not to scare her. Even now, he watched her with nothing but concern. She knew he would not hurt her, however her body responded instinctively.
When he stood she jumped away.
Again he made a calming gesture. “I think you should change into a new shift. Do you have one?”
She shook her head and shivered. She’d been given only the one garment and had been thankful for it.
He nodded and walked into the darkness. He returned with a clean shirt. “Here you go. It’s much too big for you, but it’s clean and dry.”
He turned his back on her. When she didn’t move, he looked over his shoulder. “Go on. Put it on. I swear on my honor, I’ll not peek.”
It was almost humorous. This giant was her husband. He had the right to peek, and much more. Yet, she didn’t worry as she pulled the thin, damp shift over her head and settled the heavier fabric over her body. She sniffed the collar, noticing it smelled of him. A warm, earthy scent that brought a smile to her lips.
“Thank you,” she said when she was covered and had regained her composure.
He turned and smiled down at her. Even with the menacing shadows cutting across his features, he looked kind. He grinned and turned to go back to his place by the fire. On the floor.
The ridiculousness of it struck her, and she reached for him. Her long fingers didn’t encompass his wrist, but he stopped and faced her.
“This is your bed. There’s plenty of room for the both of us. The floor can’t be all that comfortable.” She patted the mattress when it seemed he didn’t understand what she meant. It was the middle of the night. She’d need to be
