Page 38 of When a Highlander Weds a Hellion
“I thought perhaps to wear my green gown tonight.” She attempted to give him the most innocent look she could muster, but by the tic at his right eye, she knew he suspected she was trying to annoy him.
His sweet, complicated, plotting wife would be the death of him.
It had not taken long to realize what her strategy was in this game they were playing. She was attempting to get him to send her home. It was clever, and happened to be exactly what he wanted for her, but he wished it only temporarily, so she would be safe. But she seemed to want to return home in a plot to bend him to her will to live with her family or to allow her to aid him in seeking the person who pushed her off the cliff.
He would allow her several days to unfold her plan so she’d not suspect that he knew what she was doing, but he could not permit her to keep putting herself in danger. He hated having to be short with her, especially given the hurt he’d seen on her face earlier, but he had no choice.
He pointed a finger at her, to which she narrowed her eyes. “Dunnae,” he said, making his tone purposely hard, “interrupt me again. In fact, dunnae do anything ye have even the slightest inkling may displease me.”
“Or what?” she demanded, swatting his finger out of her face. He had to clench his teeth on a smile. His wee wife was a brave lass. Most men would not dare to stand up to him the way she did.
“Or,” he said, bracing himself not to soften should she appear very wounded by his words, “I will take ye back to yer father’s home, where ye will live out yer life without me.”
“Dunnae make me too hopeful,” she snapped. She swiveled on her heel and marched away.
He watched her flee, doubt battering him. Surely, she had not meant that. No, of course not. No woman would respond the way his wife just had after they had joined, nor would she wish to sever that connection for life. She was simply trying to get him to do as she desired.
He sighed. He could not even imagine what else she had concocted for the rest of the day, but he prayed it was nothing else that would put her in the path of danger. Anything would be better than that.
He’d been woefully wrong. Broch forced himself to remain seated at the dais in the great hall as his wife continued her plot to get him to send her home. It was the worst sort of torture he’d ever experienced to sit idly by and watch his wife flirt with other men—his men, men who should damn well know better than to talk so closely with his wife and look at her with such lust. He didn’t know how much more he could take before he simply snapped and stormed into the crowd of Blackswell clansmen and women in the middle of the great hall, dancing and socializing.
He curled his hand around his goblet so tightly that he could feel the blood pulsing in his fingertips. Not once had he considered that her plot would involve making him jealous, and he was chagrined by how easily and powerfully his possessiveness had been stirred. He needed better control than this to make his wife believe he was delivering her to her home because she’d accomplished her goal.
A man Broch had not yet met, dark with a brooding look, approached his wife. She turned to him, and whatever he had said made her throw her head back and laugh in a hearty way that made Broch feel as if a fire had been lit inside him. He gritted his teeth as Brodee, whom Broch had confided in about the situation, leaned toward him. “If I were ye, I’d intercede now. Lasses seem to fall in love with Gavin Blackswell rather easily. Some of the men vow Esmerelda must have given Gavin a love potion.”
“Ye’re jesting, aye?” Broch asked, not looking at his brother because he didn’t want to take his gaze off his wife.
“Nay,” Brodee said. “His mother is the healer Esmerelda.”
“I’ve nae met her.” Broch clenched his jaw at the way Gavin Blackswell was staring lustfully at his wife. “It seems neither the healer nor her husband taught their son nae to covet what is another man’s,” Broch growled.
“Gavin’s father is long dead,” Brodee responded, then leaned back and glanced to his right at their father. “Da, how did Esmerelda’s husband die?” Broch looked at his father, waiting for him to answer.
Blackswell cleared his throat several times, then said, “He took ill and died before ever meeting his son. Verra sad really.”
“Da gives Gavin too much leeway because of the loss of his father,” Brodee said, scowling. “Gavin has bedded many a lass who belong to another man. If I had done such a thing, I’d be out of the clan.”
Their father scowled. “Ye are the laird’s son, first of all. Secondly, two people climb into a bed to sin. It is nae just Gavin’s doing. When ye’re older and have gained wisdom, ye’ll see this.”
“Far be it from me to tell ye how to rule,” Brodee growled and shoved to his feet.
Broch stood, intending to tell his brother to stay and talk to their father, but when he looked to Brodee, he saw past him to the dance floor, where his wife danced entirely too close in Gavin Blackswell’s arms. Heat flushed through his body, and his muscles tensed, as they often did before a battle. He ground his teeth as he strode from the dais without a word to his father or brother. It was time to end his wife’s game.
Fifteen
Katreine saw Broch coming and she stumbled in the steps of the dance and careened into Gavin. He wrapped his arms about her waist to steady her, but he held her too tight and too long to simply ensure she was not going to fall. Before she could demand the man release her, Broch was there, glowering at her and Gavin.
“Unhand my wife.” His thunderous tone made her flinch.
Gavin, to Katreine’s dismay, pulled back his fist as if he was eager to fight Broch. The man was a fool. Actually, both men were fools. She’d not have danced with Gavin to stir Broch’s jealousy if the man would just open up his eyes to the truth. She shoved away from Gavin, determined to take control of the situation. She wanted Broch to become angry and take her home, not kill this warrior.
“Thank ye for the dance,” she told Gavin, then forced a smile. “But I’m tired now and wish to retire.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. She was tired and did wish to go to her bedchamber, but not to sleep. With the way things had been progressing with Broch, she wished to spend their time together giving him plenty of reasons to long for her return.
“I look forward to dancing with ye again, lass,” Gavin said, then surprised her when he grasped her hand and started to draw it toward his lips. Broch’s hand came to the man’s wrist, and he turned it sharply. Gavin cried out, and before Katreine had time to even blink, Gavin was on his knees before her with his arm twisted up behind him.
Broch loomed over him, nostrils flaring and a vein throbbing at his neck. “Dunnae,” he said very quietly, but the great hall was now silent so Katreine was certain everyone could hear anyway, “ever touch my wife again. This is a warning.”
“And what will ye do if I dare it?” Gavin taunted, trying to twist back to look at Broch, but Broch jerked the man’s arm higher behind him, and Gavin hissed in pain.
