Page 44 of The Wrong Bride
At the castle, Dermot took leave of him without a word of farewell or conciliation. When Hugh arrived in the great hall, Riona took one look at him and her eyes went wide. She said nothing, only gestured to the servant, who pulled out his chair. A washbasin was brought forward, and when he was clean, he dug into stewed venison with a ferocious appetite.
He wanted Riona to ask how his trip was, like a loving wife. But she didn’t want to be that wife, didn’t want his caresses, didn’t care that he could make her feel such pleasure she’d never want to leave the bed.
In fact, she looked suspiciously nervous and chastened, and he didn’t know why. He took a deep sip of whisky, felt it burn his throat and warm his gut, but that only helped a little. He poured another.
“Dermot is a fool,” he finally said in a low voice that only Riona could hear.
She eyed him as she daintily broke a piece of bread and buttered it.
She didn’t ask him why, and he went on.
“I’ve spent years learning the newest agricultural methods that have had such success in England, field rotation, marsh drainage, cattle enclosures to keep the crops from being ruined.”
“You don’t have hedges or walls?”
“On our hillsides? Nay, the cattle roam free on our lands, but that only ruins crops and good land not meant for pasture. But does Dermot—or the tenants—care? Nay, they only wish to do as we’ve always done, as our fathers before us have done. If only they could see how much more successful farming is in England, but they don’t believe in change.”
“Then as chief, I imagine you just order them to do as you want,” she said mildly.
He saw her studying the second whisky in his hand, which only made him frown harder. “And ye’re proof that trying to force a person against her will is a successful strategy?”
Her eyes widened, and for a moment, he thought he might see her smile, but she controlled herself.
“But the clan lands are yours to oversee,” she countered. “Do as you wish.”
He grumbled and sawed at a piece of venison with his knife.
“There could be another reason Dermot is being so obstinate,” she mused.
He eyed her.
“He’s not against agricultural improvements—he’s simply againstyou.”
And then he did receive her rare, satisfied smile, not quite what he’d hoped for. He rolled his eyes and went back to his food. Riona turned away and began to speak to Samuel on her other side. Hugh knew Samuel often translated for her, and he hoped that she felt like she had a friend here. If she let herself, he suspected she had the sweetness and generosity to make plenty more . . .
He considered Samuel for a moment. When Hugh had first arrived home and been greeted by him, Hugh could have sworn Samuel had meant to tell him something, hesitated, then changed his mind. Hugh shrugged. Samuel would speak when he was ready.
Alasdair took a seat in the empty chair to Hugh’s left, the one that would have been Dermot’s if the man hadn’t stiffly excused himself.
“Alasdair,” Hugh said warily.
Alasdair nodded. “Hugh.” He looked past Hugh at Riona and Samuel talking together, then said in a low voice, “There’s something ye should know.”
CHAPTER 12
Riona knew that something had happened between him and Alasdair by the thundercloud that was Hugh’s lowered brows. The bard sang as if to distract him, but it didn’t work. Hugh glowered at her and drank too much, and she began to feel uneasy. Tonight she could be trapped with—or tied to!—a drunken Highlander in a terrible temper. What was he capable of?
They retired to their separate rooms soon after, and she found herself pacing. She’d ordered a bath to be brought to him, and she hoped the heat was soaking away the alcohol.
She paused, straining to listen when she thought she heard something from his room. Her curiosity began to get the best of her, and she wanted to be prepared, so she gently opened the door and crept into the dressing room, lit only with a candle. They hadn’t used this room much yet, for they hadn’t entertained family or friends. She had no ladies to sew with—although Hugh’s family was supposedly arriving soon, and that would change, she thought glumly. At least now, her days were her own.
At the door to Hugh’s room, she leaned to put an ear next to it. Misjudging in the dark, she gently banged her head against it instead. Wincing, she began to retreat.
“Lingering at my door, Riona?” he called.
His words didn’t sound slurred, and she tried to take that as a good sign. But she said nothing, hoping he’d think it only a castle cat.
“Open the blasted door and get in here!” he shouted.
