By Tomorrow - Part 8
Masterlist
A/N: Did not proofread, just wanted to get this up b/c I’m in a slump and it makes me feel better to post
Sybil felt like a new woman when she descended the stairs the next morning, freshly bathed and wearing clean clothes that she borrowed from Catherine.
Sybil didn’t care for them overmuch – the Cavill plaid was made of lovely, bright jewel-toned colors, but everyone wore the same thing, which made it considerably less exciting. No matter. All she needed was needle and thread and she’d remedy the sartorial monotony in no time at all. And perhaps teach these women proper embroidery – surely they would have altered their clothes if they knew how.
Henry waited at the bottom of the stairs while his kinsmen pretended to eat. He didn’t offer Sybil his arm as she approached but she took it anyway.
On the journey here, Henry and the others wore the clan’s hunting plaid, composed of muted tones, rather than the colorful formal tartan. But today Henry was all done up in purple and green. Such bright colors didn’t seem to suit him.
Arran waited with his hands clasped behind his back. Patrick and their sons stood further off.
“Laird,” she said with a smile, dropping into a curtsey.
“There’s no need for that,” Arran said, guiding her back to her full height. “Welcome.”
Catherine appeared at her side. “She’s English, uncle,” she said. “Failing to curtsey is the equivalent of spitting in one’s face.”
“Catherine!” Sybil chided. “There’s no need to be vulgar.” She turned back to Arran. “She is right, though. I would hate to offend you in any way, especially after failing to greet you properly yesterday. I am terribly sorry about that, by the way, but Henry is terribly pushy and I was quite tired. Though I’m sure you know how bossy your nephew can be, since he is, after all, your nephew. . .”
Everyone’s eyebrows seemed to rise in unison as Sybil spoke. They looked at Catherine and Henry in amusement or disbelief or a combination of the two.
Patrick outright laughed when he saw the look on Henry’s face.
Sybil fell silent, cheeks reddening with embarrassment. Of course they would laugh at her – didn’t everyone always tell her how annoying and odd she was? She wanted to melt into the floor.
Catherine and Henry both shot death glares at Patrick. It was hard to tell which cousin was angrier at his rudeness. Even Arran turned to frown at his brother. But that was just Patrick’s way.
“Forgive me, niece,” Patrick said, still chuckling. “It was the look on Henry’s face that amused me.”
“Oh. Of course.”
Sybil made an effort to speak less while they eat their breakfast but she was too curious and excited for it to make much of a difference. She wanted to ask a thousand questions of each of her new family members.
Catherine, God bless her, knew this and steered the conversation to fit her friend’s desire without Sybil having to speak too much.
Patrick really hadn’t meant anything by laughing – Sybil was already mostly recovered from the incident; everyone else at the table had already forgotten it – but Henry was still furious. It was his job to make sure Sybil was comfortable and happy in her new home. So far Patrick wasn’t helping.
Henry was distracted from his anger by a tug at his shirtsleeve. Finn stood at his elbow. Henry relaxed immediately. “There you are,” he said. “Are you pleased to have Catherine back?”
Finn nodded. “New horse,” he said, gesturing in the general direction of the stables.
“Yes, he was a present from the MacPherson’s brother,” Henry replied.
“MacPherson gave you a horse?” Hamish piped in.
“We were traveling on foot,” Sybil explained. “The first horse abandoned us after we fell down the slope. He said it was a wedding present. Henry neglected to thank him,” she added.
She expected his family to react to his rudeness somehow, but they didn’t. Perhaps they didn’t hear her right? She looked to Catherine, who rolled her eyes and shrugged. This was just one of his peculiarities to them.
They finished eating. Sybil offered to help the two serving girls carry everyone’s dirty dishes back to the kitchen. One of them thanked her and insisted that Sybil not trouble herself. The other girl ignored Sybil entirely.
“Don’t be upset,” Catherine said to her friend. “She’s only sour because she fancies herself in love with Henry.”
Sybil deflated. “Oh.”
“He never liked her,” Catherine assured her. “She can’t hold a candle to you anyway.”
The breakfast party disbursed. Sybil stood by the foot of the stairs as she pulled on a pair of borrowed boots and wrapped a spare plaid around her shoulders as a shawl so she would be comfortable as Catherine showed her around.
Henry appeared at her side.
“Catherine’s chosen a cottage she thinks will suit,” he said. “She’s done something or other to it, but it’s yours now. Make it however you like.”
“Henry,” she said softly, putting a hand on his arm to catch his attention. “I’ll be glad to go back to our cottage with you, but I don’t think it will work for the two of us to go to bed together at this point – both for practical and religious reasons, as I’m sure you understand. The Church says –”
Henry’s nostrils flared. “You’re speaking in tongues.”
“It’s only for a few days.”
“A few days?” he repeated.
“Usually six.”
“Usually?”
“Yes, that’s generally how long it lasts.”
His patience was at an end. “How long what lasts?”
“My courses.” Henry kept looking at her. “My monthly courses.”
It took a long moment for Henry to work out her meaning. He half-growled, half-grunted, and walked away without another word. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was embarrassed.
They’d begun just this morning, not a moment too soon. she didn’t know what she would have done if they came while she was traveling.
Henry reappeared a few minutes later when Catherine announced her intention to show Sybil around the village. He took her arm and pulled her aside; only Arran took note of iy.
“Are you lying to me about having your courses now?” Henry murmured.
“Why would you think that? You think I wanted to tell you?” she asked, tone dripping with revulsion. “Of course not! It’s private. And you’re a man. Men aren’t supposed to know such intimate –”
“Husbands should,” Henry interrupted.
She disagreed, “Well, you know already so I don’t have to tell you again. Why are we discussing this?”
“I wondered if you were lying,” he said casually. “It’s a fine excuse.”
“Excuse for what?”
Henry sighed. “I know you’re worried about the bedding,” he said, “but you have no reason to be.” She began to speak but he silenced her by holding up his massive hand. “We can wait until you’re more comfortable with me to consummate our marriage. But I won’t wait forever.”
“That’s . . . very reasonable,” Sybil said after a moment. “Thank you.”
He grunted again – more of a frustrated growl this time – and walked away.
That’s very reasonable. Had she expected him not to be?
***
Catherine spent the rest of the morning leading Sybil from place to place and introducing her to everyone they passed. Finn flitted in and out of their company like a woodland fairy.
Catherine explained early on that her little brother had free reign within the clan, able to come and go as he pleased. But wherever he went, he seemed welcome.
He had difficulty focusing or staying still for very long; he and Sybil had that in common.
The children stared at her and whispered to one another as she and Catherine ambled down the hillside where the bulk of the cottages were laid out.
The boys’ parents told them the English had horns and cloven hooves; the girls were intrigued by her relative exoticism and the fact that she’d snapped Henry up as her husband at first sight. They were in love with him, of course, the way all little girls are in love with all older boys who are handsome and sweet.
Sybil greeted everyone in broken Gaelic, but her horrendous accent quickly exposed her as a foreigner. Not that everyone didn’t know already. Henry’s unexpected marriage to an Englishwoman was a hot topic of conversation ever since Catherine and the others returned and explained what happened on their journey.
It was so sensational, in fact, that hardly anyone paid attention when Cameron Maclean, the laird’s second and most decent son, sent his condolences to Catherine in a note wrapped with a lovely purple hair ribbon.
Patrick and Arran were a bit leery of the offering – Cameron, like all living men (including his brothers) – fancied Catherine. But it was a polite, innocuous gesture. He actively sought to smooth relations between the Cavills and Macleans, though everyone knew it was a futile effort.
They made the wise decision not to share the news of this gift with anyone else. Henry was liable to throw a table if he found out.
Catherine intended to tell Sybil eventually, but now was not the time. She had too much on her mind as it was.
“Sybil here is my very best friend,” Catherine said congenially to one particularly displeased old Cavill woman. She looped her arm through Sybil’s in a subtle show of solidarity. “We are blessed that my cousin chose to take her as his wife. Don’t you agree?”
The woman relented, politely inclining her head at Sybil, before stalking off.
“I appreciate your loyalty, but you don’t need to threaten old ladies on my behalf,” Sybil said. “I’m English. Your countrymen naturally dislike me.”
“I didn’t threaten her. And hating you for no reason other than your heritage is ridiculous.” Sybil was surprised by the passion in Catherine’s voice. “I would have been a Scottish pariah in England were it not for you. I intend to return the favor.”
“You were not a pariah.”
“The women all hated me at first,” Catherine countered.
The men, however, were too busy worshipping at her feet to have a care for her nationality. It made Sybil furious sometimes. Catherine was married yet drowning in male attention; Sybil was as forgettable as she was single. But it wasn’t Catherine’s fault.
“And before you say it, I don’t consider any of those Englishmen to be friends,” Catherine said as if she heard her friend’s thoughts.
Sybil cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, really? I dare say they were very friendly with you.”
Catherine rolled her eyes and then grinned. “Come. Let me show you your cottage. I’ve had it all made up for you.”
Sybil looked out at the vast body of water at the very foot of the hill. “Can’t we stop and see the lake first?”
“Loch,” Catherine corrected. “And no.”
The cottage should have been underwhelming to a noblewoman such as Sybil – she was accustomed to luxury – but she found it charming. It was one large room with a dirt floor. The furniture was sparse to say the least: a bed, two wooden chests, a table, and a handful of stools. The bed was piled with quilts, pelts, plaids, and pillows. It looked almost as luxurious as Sybil’s bed at home.
She was so overwhelmed by her friend’s kindness that she started crying. She covered her face with her hands. “Thank you.” Her voice was muffled. “This must have taken a long time. It’s lovely.”
Catherine chuckled “You’re welcome. Oh, don’t cry.”
“You know I can’t help myself,” Sybil said. “Leave me be.” She kept talking but her voice was too muffled for Catherine to understand. She finally wiped her cheeks, cleared her throat, and straightened up. “It really is wonderful, Catherine.” She sniffled one last time before her thoughts, as always, turned to other matters.
“I will need at least two more chests, though, for my gowns.” She walked the perimeter of the cottage, poking at just about everything she passed by. “And before you say it, yes, I know I won’t be wearing gowns here but I do like them. I’ll find a way to make them work. Maybe if I separate the tops from the skirts? In any case, I shall find a use for them. And I’ve got to make Henry new clothes now, too. Have you seen the state of his shirts?”
“I’m afraid you’ll have a tough time trying to civilize the fellow.”
“He will have a tough time trying to remain uncivilized, you mean,” Sybil corrected.
A male voice came from the doorway. “Who’s uncivilized?”
Sybil turned to see the man step into the cottage and away from the door.
It was her husband, but it wasn’t. The man before her had only stubble dusted along his cheeks and jaw, was missing at least two inches of curls, and looked some ten years younger. But there was no mistaking it. This was Henry.
“What have you done to your beard?” Sybil asked once she was composed enough to speak. Catherine slipped out of the cottage and her cousin quietly shut the door behind her.
“Trimmed it,” Henry said flatly.
Sybil shut her eyes to keep from rolling them. “Yes, but why?” Would she really have to drag every word from this man for the rest of their lives? Each attempt at conversation was like pulling teeth.
“You said I was too furry.”
Sybil was so surprised she actually stepped back. “I beg your pardon? I said no such thing.”
“Aye, you did,” he countered, doing his best to bury the smirk attempting to crawl onto his face. “On the road.”
“Henry, women in England are raised with etiquette. We do not say such things to our husbands, especially when we’ve only known them for a few days. Perhaps Scottish women do, but we in England are far more civilized. Furthermore, I have no recollection of ever -”
“That night in the cave after the storm. You were asleep,” he said, the slightest smile playing over his full lips. Lord, she was long winded. One of these days he would have to measure how long she could go on for without stopping for air.
Sybil’s blood drained from her face. She looked absolutely horrified.
“Did it upset you that I said that? I do apologize. That’s a terrible thing for anyone to say, especially a wife. It’s certainly not my intention to make you self-conscious, and I was asleep so I can’t be held entirely responsible for whatever I may –”
Henry grinned, flashing his immaculate teeth. “No, you did not upset me.”
The smile threw her a bit off-balance. “Then why did you change your beard?”
To please her, of course.
Sybil realized that as she spoke. Henry was large and quiet and cryptic, but he wanted to please his wife.
Under normal circumstances, she would’ve wept at that kindness – she wept at everything, especially now when she had her blood – but she managed to restrain herself.
She was hesitant at first as she rocked up on the balls of her feet and reached to brush her hand over his short whiskers. He didn’t tense or flinch, but he followed her with his eyes like he was worried she’d pounce. “You look much younger than before,” she said.
“Did I look very old?”
“Older than you are, certainly, but not old. Not exactly. I couldn’t see your face properly under all that hair. And you’re always frowning.”
He began to scowl at that but caught himself and neutralized his expression before she could say anything.
“You should have let me do it for you,” she continued, brushing her fingers through his hair. It was uneven, but his curls made it hardly noticeable. It was surprisingly soft.
Her touch felt divine. Henry couldn’t remember the last time someone touched him like this. He didn’t understand why it mattered so much.
Sybil wanted to thank him, but like two nights ago when she simply leaned against him, she wanted to do it without words.
She impulsively put her voluptuous lips against his. It was the best way to let him know that she appreciated his actions and what they represented, she decided.
When she pulled away he looked curious and cautious and amused. She looked confused by her own actions. Her eyes didn’t meet his, instead resting on his plush lips. They were surprisingly soft, like his hair.
Henry slowly leaned forward, lowering his head until they were face to face. He stopped just before their lips met and waited, knowing he might drive Sybil away if he was too aggressive. But the moment she closed the distance between them, he became ravenous.
This was very different from when he kissed her at their wedding.
She suspected she felt his tongue then; she knew she felt it now. Not poking or prodding like she imagined it might be, but all soft and warm and lingering. She started to relax against him, leaning into him, and his hands – which were previously folded behind his back – came forward, his arms encircling her waist.
Henry was doing his best to be careful, taking all his cues from the way she responded to him. The last thing he wanted was to scare her off. But there was no danger of that. Sybil was enjoying this just as much as he was. Too much.
Henry’s heart sank when she put her hands on his chest and pushed herself away from him. He loosened his grip on her but didn’t let go.
“Wait,” she gasped.
He grunted questioningly. He sounded concerned. If that was possible. Could someone grunt in a concerned fashion?
Sybil still couldn’t meet his eye. They’d have to work on that, Henry decided.
She shifted her weight uncomfortably. “It’s just – we ought to stop now since we cannot . . . because of my courses . . . and it can cause men pain when they can’t be fulfilled – you know – if they don’t complete – and I do not want to cause you injury –”
Henry arched an eyebrow. “What?”
“I said – I – you know what I said, Henry. Please don’t make me say it again.” She was already flushed with embarrassment – and from something else, something Henry had stirred inside her, but that she was reluctant to name.
“Where did you hear that?” he was clearly suspicious. “Who would say that in front of you?”
Her father’s friend told her so when she asked him to stop. She didn’t want him to be in pain, did she? She didn’t want to damage his health or injure him, did she? Of course not. So she mustn’t ask again. She must be quiet and let him –
“I must’ve overheard the servants talking,” she rushed out.
He grunted. He shouldn't be surprised she heard that – it was probably a common excuse among Englishmen when their wives were unwilling – but he didn’t like that she heard it.
“That’s not true,” Henry said. “It’s unpleasant not to finish once you’ve started, but it doesn’t cause any harm.” It was downright painful actually, but it didn’t cause any harm. He decided to keep the painful bit to himself.
Sybil stared down at her hands, probably too embarrassed about it all to meet Henry’s gaze.
He ducked his head low to catch her eyes. His voice was all gentle and soft. “Any time you want me to stop, I’ll stop. Whether or not you have your courses.”
She looked up, surprise clear in her warm brown eyes. “You will?”
“Yes.”
“Always?”
“Yes.”
So not only would he wait to bed her, but he would also stop dead in his tracks if she asked him to when the time finally came? That didn’t make a bit of sense.
She told him so, and her heart sank at the look he gave her.
