Deciding it would be rude—and obvious—were she to slide toward Mairin, she decided instead to ignore him. She couldn’t forget that it was acceptable for him to be so familiar now. They were wed.

She sucked in her breath as realization hit her that he would of course exert his marital rights. Indeed, there was the whole wedding night, virginal deflowering. All the things women tittered about behind their hands when the men weren’t around.

The problem was that Rionna was always with the men and she’d never tittered in her life. Keeley had been separated from her at a young age, long before Rionna had grown curious over such matters.

With a lecher for a father and Rionna’s constant fear for Keeley, the mere thought of coupling nauseated her. Now she had a husband who’d expect … Well, he’d expect certain things, and God help her, she had no idea what.

Humiliation tightened her cheeks. She could ask Mairin. Or one of the McCabe women. They were all generous to a fault and they’d all been kind to Rionna. But the idea of having to admit to them all just how ignorant she was of such matters made her want to hide under the table.

She could wield a sword better than most men. She could fight. And she was fast. She could be ruthless when provoked. She didn’t suffer a gentle constitution nor did she faint at the sight of blood.

But she didn’t know the way of kissing.

“Are you going to eat?” Caelen asked.

She looked up to see that the places had been set and the food was on the table. Caelen had thoughtfully cut a choice piece of meat and placed it on her plate.

“Aye,” she whispered.

’Twas the truth, she was fair to starving.

“Would you like water or ale?”

’Twas also true she never partook of spirits, but somehow today ale seemed to be the wise choice.

“Ale,” she said, and waited as Caelen poured a goblet-full. She reached for it but to her surprise, he put it to his mouth and first sniffed and then drank a small portion of the ale.

“ ’Tis not poisoned,” he said as he slid it toward her place.

She gaped at him, not comprehending what he’d just done.

“But what if it had been poisoned?”

He touched her cheek. Just once. It was the only affectionate gesture he’d offered her and it might not even be construed as affectionate, but it was soft and a little comforting.

“Then you wouldn’t have partaken of the poison, nor would you have died. We already nearly lost one McCabe to such cowardice. I’ll not risk another.”

Her mouth fell open. “That’s ridiculous! Think you that you dying somehow makes it all better?”