The Heiress Bride - Catherine Coulter [56]
She pulled her horse to a halt and just sat there for a moment, trying to calm her body from its assault. She looked over to see Colin standing beside her, his hands outstretched to lift her down. Normally she would have simply laughed and jumped from her horse. Not today. She allowed the courtesy. He eased her down the length of his body as he lowered her. And when she was finally on her feet, he said, “I’ve missed you,” and he leaned down to kiss her.
He felt her stiffen and released her. They were, after all, in the public yard of a very public inn. The innkeeper’s wife, Girtha by name, who welcomed Colin as if he were her long-lost nephew, exclaimed how thin he was and how pretty Sinjun was, how sleek their horses looked even though they were obviously rented hacks, commented on how the blue of Sinjun’s riding habit matched her eyes, all without taking a breath.
The taproom in the inn was dark and cool and smelled of ale and beer, very pleasant really. There were only a half dozen locals drinking there, and they were quietly talking, paying the earl and countess no heed.
Colin ordered broonies for himself and for Sinjun. When they came, he watched as she bit into the oatmeal gingerbread. They were wonderful, and she nodded her enthusiasm to the hovering innkeeper’s wife.
“Now,” he said, “let’s have some haggis.”
“I know what’s in it. I asked Agnes. It doesn’t sound very appetizing, Colin.”
“You will accustom yourself. Everyone around you will eat it and enjoy it. Our children will be weaned on it. Thus, I suggest you try it now.”
Their children! She stared at him, her mouth open. Children! Good God, they’d been married less than a week.
He grinned at her, understanding her reaction. “I worked you too hard, very true, but I did spill my seed in you three times, Joan. It’s possible you are already carrying my child.”
“No,” she said very firmly. “No, I am too young. Besides, I’m not at all certain I want to do it yet. When poor Alex was pregnant she vomited all the time, at least at first. She would suddenly turn white and simply be sick. Hollis, our butler, had a sick pan placed discreetly in every room at Northcliffe Hall.” She looked pained at the memories and shook her head again. “No, I won’t do it, Colin. No, not yet.”
“I fear you have no choice in the matter. It is many times the result of lovemaking and—”
That got her attention. She dropped her fork and stared at him. “Lovemaking. What an odd way to refer to what you did to me. Surely there is something else more appropriate to call it. Like your infamous tupping.”
“There are many words that are used to refer to the sex act,” he said in a pedantic voice, ignoring her sarcasm. “However, in my experience, ladies prefer poetry and euphemisms, so lovemaking is the more accepted form of reference. Now, you will lower your voice, madam. If you haven’t noticed, there are people around us and they may be savages in your aristocratic English eyes, but they are my people and not at all deaf.”
“I didn’t ever say that. You’re being—”
“I’m being realistic. You could be pregnant and you’d best face up to it.”
Sinjun swallowed. “No,” she said. “I won’t allow it.”
“Here, have some haggis.”
It was a bagged mess of livers and heart and beef suet and oatmeal all served up with potatoes and rutabagas. Sinjun took one look at the bloated sheep stomach it was served in and wanted to run.
“You didn’t order it from the innkeeper’s wife,” she said slowly, just staring at that foreign-looking stretched hot bag filled with things she’d just as soon never see in her life. “There hasn’t been time.”
“I didn’t have to. It’s the main dish served here and has been since the inn opened five years ago. Eat.” So saying, he cut into the skin and