Page 17 of Kilted Hate

Domhnall frowned deeply. “What dae ye mean? In what way?”

“She doesnae usually skip breakfast at all. In fact, she left this table starving. She just couldnae stomach what was offered her. Nae thanks tae this idiot.” Magnus jerked his head toward Kai.

“She wanted tae ken,” Kai defended again. “What was I supposed tae say?”

Magnus scowled at him. “What dae ye tell all yer lasses when they ask ye if they’re the only one in yer heart?”

Kai floundered then, and shrugging, he said, “I tell them what they want tae hear.”

“Exactly,” Domhnall said. “Ye nearly put me offmebreakfast with the stuff ye came out with ‘afore, fer God’s sake.”

“All right,” Kai finally relented, raising his hands. “I’m sorry. I’ll try and watch me tongue in future.”

“Aye. That’ll be the day,” Magnus growled.

Kai beamed a grin. “And speaking o’ tongues,” he continued seamlessly while pushing himself up from the table, “I have a young lass tae meet.”

Both Domhnall and Magnus shook their heads, but gave their brother a smirk.

“If ye dinnae give that thing a rest,” Domhnall nodded to Kai’s groin, “it’ll fall off one o’ these days.”

“Then I’d better enjoy it while I can,” Kai quipped back just before he left the room.

Domhnall looked back at Magnus. “We have our own appointment tae keep.”

“Aye, we dae. The men will probably already be waiting on us.”

Half an hour later, and kitted up in protective armor, Magnus and Domhnall were with some of their best soldiers, enjoying a vigorous sparring session. It was getting colder by the day, and none of them were immune to it, but after so many seasons, all the men were accustomed to the bitter winters of their homeland. Besides, they battled so vigorously against each other, it kept them warm against the prevailing west wind that blew off the sea beside the castle.

Domhnall had just disarmed yet another of his men, when, after taking his helmet off to catch his breath, a movement at the corner of his eye made him turn. He was surprised to see Ladyde Beaumont standing there. He was even more surprised to see her gazing at him, her lips slightly parted, and looking both mesmerized and surprised.

“This isnae the weather tae be wandering about in, me lady,” Domhnall said. “Ye should go back inside.”

He was trying to be considerate. They hadn’t exactly started off on the right foot, and after that small glimpse of civility at the breakfast table earlier that morning, he had determined he ought to try and make her feel a little more welcome.

But then, her top lip curled, and she snarled at him. “I’m not some precious thing that needs protecting. Nor do I appreciate being told what to do.”

God, I cannae win with this lass.

Not about to be humiliated again by her in front of his men, he put his consideration to one side, and once more, reverted back to mockery.

“The sparring field is nay place fer refined English ladies,” he growled mockingly.

But his words had the opposite effect, for instead of deterring her and driving her away, she stepped further forward until she was only a few feet away.

“I will duel with you any day,” she retorted.

Her remark elicited mocking chuckles from the men surrounding her, and Domhnall himself could only smirk down at her in disbelief.

“Woman, ye wouldnae last a minute. Please. Go back inside ‘afore ye catch yer death.”

“Again with the telling me what to do,” she bit back. “You may lord it over these men, but you do not own me. Not yet. Besides, I’m not the useless English woman you clearly assume I am.”

Taken aback by her boldness, Domhnall now realized that Lady de Beaumont was actually serious.

“This isnae a game, lass,” he replied. “These are real swords that can cause real harm.”

“Do you think I am some sort of fool?” she retorted.

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