Page 15 of Marry the Highland Villain
There was a part of her that knew it was wiser to let him leave, to let tempers cool down rather than continue to pursue the matter. But Brigid was in no mood to listen to that inner voice. Not only was she too upset, but the idea of spending a lifetime with a man who thought he could end arguments with snarling and walking away… Well, her mother had not tolerated such from her father, and neither would she.
Hadn’t all of her sisters told her time and again that it was better to stand up for oneself unless she wished to be swept aside and treated without respect? It was one thing to enduredismissiveness and scorn from the villagers, but if shemustbe married, she’d not tolerate it from the man she was to wed.
No, Brigid would begin this marriage as she meant to continue it. She might not convince him to let her visit her sisters, but shewouldimpress upon him that she was no shrinking violet he could bend to his will with a few sharp words and a hard gaze.
She would not be reduced to another maid, tiptoeing around the castle, afraid of inciting his wrath.
Decision made, Brigid rose from the table and hurried after her betrothed.
CHAPTER 6
Conall stalkedout of the Great Hall, his mood sour. Brigid was an intriguing lass, but for her to challenge him like that, in front of his clan, left him feeling torn between admiring her courage and being angered by her audacity.
“Conall.” The sound of her voice made him suppress a snarl.
Has she really followed me out of the room to continue the argument? She’s far braver than I’ve given her credit for, if so.
“Aye?” He turned to face his betrothed, his anger written all over his handsome face. “If ye’re here to ask me to reconsider, then I’ll nae be doin’ any such thing. I’d think carefully before speakin’ if I were ye.”
Brigid’s face darkened, and her green eyes flashed dangerously. “So this is how ’tis goin’ to be? Ye’ll make me a prisoner in yer castle, trapped behind the walls and unable to do anything against yer express orders?”
“I am the Laird. That is how things work.”
Conall was in no mood to have his betrothed questioning him, not after dealing with Oliver’s earlier accusations.
“An’ ye asked me to be yer wife—the lady of yer clan—nae yer prisoner. Should that nae mean I have some freedom to speak my mind?”
“Nae on this matter.” He scowled at her.
Brigid scowled right back, her expression matching his in fierceness. “And here I was, thinkin’ ye werenae plannin’ to hold me prisoner if I agreed to be yer wife.”
She had a ready wit, now that she’d recovered enough of herself to use it. A pity she seemed determined to antagonize him with her words.
Conall’s lip curled. He almost snarled back, before he recalled that they were in the corridor.
He had no desire to argue with his betrothed where the whole clan could hear them. That was the very last thing he needed after the scandal of the betrothal itself.
He turned and pulled the door to his study open. “If ye want to discuss this further, then join me.”
Many folks would have hesitated, scared to be alone with the fearsome Laird Mackane. Brigid, however, simply marched past him and into the room.
Conall followed after her and shut the door behind him.
“I’m nae treatin’ ye like a prisoner,” he began, turning to face her.
Brigid was standing by the fire, its flickering light illuminating the dark wooden panels that lined every wall of the room. A large wooden desk occupied the center of the room, its surface scarred from many years of use, and a comfortable leather chair sat behind it, the seat sagging slightly from the many generations of MacKanes who’d sat in it.
But Brigid wasn’t looking at the decor. Her hands were clenched tightly at her sides as she stood there, her eyes shining with the force of her emotions.
“Are ye sure about that? I cannae leave without yer permission, ye said. I cannae return home—a home from which I was taken at swordpoint—to reassure my kin that I’m well. I cannae collect my belongings. How, then, am I nae a prisoner?”
Conall snorted, torn between derision and admiration for her spirit. She was more outspoken than he’d expected, especially after he’d seen her huddled on the floor of the Great Hall a few candlemarks ago. He would have admired her more, however, had she not seemed so determined to argue with him.
“I’d nae be lettin’ a prisoner write a letter. And out of the dungeons, come to that. Ye have proper rooms—the very best in the castle, in fact—and my clan will provide anything ye need.”
“And what of the things I cherish, the things and the family I was forced to leave behind, which ye now tell me I cannae return to?”
He had to acknowledge, at least in his mind, that she did have a valid point. Auchter’s men had evidently dragged her out of her home with nothing but the clothes on her back. And he knew, even if she hadn’t considered it yet, that there would be mutterings in the council about a bride who had less than even the lowest farmer’s widow.
