Page 36 of The Devil in Plaid
Chapter Eighteen
Again, his reluctant bride was ready to bolt the first chance she could.
Honor was something Jamie valued more than anything else. Without it, nothing else rang true. Without honor, kindness could never be sincere, courage failed, and strength was nothing more than a lie.
And here was his wife already breaking vows of obedience and fidelity spoken only hours before. He stepped into the room, and she scurried back.
“Ye can leave us,” he said to Julia.
Fiona’s gaze darted around the room still searching for escape.
“Ye’re my wife,” he growled, wanting to get the truth through to her. “I am yer laird. God’s Blood, woman, ye’re lady to my people. Act like it!”
Her eyes widened for a moment, then narrowed on him. “By that ye mean ye want me to be silent and submit.”
He raked his hand through his hair. “Nay, I want ye to be forthright and true.”
“True to what ye alone value or else,” she cried, her voice rising with her every word.
“Or else, what?” he demanded
“Or else I will force yer hand,” she said, shaking a fist at him.
What was she talking about?
“Are ye referring to what I said just now in the great hall?”
“Of course,” she snapped.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “’Tis true. If ye had disobeyed me and refused to follow Julia to my chambers, I would have tossed ye over my shoulder and carried ye out, even if it meant shaming ye in front of my people.”
Her nostrils flared. “Aye, and then, when we were alone, ye’d have beaten me to within an inch of life.”
“Aye, then I…” Jamie froze.
What had she just said?
His hands dropped to his sides. He took in her defensive stance, realizing that she was more afraid than angry or defiant. And then he remembered what Julia had said before the ceremony.
Of course she was afraid. Her father’s abuse had taught her to fear men.
“I know about yer da,” he said gently.
She looked confused. “What are ye talking about?”
“Julia told me about the bruises she saw when she helped ye dress. Ye told her yer da beat ye, but—”
Her eyes flashed wide. “My father has never laid a hand on me!” The words blasted from her lips. Jamie took a step back.
“Was Julia referring to these bruises?” she spat as she lifted her arms. The bell sleeves of her surcotte fell away, revealing her forearms covered by the fitted sleeves of her tunic. A screech tore from her lips as she started to yank at her laces from behind. Ripping and tugging, she finally heaved her surcotte over her head. Then she began tugging at her tunic. Her struggles reddened her face.
“Yer mad,” he whispered.
She turned on him with hellfire in her eyes. “I’m mad? After what ye did to me, I’m the one who’s mad?”
Now, what was the little chit going to accuse him of? “What have I done to ye other than save yer life and the lives of yer kin with this God forsaken alliance,” he snapped.
She glared at him before renewing her struggles to undress.
