you wish to call it. I fear you are a very slow learner, Gwendolen. You have no concept of the power you could have over him, and others as well.”
She sighed irritably. “I don’t want power over my husband. All I ever wanted was love and respect. I wanted to be my husband’s equal, his supporter, and perhaps occasionally his adviser.”
Her mother cupped her daughter’s chin in her hand. “Darling, you must get your head out of the clouds. We are women, and love will get us nothing. We’re not the equals of men, therefore we must protect ourselves by being quietly cunning.”
Gwendolen felt a great wave of melancholy move through her. “Sometimes I believe you speak the truth, Mother, but other times, I want something more. I want to have influence, but through honest means. I want to earn my husband’s respect, so that he can rely on me. I do have an intelligent mind. I can offer insight.”
They were quiet for a few minutes, then her mother’s eyes softened with a show of sympathy. Gwendolen was surprised to feel the touch of her hand at her back. “Perhaps you are not such a slow learner after all. Perhaps you are faster and more ambitious than all of us. I am just not sure that you are realistic.”
Her future husband entered the hall just then, and Gwendolen wondered if she was indeed a dreamer. Of all the men in the world, this one was least likely to bend and allow anyone to wield power over him. He’d already told her in no uncertain terms that romantic love made a man weak, and that he wished to avoid it at all costs.
He seemed just as determined to avoid feminine manipulations of a sexual nature. When it came to the bedroom, she was the one who was seduced into a puddle of dazed surrender—and that did not bode well for her future influence as Mistress of Kinloch.
* * *
It was a fine night for a feast, Angus thought as he entered the Great Hall and was arrested on the spot by the sight of his future bride on the other side of the room, dressed in a bloodred velvet gown that accentuated the curve of her hips and heightened her full, luscious bosom. The gold trimming transformed her into a priceless trophy, and her purity somehow mixed sensuously with the red-hot color of the gown against her ivory skin and glossy black hair. It was hot sex and sweet innocence combined, all wrapped up in one tempting, pretty package, and it aroused a rough and unruly restlessness in his core.
Someone knocked into him and apologized, then engaged him in conversation. Yes, it was a fine night for a crowd. He needed the diversion, for he’d had trouble during the day concentrating on more important matters, like the management of Kinloch, now that he was chief.
He’d spent many hours going over the record books in the treasury and had found everything in order—perhaps even better managed than it had been when his father was laird. Revenues were up in all areas, and a number of useless, miscellaneous expenses had either been decreased or removed from the accounts entirely. As a result, he decided to allow Gordon MacEwen to keep his position as castle steward, with one of his own men to take on the role of assistant, and keep a watchful eye.
A chorus of laughter from the interior of the room drew his attention. He found Lachlan in the center of it and led him away to discuss the matter with him, but was again preoccupied by the attendance of his future wife, who was moving about the room with effortless charm and a smile more dazzling than the sun.
He realized at that moment that this political marriage was going to be a problem, for he was completely out of his element. He was an experienced warrior who faced lethal deathblows on the battlefield and struck back with ferocity. When he fought, he fought fearlessly, but he was not on a battlefield now. This was foreign territory, and he had no idea how to “conquer” a proper wife. She was not a woman of loose morals, like his usual sexual
She sighed irritably. “I don’t want power over my husband. All I ever wanted was love and respect. I wanted to be my husband’s equal, his supporter, and perhaps occasionally his adviser.”
Her mother cupped her daughter’s chin in her hand. “Darling, you must get your head out of the clouds. We are women, and love will get us nothing. We’re not the equals of men, therefore we must protect ourselves by being quietly cunning.”
Gwendolen felt a great wave of melancholy move through her. “Sometimes I believe you speak the truth, Mother, but other times, I want something more. I want to have influence, but through honest means. I want to earn my husband’s respect, so that he can rely on me. I do have an intelligent mind. I can offer insight.”
They were quiet for a few minutes, then her mother’s eyes softened with a show of sympathy. Gwendolen was surprised to feel the touch of her hand at her back. “Perhaps you are not such a slow learner after all. Perhaps you are faster and more ambitious than all of us. I am just not sure that you are realistic.”
Her future husband entered the hall just then, and Gwendolen wondered if she was indeed a dreamer. Of all the men in the world, this one was least likely to bend and allow anyone to wield power over him. He’d already told her in no uncertain terms that romantic love made a man weak, and that he wished to avoid it at all costs.
He seemed just as determined to avoid feminine manipulations of a sexual nature. When it came to the bedroom, she was the one who was seduced into a puddle of dazed surrender—and that did not bode well for her future influence as Mistress of Kinloch.
* * *
It was a fine night for a feast, Angus thought as he entered the Great Hall and was arrested on the spot by the sight of his future bride on the other side of the room, dressed in a bloodred velvet gown that accentuated the curve of her hips and heightened her full, luscious bosom. The gold trimming transformed her into a priceless trophy, and her purity somehow mixed sensuously with the red-hot color of the gown against her ivory skin and glossy black hair. It was hot sex and sweet innocence combined, all wrapped up in one tempting, pretty package, and it aroused a rough and unruly restlessness in his core.
Someone knocked into him and apologized, then engaged him in conversation. Yes, it was a fine night for a crowd. He needed the diversion, for he’d had trouble during the day concentrating on more important matters, like the management of Kinloch, now that he was chief.
He’d spent many hours going over the record books in the treasury and had found everything in order—perhaps even better managed than it had been when his father was laird. Revenues were up in all areas, and a number of useless, miscellaneous expenses had either been decreased or removed from the accounts entirely. As a result, he decided to allow Gordon MacEwen to keep his position as castle steward, with one of his own men to take on the role of assistant, and keep a watchful eye.
A chorus of laughter from the interior of the room drew his attention. He found Lachlan in the center of it and led him away to discuss the matter with him, but was again preoccupied by the attendance of his future wife, who was moving about the room with effortless charm and a smile more dazzling than the sun.
He realized at that moment that this political marriage was going to be a problem, for he was completely out of his element. He was an experienced warrior who faced lethal deathblows on the battlefield and struck back with ferocity. When he fought, he fought fearlessly, but he was not on a battlefield now. This was foreign territory, and he had no idea how to “conquer” a proper wife. She was not a woman of loose morals, like his usual sexual
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