Page 29 of Bride of the Beastly Laird

Every morning, he insisted on joining her to break their fast and each morning her disgust for him grew.

She spooned in a few mouthfuls of porridge and honey and took a single bite out of a buttery bannock.

“Ye’re fading away, melady.” Bairre offered one of his wolfish smiles, giving her a measuring look. “Ye need tae eat more. I liked ye better when ye had some meat on yer bones. A skinny lass is nay tae me liking at all. I like a good handful of breasts and a well-rounded derrière and ye’re in danger of losing yers.” He focused his attention on his coddled eggs and oat bread whileshe made a show of ignoring him, her stomach churning at the idea of his cold hands seizing her.

He glanced up, vexation written on his down-turned mouth and in the coldness of his small, dark eyes.

“Me patience is wearing thin, Lady Dahlia. I believe the king’s expectation was that we should become close during these weeks. But I’ve come tae believe ye’ve nae intention of making yerself pleasant tae me.”

She sighed loudly and turned to face him. “I dinnae care tae get close tae ye Bairre. Could ye ever imagine that I would be pleasant tae a man who had a hand in me braither’s death?”

He gave her a thin smile. “Wewillwed melady, and I wish fer a pleasant, faced wife.”

Rising to her feet she gave him a contemptuous look. “If it’s a pleasant face ye wish fer, then ye should find another lass tae marry. ‘Tis too bad that ye returned from the place ye were holed up in when ye ran away from the MacLeods. The clan was happier when Arran took yer place as laird.”

She turned her back and was stalking out of the solar when she heard the bowls and cups crashing to the floor and the small table on which they’d been served being upended.

“Why, ye hedge-born wench, I’ll teach ye tae ken yer place,” he shouted. “I’ve a mind tae take ye across me knee and whack some good manners intae ye.”

It was too much. All the reserve she’d been holding on to for the past weeks, came loose in a rush of fury. “A curse on ye Bairre Mackinnon. What I’ve a mind tae, is tae run ye through with a sword and let the devil take ye, while I ride like the wind back tae me home.”

“Ah,” he said, grabbing her arm and pushing his face close enough to hers so that she could smell his foul breath and see the pock-marks on his cheeks.

“I see ye fer the harridan that ye truly are. From now on I’ll make sure there’s always someone close by tae keep watch on ye.”

Hauling in a deep breath she wrenched her arm out of his grip and marched out of the solar and back to her bedchamber, cursing herself for being a damned fool. Showing her temper as she’d done, he would now drop all pretense of courtliness and allow his cruel nature full rein. What little freedom she’d had would now be lost to her.

Once she’d regained the privacy of her bedchamber, she found her leather satchel and, with still shaking hands, took out several pieces of parchment. Then she searched through the drawers in her cabinet for ink and a quill and set about writing a note addressed to her brother.

I am in danger. Hurry tae set me free. I am fearful of Bairre Mackinnon. He is a truly wicked man.

After folding her letter in half, she wroteTae the Laird Haldor, Castle MacLeod,on the outside, then sheheated sealing wax at the fireplace and dripped it onto the folded parchment, sealing it, making sure that her desperate note could not be read without the seals being broken.

Once that was done, she waited until Beattie came to help do her hair and tidy her room and handed the note to her.

“This is a secret Beattie. The laird mustnae ken I’ve written tae me braither. I need ye tae find a messenger who carries letters to and fro across the country who will carry this tae Castle MacLeod.”

She handed Beattie a gold coin to ensure her silence in the matter and another coin for the messenger.

After Beattie had departed bearing the precious parchment, Dahlia lay on her bed sending up a silent prayer that her missive would find its way to Haldor.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Craig rubbed his arm. “That was a heavy blow with yer cudgel, me friend. I’ll have a fine bruise tomorrow.”

As they did most mornings, Arran and Craig had been sparring in the training yard behind the stables. Despite the protection of Craig’s round leather shield, Arran had delivered a fierce blow to his arm.

Arran nodded. “Aye. I’m sorry fer taking out me vexations on ye, Craig.”

“What ails ye?”

Arran shook his head. “’Tis thoughts that torment me. I’m nae ill, but I forget mesel’ at times, wanting tae tear a hole in the castle wall. I regret ye were on the receiving end of me doleful meanderings this morning.”

“More’s the pity it was nay a true enemy ye aimed yer blow at. D’ye care tae share yer troublesome thinking?””

Arran shook his head. He was not prepared to share his forbidden thoughts of Dahlia with Craig or anyone else. He was yearning to catch a glimpse of her but for the past two weeks he’d been keeping well away from her solar or the battlements where he knew she sometimes walked.

He dare not risk the safety of the two women who held his heart: his mother Emilia, and the Lady Dahlia MacLeod.

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