Chapter 14
Breaking his fast and seeing Myrna had eased Padraig’s headache and queasiness, but the five rounds of sparring against Innes that he’d just survived made him feel as though his head were inside a bell tower. The man had been relentless, proving that Lowlanders shouldn’t be underestimated.
“Come now, lad. You can’t be tired yet. Are your battles up here that short you get winded after ten minutes?
You’d never survive along the border. The British would piss on you after severing your head from your shoulders.
” Innes taunted as Padraig wiped the sweat from near his eyes.
They’d been circling one another, preparing for their sixth round.
“Perhaps he’s tired from fucking your daughter all night.
” The wind caught the man’s words, and even the warrior who uttered them realized his error.
Innes swung around, dropped his sword and barreled into the crowd of onlookers before knocking the guilty man to the ground.
He straddled the man, his knees pinning the warrior's arms to the ground, rendering them useless. His fist rained down one punch after another, while his other hand gripped the Munro warrior’s throat.
A couple of Munros attempted to pull Innes off of their comrade but they backed away, doubled over from Innes landing his fist in their groin.
When the man’s face was no longer recognizable, Innes lifted his head and slammed it down on the ground.
“Who’s next?” Innes looked around the crowd. “I’m auld enough to be most your father. I’ve just gone five rounds with yon stripling,” he pointed toward Padraig, “and I’m barely out of breath. Anyone else have comments to make aboot my wee lass?”
Innes stood and placed his hands on his hips, challenging any of them to step forward.
When no one dared breathe in his direction, he bent and picked up his sword.
He walked back to Padraig, and it appeared as though his temper had already settled, so Padraig was unprepared for the fist that plowed into his face, breaking his nose.
Padraig stumbled backwards as Innes spat at his feet. “Where you lead, they follow.”
Innes walked away from the lists while the men stared, unsure whether they should attack him and defend their laird’s son’s honor, or remain where they were, already terrified of him.
Padraig pinched the end of his nose, tilting his head back to staunch the bleeding.
He’d been unprepared for his father-by-marriage to lash out, but he couldn’t deny he deserved it.
He supposed he was lucky to be alive. Innes had outwitted him repeatedly as they practiced, overlooking multiple opportunities to injure Padraig when he let his guard down or misjudged Innes’s strategy.
Padraig had grown impatient, embarrassed to be bested in front of his men.
But it was only after one of Padraig’s warriors, one he’d trained alongside since they entered the lists as adolescents, insulted Cairren that Innes lashed out.
Padraig knew he was fortunate to walk away with only a broken nose, and he hadn’t intervened on Denis’s behalf because the man deserved the beating.
But it was Innes’s parting comment that made him feel the worst. Padraig had set the example that Cairren was of little consequence to him.
He knew there’d been talk about them on the keep’s steps the night she arrived.
The guards had been gossiping about it for two days.
Then the kiss outside the kirk, the scene during the feast, and Padraig’s refusal to allow anyone outside of the lairds’ families to enter the bedchamber angered many within the clan.
His actions with Myrna that morning spoke louder than if Padraig stood on the battlements and screamed that Cairren was a whore.
As Padraig continued to pinch his nose and walked back to the keep, he knew he was lucky to be alive.
“Padraig?”
Padraig looked up as his eyes adjusted from the bright sunlight to the dimmer light within the keep.
Cairren stared aghast, and he knew he was a mess.
He had blood splattered across his face and chest, and he could tell his eye was bruising.
His nose hurt more than when a horse kicked him and broke it when he was five-and-ten.
“Padraig, what happened?” Cairren remained where she stood, but he could hear the concern in her voice. “Saints above! How’d you break your nose?”
Cairren rushed forward and yanked Padraig’s leine from his hand.
She swiped it across his chest and face as he raised his elbow to move his arm out of the way while his fingers still held his nose shut.
Cairren gently pried his hand loose before finding a clean strip of cloth.
She blotted his face and flinched when he hissed.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s not your fault, lass.”
“I’ll be more careful.” But Padraig lowered her hands when she reached for him again.
“It’s not you. I’m fine.”
“You’re not. You need to have your nose set and something cold put on your eye. Who’s your healer? Can someone send for her?”
“We haven’t one. She died last winter.”
“She’d trained no one to take over from her? Do you at least have a midwife?”
“Nay. She was young and hadn’t thought she would need a replacement. She was both the healer and the midwife.”
“Who can set your nose? Your mother? Myrna?”
Padraig snorted, then groaned. “Neither. They can’t stand the sight of blood or getting dirty from it.”
“And they wanted to be warriors’ wives?” Cairren shook her head in disbelief, but took Padraig’s hand and tugged him toward the Great Hall.
She guided them to the window that let in the only natural light in the gathering hall.
People had already begun milling about in anticipation of the nooning.
Heads turned to watch the couple as Cairren led Padraig to a bench. “Sit.”
Cairren turned Padraig’s face toward the light and tried not to grimace. Whoever broke his nose did so in a way that the bone cracked in at least two places. She was going to cause him terrible pain before it could feel better.
“Padraig, I’m sorry I’m going to have to hurt you. It’s unavoidable. Do you want some whisky first?” Cairren glanced around, hoping to signal someone willing to come close enough for her to make the request.
“Nay. Just be done with it.”
She positioned one hand to grasp the bridge of his nose while the other gripped his jaw. Her strong fingers pressed against his jaw and chin.
“Sit still. Are you re—” Cairren didn’t finish her sentence before her booted foot kicked Padraig’s shin. She used the distraction to realign his nose.
“Fucking shite, lass! Ye dinna need to kick so hard.” It was the second time Cairren heard Padraig’s brogue, and she rather liked it.
She chuckled as she stepped back. “There’s naught funny aboot kicking a wounded mon.
As if ma nose dinna already hurt. I thought ye would fix ma nose, nae break ma shin. ”
“Your nose is fixed.”
“What?” Padraig’s brow furrowed, but he gingerly felt around his nose and realized she was right. It still hurt like the dickens, but it was straighter than it had been before. The bump from the last time someone set it was straightened, and he realized that the pain was less than it had been.
“I’m sorry that you’re injured in a second place, but I needed to distract you. You would have pulled away the moment I put pressure on your nose, and I wouldn’t have been able to get it straight.”
“You evil witch!” Myrna squawked. “Get away from him. What are you doing to him?”
Cairren stepped back from Padraig, who blinked rapidly as he watched Myrna rush toward them.
He attempted to stand, but Cairren’s hand shot out and pressed his shoulder down, urging him to remain seated.
She muttered, “Dizzy.” And he was. She turned her attention to Myrna and tossed Padraig’s filthy leine at her.
“You’re just in time to clean up. You always manage to show up when I’m done with Padraig.” Cairren canted her head and smiled. She brushed past Myrna as the woman fumed, but then Myrna remembered Padraig, or at least that Padraig was watching.
“Oh, my love. What did she do to you?” Myrna cooed as she reached for his face. Padraig swatted her hand away and stood.
“She set my nose since no one else here can.”
“I would have!” Myrna exclaimed.
“Before or after you swooned from the blood? She’s cleaned most of it up.” Padraig looked for Cairren, but she’d disappeared. But his clan watched him. He was in no mood to deal with any woman or his clan gawking at him. “I’m going to bathe.”
“I thought we would spend the afternoon together.”
“Myrna, I just got my nose broken. It hurts like hell.”
“But I can kiss you and make it all better,” Myrna cooed.
“No, you cannot. I told you. I love you, but I’m not breaking my vow to Cairren.”
“So you’re picking her again,” Myrna spat.
“No. I’m picking the vow I made before God. Myrna, my head aches, and my nose is throbbing. Please, just let me go and bathe. I’m sure I’ll feel better after a dip in the loch.”
“I’ll come with you. I can scrub your back,” Myrna grinned.
“What? No! You’ve never seen—I’ve never shown you my—I mean you saw last night, but that’s different. You shouldn’t have even been in there last night as an unwed woman.” The truth of that statement dawned on Padraig for the first time.
“Well, I was. And now that it’s not a secret, why shouldn’t I see it again?”
“Because we’re not married,” Padraig hissed through his gritted teeth.
“But you did your duty. Now it’s a marriage in name only.”
“And you’re still a maiden. It would be wrong even if I weren’t wed.”
“I told you I could solve that problem,” Myrna raised an eyebrow and offered a knowing smile.
“Are you saying that just to get back at me?”
“No, I’m saying it so your stuffy honor will stay quiet, and we can move on with our lives.”
“Move on to what? I told you, I’m not making you my mistress.” Padraig rubbed his forehead and longed for a way to escape.
“What other choice is there if you still love me and want to be with me?” Myrna argued.
“There’s the choice that we accept life didn’t give us what we wanted. I will not dishonor you by making you my mistress.”
“I don’t think it has aught to do with honor. I think you care more aboot her than you do me. You tupped her once, and now she’s bewitched you.”
“Don’t say that,” Padraig hissed. He looked around to see who could overhear them. Many of his clan were very superstitious, and if they believed Cairren was a witch, or any sort of heretic, they wouldn’t think twice before tying her to a stake.
“You’re protecting her. Why? I demand to ken why you care what happens to her. Wouldn’t that be for the best?” Padraig didn’t have to guess what she meant. Myrna had already thought of the consequences if the clan turned against Cairren. Padraig leaned forward, so they were eye-to-eye.
“Are you saying you want her killed?”
“What?” Myrna’s blue eyes widened, and she adamantly shook her head. “I’d never say that.”
“Then is that what you’re hinting at because that’s how it sounds?
” Padraig straightened. He was out of patience, and he was struggling not to lose his temper at Myrna.
“I need to leave before one of us says something we regret. I will find you before the evening meal.” Out of habit, he kissed her forehead before stepping around her.
Just as had happened that morning, all eyes watched the intimacy he shared with Myrna when he should have had more sense.