Duty of the Chieftain - a Highland 'Lord's Right of the First Night' novella (Clan MacKrannan's Secret Traditions #3) by Jonnet Carmichael Page A
Authors: Jonnet Carmichael
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well indeed ."
"Good. Right, I believe the Wisewomen have questions on the finer points. Fire away."
Ranald, by a simple process of elimination, had deduced long before the event that it must be his father who would test the Bride's Right with Elinor. What Ranald had not foreseen was the swamp of jealousy he now felt at the easy way Elinor looked at his father, as if there was some secret between them.
This brought Ranald to a state of mild unease.
Elinor and himself were almost strangers yet. Most of the week and more since they'd coupled – and then officially met – had been taken up with his five-day absence to see the king. He'd spent far longer on horseback journeying between castle and court and back again than he'd spent with the woman who became his wife yestreen… the same woman bedded by his father last eve, with tuition from his mother, and in front of the three Wisewomen.
Something about the whole situation seemed a bit off, no matter that it saved his heritage as chieftain, and he was now being forced to listen to Elinor providing the gathering with more of his own shortcomings.
"…and Ranald had not shaved, so it was quite a peculiar sensation having his face on me compared with his father's fingers with the oil…"
Elinor was rather enjoying the power she had to make Ranald uncomfortable, as he clearly was. She was the star of the moment, and she wanted him to envy what she'd received as the sample bride. There was one other thing she could say that would really get a reaction from him.
"…Ranald nearly blissed me using just his tongue," she said, full of mischief. "But then he stopped and said 'Your mouth on me! NOW!' so I had to do that instead."
A nasty silence came over the cottage like a prickly blanket, and Elinor knew she'd gone much too far. All eyes in the room turned to Ranald.
The chieftain had taken just about enough comparisons that found him wanting. "I do no' recall saying it like a demand, Elinor," he said with narrowed eyes. "It was said as a question, an offer of the next part of the bride's tutoring. Ye had chance to cry off if ye wanted."
The flame of a candle sp uttered and blew out.
"I didn't mean to infer…"
A goddess statuette toppled from the mantel , bounced off the hearth and landed face down at Ranald's foot. The Wisewomen began muttering positive affirmations to little avail.
"Aye , ye did, Elinor! And just so that ye know, elsewhere ye'd no' be getting the chance to cry off any part of the Lord's Right. Hell's pit, it's the talk of the royal court that the new Earl of Aldcanton sits with his cock in his fist while his mistress breaches the bride with four fingers in a leather glove. Dinna go telling folks ye've been hard done by, and acting like ye're the latest expert!"
Ranald slammed down his tankard and stormed out the cottage.
Heritage be damned. He'd sooner trade places with his brother in Ireland than put up with this nonsense.
And to hell with that idea as well. Elinor Keirston had done enough damage since she came here. She'd no' be losing him his place as chieftain with her bloody scoring system.
He'd get this sorted once and for all. Feisty was a good thing in a wife, but using it to debase her husband in public was the worst of all misdemeanors.
The Chief looked at the door shaking on its hinges, and then raised an eyebrow at Elinor.
"My apologies, Sir Thommas. Perhaps I was a little insensitive."
" A bride is never allowed to bliss afore she is breached. Never."
" Oh… I had forgotten that… I wasn't told so until recently…"
" Ye must beg Ranald's forgiveness, Elinor." He took her hand and rubbed it, and an intimacy loomed between them.
"I am so sorry."
"I know, lass. It's a mistake ye'll need to fix, though."
The Chief was riled , and paced awhile. Elinor had just kicked his son in the ballocks with her words and shamed him in front of the Wisewomen. The Scold's Bridle had been
"Good. Right, I believe the Wisewomen have questions on the finer points. Fire away."
Ranald, by a simple process of elimination, had deduced long before the event that it must be his father who would test the Bride's Right with Elinor. What Ranald had not foreseen was the swamp of jealousy he now felt at the easy way Elinor looked at his father, as if there was some secret between them.
This brought Ranald to a state of mild unease.
Elinor and himself were almost strangers yet. Most of the week and more since they'd coupled – and then officially met – had been taken up with his five-day absence to see the king. He'd spent far longer on horseback journeying between castle and court and back again than he'd spent with the woman who became his wife yestreen… the same woman bedded by his father last eve, with tuition from his mother, and in front of the three Wisewomen.
Something about the whole situation seemed a bit off, no matter that it saved his heritage as chieftain, and he was now being forced to listen to Elinor providing the gathering with more of his own shortcomings.
"…and Ranald had not shaved, so it was quite a peculiar sensation having his face on me compared with his father's fingers with the oil…"
Elinor was rather enjoying the power she had to make Ranald uncomfortable, as he clearly was. She was the star of the moment, and she wanted him to envy what she'd received as the sample bride. There was one other thing she could say that would really get a reaction from him.
"…Ranald nearly blissed me using just his tongue," she said, full of mischief. "But then he stopped and said 'Your mouth on me! NOW!' so I had to do that instead."
A nasty silence came over the cottage like a prickly blanket, and Elinor knew she'd gone much too far. All eyes in the room turned to Ranald.
The chieftain had taken just about enough comparisons that found him wanting. "I do no' recall saying it like a demand, Elinor," he said with narrowed eyes. "It was said as a question, an offer of the next part of the bride's tutoring. Ye had chance to cry off if ye wanted."
The flame of a candle sp uttered and blew out.
"I didn't mean to infer…"
A goddess statuette toppled from the mantel , bounced off the hearth and landed face down at Ranald's foot. The Wisewomen began muttering positive affirmations to little avail.
"Aye , ye did, Elinor! And just so that ye know, elsewhere ye'd no' be getting the chance to cry off any part of the Lord's Right. Hell's pit, it's the talk of the royal court that the new Earl of Aldcanton sits with his cock in his fist while his mistress breaches the bride with four fingers in a leather glove. Dinna go telling folks ye've been hard done by, and acting like ye're the latest expert!"
Ranald slammed down his tankard and stormed out the cottage.
Heritage be damned. He'd sooner trade places with his brother in Ireland than put up with this nonsense.
And to hell with that idea as well. Elinor Keirston had done enough damage since she came here. She'd no' be losing him his place as chieftain with her bloody scoring system.
He'd get this sorted once and for all. Feisty was a good thing in a wife, but using it to debase her husband in public was the worst of all misdemeanors.
The Chief looked at the door shaking on its hinges, and then raised an eyebrow at Elinor.
"My apologies, Sir Thommas. Perhaps I was a little insensitive."
" A bride is never allowed to bliss afore she is breached. Never."
" Oh… I had forgotten that… I wasn't told so until recently…"
" Ye must beg Ranald's forgiveness, Elinor." He took her hand and rubbed it, and an intimacy loomed between them.
"I am so sorry."
"I know, lass. It's a mistake ye'll need to fix, though."
The Chief was riled , and paced awhile. Elinor had just kicked his son in the ballocks with her words and shamed him in front of the Wisewomen. The Scold's Bridle had been
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