Page 37 of When a Highlander Weds a Hellion
“Nay,” he said, his tone unyielding.
“But—”
“Nay.”
The word rang with a finality that made her want to throttle him. Broch was leaving her no choice. He would not see the truth of his family, and he would not let her show him the truth by seeking it. The only option she had left was extreme: she was going to have to make him want to send her back to her home and hope that he’d miss her so much that he’d relent to either coming to live with her at Thioram or to search out the truth of his brother and his clan.
She inhaled a deep fortifying breath. She didn’t like it, but she was going to have to hurt him in order to protect him from his family. “Ye’re a fool. Ye’re so eager to carve a place in yer newfound family that ye are blind! I’d rather nae have a husband than have one who is a Blackswell,” she flung out.
Broch narrowed his eyes upon her. “Careful, lass. Nae having a husband around can be arranged if ye push me.”
“Fine,” she bit out, hating what she was doing but pleased her plan was starting out so well. At this rate, he’d likely wish to return her to her father in a sennight. No, she smiled inwardly. It would probably take a fortnight to get him to despise her. “Tell me how hard to shove and I will.”
“Oh, ye’ll ken when I’ve reached my limit of what I’m willing to swallow,” he thundered, then turned on his heel and stormed from the room.
She frowned a little as she watched him depart, and a feeling of vulnerability invaded her again. She’d fallen in love with her husband, but what if he did not hold the same feelings for her? Her plan could be her ruin, and—She forced the foolish thought away. Her plan would be their salvation!
She launched her plan later that morning after discovering her husband was in the clearing training his men. If he was anything like her brothers and father, he would despise that she was interrupting his training, so she trotted down to the site, almost laughing to herself at the numerous trivial things she had thought of as reasons for her interruption.
He was in the midst of a full combat sequence when she shoved through the warriors circling her husband and his brother, and cleared her throat. Concentrated as both men were, neither of them saw her draw close, though several of Broch’s warriors did call out for her to halt. She intended to tap Broch on the shoulder, but then he reared back his elbow. She gasped and ducked, almost getting slammed in the nose.
He swung around, his jaw going slack before a dark look settled on his face. “What the devil are ye doing, lass?”
She smiled and purposely batted her eyelashes, hoping she looked like a vacuous fool. She held up a green ribbon and a blue one. “Which color should I wear in my hair for supper?”
“Ye risked yerself by coming near me during training to ask about ribbon?” Incredulity saturated his tone.
“Aye,” she said sweetly. “I have a horrid time making choices. I always have. My brothers and my father learned over the years just to answer my questions. Otherwise, I really can get quite vexed.”
“I dunnae give a care what ribbon ye wear,” he snapped. “But I do care that ye interrupted my training. Dunnae do it again unless it is life or death, aye? Especially, dunnae put yerself in peril. I mean that, Katreine,” he added, his expression tight.
His response was perfect and made her want to kiss him. He cared for her. He wanted to protect her. It would take some doing to get him to send her away, but once he did and missed her, he would come for her, and then he would be more reasonable.
Broch pressed his mouth close to her ear. “If ye’re injured by yer own foolishness, it will reflect badly on me that I kinnae protect my own wife, even though it would be yer fault.” He withdrew and gave her an expectant, impatient look that surprised her.
“Oh,” was all she managed to utter, because her throat felt as if it was closing. Surely, that was not what he truly cared about? No, no, he was simply irritated. She swallowed and said in a tone she hoped was terse and not worrisome, “I’ll do my best nae to get foolishly injured.” She turned to stride away, but her steps faltered at five paces, ten, fifteen, then twenty. Was he not going to call her back? She had been sure he would.
She would not glance back at him. She would not. She took five more steps before she gave into her burning desire to peek over her shoulder. He wasn’t even paying any mind to her departure! He was already training his men once more. Her chest squeezed as she turned around and kept walking. By the time she made her way to the kitchens, she felt horrible and sad, and completely unsure of herself.
She half-listened as she was directed by the head of the kitchen on what she could do to aid them. Her mind replayed Broch’s words to her over and over, as well as his seeming lack of caring. Likely, he’d just been angry. Worry invaded her. What if it was that he did not care for her, and here she was, trying to get him to send her away? No, she was being foolish. He cared, and she would continue her strategy.
With this in mind, she put all her effort into kneading the dough for the bread. When she caught several women frowning at her, she realized that she was practically beating the dough. Biting her lip, she took a calming breath and forced herself to calm down, and then she continued her task until the sun was high in the sky signaling midday, and she took a break to seek out Broch once more.
He was still training, but this time he was working with his warriors on archery. They were in the clearing once more, and she started down the hill only to trip on a rock, lose her footing, and go rolling down the slope. She landed with a thud on her bottom, embarrassment heating her face.
She looked to her left, relieved to see the warriors were gathered in a circle around Brodee, not paying her any heed. She stood, shook out her gown, and then glanced to the right to search out Broch, but all she saw was an arrow coming directly at her. In the next breath, she was tackled to the ground from behind, but this time she ended up on her back with her husband on top of her.
Fear twisted his features for one moment before she felt his body tense and heard his teeth grind. “I told ye,” he bit out, “to take a care.”
This response was better, unless of course, he was only interested in how she made him look. She frowned and tried to concentrate on her plan. “And I told ye,” she pushed at his chest to get him to move, “I have a horrid time making decisions, and presently, I need yer counsel.”
He moved off her and brought her to her feet in one fluid motion, while also signaling for his men, who she previously had not seen up on a ledge to her right, to halt their practice.
“Is this life or death?” he growled.
“It could be,” she replied, thinking he may well throttle her before this was over.
“What is it?” he demanded.
