Chapter 10
T wo days later Beth poked at the cold, overcooked joints of lamb and questionable blood pudding—their cook’s fifteenth century version of lunch—-and wanted to pull her hair out.
Bad food aside, every time she had Duncan alone and tried to restart her story, something or someone had interrupted them.
This morning it had been Miss I’m Too Sexy for My Clothes, Flora Campbell. The woman had rushed in whining about some dispute she was having with another woman over drying cloth or dying wool—Beth still wasn’t sure which. Duncan then had to hear the other woman’s version of events. As far as Beth could tell, given their rapid and odd phrasing, the altercation had started over rights to a favorite work area.
It took an hour for Duncan to sort out the truth. All the ladies’ hair snatching and swatting stemmed from jealousy. The older woman had apparently caught Flora flirting with her man. Duncan had sternly admonished them both and set them to working on alternate days. Neither looked too pleased as they left. Then Angus arrived and on it went.
Beth looked about. Most in the castle were eating. She decided now was as good a time as any to try seeing Duncan again. She stood and quickly turned.
Her nose collided with her husband’s chest.
He grabbed her shoulders to keep her from toppling. “Be ye all right, my lady? I didna mean to startle ye.”
She cradled her poor nose with her fingers and tried to blink the sting away. “What are you doing downstairs? You should be resting.”
He made one of his thick humphing sounds at the back of his throat in answer and scanned the room. Beth glared at Angus, now standing behind her husband’s shoulder. He just shrugged.
Seeing she’d get no help from that quarter, she said, “Duncan, you could relapse if you overtire.”
“Relapse?”
She wanted to cuff his ears. By now he understood her well enough. “Yes, husband, your fever and weakness could return.”
He cocked an eyebrow, “Cease fashing, woman. I am mended enough.” She opened her mouth to protest again, and he placed a firm finger to her lips. “I am sorely tired of rest and coddling. ‘Tis much I need attend to, so say no more or leave.”
He was dismissing her! Why the arrogant…
She spun on her heel, embarrassed to her hair roots. How dare he chastise her before an audience?
Before she could take a step, his hand clasped her arm. She instinctively pulled back. He hauled her into his side with little or no effort. Through clenched teeth, she hissed, “Let go.”
He leaned down and whispered directly into her ear, “My dear lady, I canna be seen being ordered about like yer lap dog. I command yon men with the mere lift of my hand, only because they respect my past valor and fear my reprisal should they not obey.” He squeezed her arm just a bit. “Ye ken?”
Fear and embarrassment made blood pound in her ears. Determined not to show it, she hissed, “Aye, my lord.”
Please, God, get me out of here!
He surveyed her face for a moment, then whispered. “Fash not, goodwife. Ye may always say what ye must to me in private.”
Ya, right. And what happens “in private” if what I have to say isn’t to your liking? She shuddered.
While vulnerable and dependent, her husband had been as docile and compliant as a trained bear. On the mend now and feeling more himself, was he finally showing his true colors?
She looked at the hand that held her captive, then into the depths of his steel blue eyes. Masking her anger behind a patently false smile, she asked, “Is there anything else, my lord?”
He huffed. Why he sounded exasperated she couldn’t imagine. She was the injured party here.
He released his grip on her arm. “Nay, my lady, not at this time.”
Head high, she stalked away.
Duncan frowned watching Beth’s straight-backed progress through the hall. She was still obviously furious with him and he hadn’t a thought as to why. He had apologized, no?
“Ack, ye’re a brave man, Duncan,” Angus muttered, as he pulled out Duncan’s chair. “The last time I nay-said the wench, I found my balls in my throat.”
Duncan grimaced as he settled at the table. “Not so brave, friend. Having heard what happened to ye, I made damn sure I kept my hip to her.” He shook his head. “She is a confusion, Angus. As gentle as the mist at gloaming one moment, a flame-eyed termagant the next. And her tales…augh, you’ve not heard the like. I swear I could live one hundred years and understand her not.”
“Understand her or not, ye must consummate this marriage soon.”
“So ye heard?”
“Who hasn’t?”
“Tonight ‘twill be done.” When Angus’s ale suddenly spewed across the table, Duncan cast a scathing glance at him. “Think me not man enough?”
Angus stopped wiping the ale from his beard and held up his hands. “’Twas not my meaning.” He finished cleaning his face. “Ye merely surprised me by choosing this night. Yer wee wife left me with the distinct impression she’d sooner geld ye as look at ye. ‘Tis all.”
Humph! His friend did have a point. What to do? He couldn’t take time to woo his lady into a favorable frame of mind, having been locked away from his duties for nigh onto a week. He’d have to ponder the problem further. He did, after all, have six hours before dark.
As he finished his meat, the solution to his dilemma dawned. It lay just above his head in the library. Beth had been most impressed with What the Goodwife Taught Her Daughter . She could only be doubly pleased and placed in a perfect set of mind with his next surprise.