Chapter 10 #2
Rhys sat opposite Daisy. His hands wrapped loosely around his goblet as she nattered on about her latest attempt to train the stable’s most stubborn pony. He knew of course the master was training the pony, but indulging his daughter seemed to be the only thing he could think to do.
Her little voice was so animated, and her cheeks flushed from excitement and the warmth of the hearth.
He smiled and listened intently. These private dinners with Daisy had always been prioritized anytime he had returned from patrol or negotiations or any damned excuse to be away from her. It was sacred, in its own quiet way.
Tonight, though, his thoughts tugged elsewhere.
He hadn’t introduced her to Daisy, and she had been standing right there. But it was because he didn’t wish to bring her into his and Daisy’s world. She might be a special guest of his, but she was still a Murdoch.
He took a slow drink of his ale and looked down at his plate, only half-eaten. “Ye will have to show me what ye taught the pony tomorrow, aye?”
Daisy beamed. “Aye! He’ll come when I whistle now… well, most times, anyway.”
He chuckled softly, the sound genuine, and was just reaching for a fresh slice of oatcake when a dull roar erupted from the hall beyond the wall.
Laughter, then slamming cups. The unmistakable sound of something being knocked over. Voices that were louder than they should be. Rowdy. Unruly.
Rhys went still.
His fingers curled around the table’s edge, and he stood before his daughter could speak again.
“Stay here,” he ordered, voice low but firm.
He crossed the short corridor and pushed through the doors leading into the main dining hall.
The noise didn’t stop when he entered, but it did waver. The scent of stew and roasted meat still lingered in the air as did the tension.
Amara was nowhere to be seen.
His gaze swept the room once, then again. Neither were William or Myles, apparently.
Only one place setting lay undisturbed near the head table, except it wasn’t undisturbed. The trencher had been left there and untouched, the napkin was wadded up to the side, the chair pushed back as though someone had risen quickly.
Rhys’s blood turned to fire.
His jaw clenched and he stepped forward, slowly and measured. The hall seemed to shrink beneath the weight of his rage as his boots struck the stone louder than any of the dying chatter.
He stood before the empty seat. Reached for the back of the chair she’d surely sat in. Lifted it with ease and smashed it on the stone.
The wood splintering violently, and the sound silenced the last of the murmurs.
“Whose idea here,” he said quietly, too quietly, “was it to let a guest of mine feel so unwelcomed that they left the table before eatin’?”
No one answered.
“Who decided, as the new apparent Laird O’Donnell, to treat a Highland Lady as if she were naught but a cheap minstrel?”
He turned slowly, scanning the tables. “Ye,” he pointed to the serving lad. “What happened here? Is it as I think?”
The boy gulped audibly before stepping forward, head bowed. “It wasnae any of that, me laird. Just a wee bit of fun.”
Rhys’s ears perked up when he heard the sounds of his men groaning as the lad overshared.
“Every one of ye should be ashamed. Ye sit here stuffin’ yer bellies like beasts while a woman under me own roof and protection was made to feel unwelcome.”
A few of his men lowered their gazes. Others clenched their jaws, chastened.
From the corner of his eye, he saw movement behind one of the great hall’s decorative banners.
Nina’s head appeared, half-hidden in the shadow of the curtain.
He turned on his heel and strode toward her.
“What’s this?” he asked, pointing to the tray in her arms.
The maid startled, but didn’t drop the tray. “It’s the lady’s supper,” she said softly. “Since she dinnae eat doon here. She asked for me to bring some up.”
“Give it here.”
She hesitated. “M’laird?”
“Now, Nina.”
She angled the tray toward him, and he sniffed the stew, then dipped the spoon into it. Steam rose and he tasted it, holding the bite in his mouth long enough to test the salt, herbs, and the meat.
His jaw worked slowly.
“It’s fine,” he said at last. “Tell Cook it’s passable. But if I fall ill come morning, he will be answerin’ to me.”
Nina nodded once, carefully taking the tray back.
“Daenae let it cool,” he added. “She’s had enough insult for one night. And ye will join her in the trip from her chambers to the dining hall from now on. Each meal she wishes to join us for.”
Rhys turned without waiting for her reply, teeth still gritted.
The clansmen still sat in silence. Eyes scanning the crowd for two faces that were still glaringly absent.
William and Myles.
He stormed through the keep out past the back corridor, and into the narrow wing where guards sometimes tucked away for dice, drink, and worse. He found them, as he suspected, tucked behind the buttery with two lassies in their laps and their breeches half-laced.
Rhys didn’t hesitate.
“Get off yer arses.”
William stood quickly, Myles was slower.
“Rhys?”
“Ye were supposed to be in the dining hall. Instead I find Lady Amara abandoned and insulted to the point of retreat without having touched her food, and both of ye with — with…”
The women slipped away like ghosts.
“Christ Almighty,” Rhys cursed and combed his fingers through his hair in frustration.
Then he advanced on them both. “From now on, with the exception of walkin’ her to meals, one of ye is to be her shadow. At all other times. Switch off, I daenae care. But if she’s ever left alone in this keep again, I’ll leave ye both to guard sheep for the rest of yer days.”
Myles paled. William gave a tight nod.
“Go,” Rhys growled.
They both hurried off into the darkness without another word, not even from Myles which was surprising. Only then did he remember that he had left Daisy in the private dining hall alone.
His chest squeezed as he turned, guilt settling in fast. He all but ran back to the hall, the fire still crackling low inside, but the chairs were empty, and the food had been cleared. Daisy’s nurses had taken her to bed.
Cursing under his breath, he raked his hand through his hair again as his anger turned inward.