Page 10 of Plaid Attitude
And Doughall thought she’d make some lucky bastard a very fine wife indeed, one day. If the man was smart enough to realize how special she was.
But he could tell from the set of her shoulders that Bessetta was still waiting on an answer as she chopped vegetables for his evening meal. So, he sighed.
“Honestly, Bess? I think she would make a good wife. No’ the kind the women in the village expect their daughters to be, and likely a different kind of wife thanye’dbe”—eventually. One day. Far from now—“but still a good one.”
When she turned to him, a hopeful light in her eyes, Doughall floundered for words. He thought this was awkward as hell, discussingwifely dutieswith his own child, but she was obviously looking for some sort of reassurance.
“Just be yerself, sweetheart, and learn the things ye want to learn. Whoever ye become, ye’ll be a fine woman, and a good wife, if that’s what ye want.”
“Like Lady Coira?”
He didn’t bother hiding his snort as he drained the last of his morning ale. “Coira willnae marry.” He’d heard her say it time and again, heard her anger at the world which told her a woman had to be subservient to her husband. “Trust me.”
But when he reached for his sword belt, he realized she was studying him with a faint smile. “What?” he barked.
She merely shrugged. “Naught. Are ye heading to the lists to spar? Can I walk with ye as far as the castle? I need some cinnamon from Lady Fen.”
At his curt nod, her smile bloomed and she reached for her wrap and her sketching supplies.
Of course, naught was ever simple when a teenaged girl decided to tag along. First, she had to rebraid her hair. Then she did something strange which looked like pinching her cheeks. Then she had to say goodbye to every cat—there were seven, which answered the earlier question—and pat her new pet coo, who was apparently still feeling under the weather.
If the damn thing sneezed on him again, he was going to make his daughter wash the snot out of his plaid.
But finally, they were off, and she didn’t begrudge his long strides as he tried to make up for lost time.
Before they reached the castle, however, she pulled to a stop with a sort of breathless, “Oh.”
Scowling at lost time, Doughall wheeled about…and then scowled for an entirely different reason.
The young man bowing over Bessetta’s hand had been hanging about the village since last fall. He and a friend had traveled through early last summer, selling pots and belt buckles and black pepper, enough to make Doughall assume they were tinkers. But they’d returned right before the snows began and had offered to help the candlemaker in exchange for a place to stay.
Doughall didn’t know everything about them, but he knew enough.
“Ye’re still here, Edgar?” he growled, resisting the urge to snatch Bess’s hand away from the younger man. The bastard had to be almost ten years older than her, and ‘twas obvious she was flattered by his attentions. “Why no’ join us to train, eh?”
Edgar’s touch lingered, and Bess was blushing by the time he finally dropped her hand and stepped back. “Thank ye for the invitation, Commander, but mayhap tomorrow? My cousin and I have some important work to do today for Auld Elsa.”
He’d been putting Doughall off all winter.
Damnation, he wanted to know if the lad could fight! And if the two lazy bastards were going to be staying among the Oliphants, they owed the clan their service, not just mooching off the elderly candlemaker.
But Doughall was late as it was, and Bess started giggling nervously. “’Tisso kindof ye to help Auld Elsa so much, Edgar.”
Why did her voice sound so squeaky? So giggly? Was she trying to impress the young man?
“No’ nearly as kind asye, Bessie,” the bastard smarmed, reaching for her hand again. “I’ve really enjoyed sharing my chamber with Gervase. Thank ye again for thinking of me with that wonderful gift.”
Bessetta was giggling so hard it covered up Doughall’s snort.
Bessie?
He’s enjoying sharing a chamber with Gervase?
Bullshite.
Gervase was acrab, and Edgar was trying a bit too hard to flatter a thirteen-year-old girl.
What a villain.
