Page 29 of The Devil in Plaid
She grabbed his plaid. “Ye cannot mean to shut me away. I am not yer prisoner. I am yer wife.”
He raised a brow at her. “Until yer my wife in name and body, ye should think of yerself as my prisoner.” Then he motioned around him. “And if ye think this room and my keep not good enough for yer refined tastes, then remember,Làidirhas a dungeon where prisoners are usually kept.”
That silenced her complaining tongue. He could not entertain the vapid concerns of his spoiled betrothed, not when he had real tragedies with which to contend. “A maid will bring ye something to eat.”
“Can I have a bath?” she asked. Then her eyes traveled across his soiled body. “That is if ye do bathe here.”
He brought his face a breath from hers. “Do not test me as I am in a foul mood!”
Then he spun around and thundered out of the room, slamming the door on her and her complaints. He locked the door, putting the key in his sporran. Raking his hand through his hair, he expelled a deep breath, hoping to rid himself of some of his anger.
His clan needed a different kind of strength from him that day—his people needed compassion and a shoulder upon which to cry out their pain. He prayed for God to give his own broken heart the strength to console his people.
