Page 11 of Plaid Attitude
“Bessetta,” he growled, and when she glanced at him, he jerked his head toward the castle.
“Oh,” she breathed, then turned back to Edgar, who was still holding her hand, and gazing at her raptly, as if she was the most interesting woman in creation.
Suddenly, Doughall had a sickening thought that mayhapthiswas the reason she’d been thinking of marriage recently.
Over my dead body.
Edgar was too old, too slimy, too lazy for someone as special as Bess, and Doughall needed to make certain that was known.
So, he reached between the pair of them and took his daughter’s hand in his own, pulling her fingers away from Edgar’s as he glared at the younger man. “’Tis enough of that fawning, aye?” he growled, pulling Bess to his side. “Ye claim to be too busy to support the clan that’s taken ye in for the winter? Then get on with yer work. But I warn ye, the laird willnae allow ye to stay much longer if ye dinnae start contributing in truth.”
Edgar, the cocky bastard, merely gave a mocking bow in acknowledgement, then blew Bess a kiss before turning and sauntering away.
“Fook,” muttered Doughall under his breath, pulling his daughter up the hill toward the castle.
“Da, he’s a nice lad,” she protested. “He and his friend Arnoldarehelping the clan.”
“Nay, they’re suckering a nice auld lady into thinking she requires far more help than she really needs,” he stated firmly, striding toward the bailey. “Bessetta, trust me, I’ve seen a thing or three in my life. Those men are the type who excel in looking like they’re far busier, far more important, than they really are. They excel atseeming.”
“That’s no’ true,” she cried, yanking her hand from his. When he stopped and turned, she was glaring at him, her hands on her hips. “Edgar is smart and handsome and has a fine trade.”
“What’s his trade?” Doughall shot back instinctively, trying to get her to admit the bastard was a louse. “What does hedoto support his clan?” Or, God forbid, his wife?
There were tears in her eyes, and he hated he’d caused them, but he didn’t apologize.
“Ye dinnae understand!” She actually stomped her foot, and they were beginning to attract attention. “Ye never understand!”
“By St. Berthwald’s beard, I’mtrying,” he roared. “And until I do, ye’ll stay away from that bastard, do ye hear?”
“I hate ye!”
“Nay, ye dinnae!”
Heedless of the stares from the Oliphants around them, Doughall crossed his arms and glared at his daughter. The threatened tears finally spilled out of her eyes and down her cheeks. She took a great, shuddering breath.
Finally she said, “Ye’re right, I dinnae hate ye. May I be excused now?”
It was as close to an apology as he was going to get, he supposed. He sighed and lowered his hands. “I love ye, Bess. I want the best for ye, I hope ye ken.”
She didn’t run into his arms like she once would have. But she managed a nod, the only acknowledgement of his words, her gaze still locked on the ground.
It felt wrong to part on terms like this, but he reallydidneed to go to the men, and frankly, he was looking forward to expending some of this useless frustration by beating the shite out of someone.
So, he rolled his shoulders and nodded. “Have a good day, lassie. I’ll see ye at dinner.”
All she said was, “I’ll see ye at dinner,” before hurrying through the portcullis toward the castle.
“Fook,” he muttered again, dragging his hand through his hair.
Teenaged daughters werehard.
With another sigh, he turned toward the lists.
Once there, he paused, running a practiced eye over the sparring warriors. The mud hampered them, but ‘twas obvious most were pleased to be out in the fresh air. Winter confinement was irksome for everyone, and soon they’d be busy tending their crops or seeing to their occupations…but for now, they trained.
He rolled his shoulders again, settled his hand on the hilt of his sword, and started toward the warriors. A few rounds with Brodie or Kev would work up a sweat and help him forget this morning’s frustration.
He hoped.
