He was too stunned by what she'd just said to take exception to her command. Johanna had just called the keep her house. It was a first, for until this moment, she'd always referred to everything as his. Gabriel hadn't realized how much her separation, deliberate or not, had bothered him.

"Is this your home?"

"Yes," she answered. "Isn't it?"

"Yes," he agreed. "Johanna, I want you to be happy here."

He sounded puzzled by his own admission. She couldn't help but become a little disgruntled over that notice.

"You sound surprised," she said. Lord, he had beautiful eyes. She thought she could be content to look at her husband all day long and not grow bored. He really was a handsome devil.

"I am surprised," he admitted.

He suddenly wanted to kiss her. Her mouth was so damned appealing to him. So were her eyes. They were the clearest color of blue he'd ever seen. Hell, he even liked the way she frowned at him. He had to shake his head over that foolish realization. Wives should never let their husbands see their displeasure… should they?

"Some husbands want their wives to be happy," Johanna decided aloud. "My father certainly wanted Mama to be happy."

"And what did your mother want?"

"To love my father," she answered.

"And what do you want?"

She shook her head. She wasn't about to tell him she wanted to love him. Such a declaration would make her vulnerable… wouldn't it?

"I know what you want," she blurted out in an attempt to take the attention away from her feelings. "You want me to sit by the fire and sew at night and rest my days away. That's what you want."

She'd become almost rigid in his arms. She wasn't stroking his neck now either. She was pulling his hair. He reached up, took hold of her hand, and put it in her lap.

"Oh, I forgot one last thing," she blurted out. "You'd like me to stay where you put me, isn't that right?"

"Don't jest with me, wife. I'm not in the mood."

She wasn't jesting with him, but she didn't think it would be a good idea to tell him so. She didn't want to goad his temper. She wanted him to stay in a good mood so he would let her have her way.

"There's more than one way to skin a fish," she announced.

He didn't know what the hell she was talking about. He didn't think she did either. For that reason he didn't ask her to explain.

"I believed, given time, that we would get used to each other," he told her.

"You make us sound like the Maclaurins and the MacBains," she countered. "Are you getting used to me?"

"It's taking longer than I expected," he told her.

He was deliberately getting her riled. Johanna was trying not to let him see how upset she was becoming. The proof was in her eyes, however. They were now the color of blue fire. Aye, she was irritated all right.

"I haven't had much experience with marriage," he reminded her.

"I have," she blurted out.

He shook his head. "You weren't married. You were in bondage. There's a difference."

She couldn't fault his reasoning. She had been in bondage. However, she didn't want to dwell on her past. "And just what does my first marriage have to do with the topic under discussion?"

"What exactly is the topic?"

"Alex," she stammered out. "I was explaining to you that there is always more than one way to skin a fish. Don't you understand?"

"How in God's name would I understand? No one skins fish here."

She thought he was being deliberately obtuse. He certainly didn't appreciate clever sayings. "I meant that there is always more than one way to attain a goal," she explained. "I won't have to use force to get the Maclaurins to behave. I'll use other methods."

She could tell he was finally considering the matter. She pressed her advantage. "You told me I should trust you. 'Tis the truth you ordered me to," she reminded him. "Now I will give you the same command. Trust me to take care of Alex. Please bring him home."

He couldn't deny her. "Very well," he agreed with a sigh. "I'll get him tomorrow, but he'll only come here for a short visitation. If all goes well, then he'll stay. Otherwise…"

"It will go well."

"I won't have him put in jeopardy."

"No, of course not."

She tried to get off his lap. He stopped her by grabbing hold of her.

"Johanna?"

"Yes?"

"Do you trust me?"

She stared into his eyes for a long minute. He believed she was thinking the question over before she gave her answer. The possibility chafed. They'd been married for over three months now, and that was surely time enough for her to learn to trust him.

"Your hesitation irritates me," he snapped.

She didn't seem particularly bothered by that fact. She touched the side of his face with her hand. "I can tell it does," she whispered. "Yes, Gabriel, I trust you."

She leaned forward and kissed him. The wonder in her voice, added to the show of affection, made him smile.

"Do you trust me?"

He almost laughed until he realized she was being serious. "A warrior doesn't trust anyone, Johanna, but his laird, of course."

"Husbands should trust wives, shouldn't they?"

He didn't know. "I don't believe it's necessary." He rubbed his jaw, then added, "Nay, it would be foolish."

"Gabriel?"

"Yes?"

"You make me want to tear my hair out."

"Begging your pardon, mistress," Hilda called out from the doorway. "May I have a moment of your time?"

Johanna jumped off her husband's lap. She was blushing by the time she turned to the cook and bid her enter the hall.

"Who's sitting with Clare?" she asked.

"Father MacKechnie's with her now," Hilda answered. "She wanted to speak to him."

Johanna nodded. Gabriel stood up. "Why didn't you tell me she was awake?"

He didn't give her time to answer but started for the steps. Johanna hurried after him. "I promised her she could stay here," she blurted out.

Her husband didn't answer her. She pushed Dumfries out of her way and chased her husband up the steps.

"What are you thinking to do?" she demanded.

"I'm just going to talk to her, Johanna. You needn't worry."

"She isn't up to a long conversation, husband, and Father MacKechnie might be hearing her confession now. You shouldn't interrupt."

The priest was just opening the door to come out when Gabriel reached the chamber. He nodded to Father MacKechnie as he passed him. Johanna was right behind her husband.

"You will wait here while I talk to her," Gabriel commanded.

"But she might be afraid of you, husband."

"Then she'll have to be afraid."

He shut the door in his wife's face. Johanna didn't have time to be outraged over his rudeness. She was too worried about Clare MacKay.

She put her ear to the door and tried to listen. Father MacKechnie shook his head and pulled her away.

"Let your husband have his privacy," he suggested.

"You should know by now our laird would never hurt a woman."

"Oh, I do know that," Johanna rushed out. "Still, Clare MacKay wouldn't know, would she?"

The priest didn't have an answer for her. She turned the topic then. "Did you hear Clare's confession?"

"I did."

Johanna's shoulders slumped. Father MacKechnie thought that was an odd reaction. "Confession's a sacrament," he reminded his mistress. "She wanted absolution."

"At what price?" Johanna asked in a whisper.

"I'm not understanding your question, lass."

"The penance," she blurted out. "It was severe, wasn't it?"

"You know I cannot discuss the penance," he said.

"Bishop Hallwick liked to boast about his penances," Johanna blurted out.

The priest demanded several examples. The one that most repelled her she saved for last. "One leg for one egg," she said. "The bishop laughed after he suggested that punishment to my first husband to inflict upon a serving girl."

Father MacKechnie plied her with questions, and when she'd given him her answers, he shook his head.

"I'm ashamed to hear this," he admitted, "for I would like to believe all priests are good men doing God's important work here. Bishop Hallwick will have his day of reckoning when he stands before his Maker and tries to explain away his deliberate cruelty."

"But, Father, the church stands behind the bishop. He takes his penances from the good book. Why, even the length of the stick is given."

"What are you talking about? What stick?" the priest asked, thoroughly confused.

She didn't understand why he didn't know what she was talking about. "The church dictates how a husband and wife should behave," she told him. "A submissive wife is a good and holy wife. The church approves beating women and, in fact, recommends such punishment because women will try to rule their husbands if they're not kept submissive."

She paused to take a breath. Discussing the topic was upsetting to her, but she didn't want the priest to see her distress. He might ask her why she was distraught, and then she'd have to confess a dark and surely mortal sin.

"The church frowns on murder, of course. A husband shouldn't beat his wife to death. A stick is preferred over a fist. It should be wooden, not metal, and no more than this long."

She held her hands out to show him the measurement.

"Where did you hear these rules?"

"Bishop Hallwick."

"Not everyone in the church believes…"

"But they're supposed to believe," she interrupted, her agitation apparent now. She was wringing her hands together and trying not to let the priest see how close she was to losing her composure.