Page 11 of Kilted Hate

Kai ignored his sisters and continued laughing at his own joke, returning to his food as he did so.

“Domhnall?” Thora pressed.

“Fine,” Domhnall hissed, roughly pushing his chair from the table. “I’ll dae it just so I dinnae have tae listen tae yer whining.”

Thora scowled at him, but he ignored her and headed toward the door.

Upon reaching the dungeons, the guard, John, once more, hurriedly stood at his arrival.

“Has she eaten anything yet?” Domhnall asked.

John shook his head, “Nay, me laird. She’s left the food and ale. She willnae go near it.”

Domhnall nodded. “Thank ye, John.”

He then turned toward the cell and nodded for it to be unlocked. Once John had done so, he stepped back and returned to his post.

Domhnall entered the cell, only to be greeted by a glaring stare from Lady de Beaumont.

“Have you come here to gloat?” she hissed. “To show me what a great and powerful laird you are?”

Domhnall shook his head. “Why are ye nae eating?”

“What concern is that of yours?” she said, standing proudly to face him.

“Ye are going tae be me wife, me lady. All this stubbornness is only making things worse.”

“My stubbornness,” she blurted. “And what of yours? I am only in this cell because of your petty pride. Perhaps you are not used to women standing up for themselves. Perhaps all your lasses,” she spat that word, “are accustomed to submissive obeisance.”

Domhnall struggled to hold his temper at her attitude. Clearly, a few hours in a cell had not tempered her arrogance. Nor did he appreciate her presumptions. He wondered, if Thora and Enya could witness this exchange, whether they would be just as concerned for Lady de Beaumont’s welfare.

“Nayone is asking fer submissive obeisance, but a little respect might be nice,” he growled sarcastically.

“Respect is earned,” she retorted.

“Aye, and that goes both ways,” he said taking a step toward her. “Come with me.”

He was about to take her arm, when she stepped back and pulled herself out of his reach. “I am perfectly capable of walking unaided. I don’t need you dragging me through the castle like some wench.”

Clenching his jaw and fists, and working hard to control his temper, Domhnall stood out of her way and thrust a hand at the opened gate of her cell without saying another word. He feared, if he spoke, that something less than savory might leave his lips.

Still, she hesitated, but a few seconds later, she brushed passed him and left the cell with Domhnall following closely behind. It was only when she got to the end of the corridor that she seemed to realize that she had no clue as to where she ought to go, and, slowing her pace, Lady de Beamont had no choice but to wait for Domhnall to take the lead.

He took no pleasure in it. In fact, he was wary of the woman being behind him. At least up front, he could see what she was up to. From what he had experienced of her so far, he was certainly going to have to keep his eye on her.

He led her up the stone steps and they moved through the corridors in silence. He too angry to speak, she clearly having nothing to say. Once inside the castle, they arrived at the bottom of the large stone staircase, and while Domhnall stomped up them, Lady de Beaumont struggled to keep up. So much so, that he was forced to wait for her when they reached the top.

Again, they travelled down several corridors until eventually, he came to a stop at her bedchamber. Turning the handle, he flung the door open and dismissively gestured for her to enter. While he did not show it, he was surprised to see Thora and Enya inside, preparing a bath.

Enya flashed him a smile, but he ignored it, and, after waiting for his future bride to enter, he slammed the door closed. Only then did he screw up his face and shake his fists. Thankfully, no one else happened to be in the corridor to see his raging frustration.

He glanced across the hall at the adjacent door. His own bedchamber. It had been suggested that his betrothed’s chamber be close to his own, both to make her feel welcome, but also for ease. Of course, that decision was made before Lady de Beaumont had arrived. Had Domhnall known what he was in for, he’d have cleared out the cellar and put her bed in there.

“I should never have agreed tae this marriage,” he hissed, now making his way to his study.

Ye did it fer yer clan. Remember that.

Aye, but at what cost tae me sanity?

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