Page 3 of Taming the Highland Misfits
Finley put his arms around Agnes. She had always been afraid of violence like this, especially between these two men, both of whom she hated with all her heart. He held onto her tightly and pressed her face against his shoulder, boiling with fury inside. His mother worked at the tavern, the Lonely Shepherd, but only because she had to keep body and soul together and support them both till Finley was old enough to earn enough for both of them. He wished he could spirit them both away to somewhere peaceful and quiet, but mostly he wished he could give these two monsters a taste of their own medicine.
“Soon,”he thought viciously. “Soon ye will answer tae me.”
1
Isla had several favourite hiding places, one of which was in the stall of her favourite mare, Raffy, a seven-year-old strawberry roan that she had raised since she was a foal. She would nestle down in the straw at the back of the stall and absorb herself in whatever book she happened to be reading. Reading was one of her greatest pleasures; whenever she buried herself in a book she felt as though she was entering another world, one in which she left all her problems behind. When she dived between the pages, it was as though the outside world did not exist, and all her troubles disappeared.
However, she had to be very secretive about her hobby, since her father had always been deeply disapproving of it. Accordingly, Isla had picked out various hiding places in the estate where she and her father lived and turned each one into a comfortable reading nook. That way, if he discovered one, she could use one of the others. She had not been discovered yet, but today was not her lucky day. Just as she was arriving at the most exciting part of the story, her father’s stentorian bark interrupted her, making her jump in fright. She looked up to see his ill-tempered face glaring at her over the door of the stall.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, as he crashed his way through the straw, pushing Raffy out of the way to reach her. He plucked the book out of her hands, looked at it contemptuously, then flung it backwards into the straw. “Stop wasting your time with that rubbish! You should be learning to run a household, not frittering your time away reading mindless romantic rubbish!
You should be reading books on how to train the staff and how to do the household accounts. In fact, you should read a book on how to discipline your servants properly, and how to speak to them in a manner that befits your rank as their employer, not their friend!”
Isla usually managed to keep a lid on the steaming pot of her anger, but today, for some reason, she simply could not. The sight of Robert Thomson’s sneering face made her blood boil with rage, and she stood up to confront him.
Her father had not expected this; usually, he was able to cow her with a few words. He was not powerfully built, but his aggression had always been enough to intimidate her before.
Some spirit of fury seemed to have got into her, though, and it made him hesitate for a few moments. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes narrowed, and she was clearly not afraid of him.
“I have read all the books you mentioned,Father!”Isla almost spat out the word. “And I have gained all the knowledge I need to run a household efficiently. If I wish to take a few minutes to myself to enjoy a book of my own choosing I will do so without asking your permission. I am a grown woman now, old enough to make my own choices!” Her eyes were smouldering with fury as she glared at her father, but he had recovered from his moment of hesitation.
“You must be properly schooled and prepared for the life of an obedient wife and mother!” he raged. “If you do not prove to be a good wife, you will bring shame on this family, and I will not tolerate that. Do not speak to your betrothed as you have just spoken to me. You must show him respect and obey his instructions at all times if you are to be a good wife.”
Isla threw her head back and laughed heartily, then brought her gaze level with Robert Thomson’s again. “Respect? I will show him as much respect as he shows me! Father, the man you are forcing me to marry is a loathsome boor. He will spend the rest of his life as he spends it now–drunk and incapable of doing much except think about where his next glass of whisky is coming from! He will be easily satisfied.” Her voice was contemptuous, and she curled her lip in disgust.
“Shut your mouth, you stupid girl!” her father yelled. “He is a wealthy man, and you could do a lot worse for yourself than marrying him.”
“Huh! Really, Father?” she sneered. “A drunken sot who can hardly lift a hand except to find his next glass of liquor? Yes, no doubt you are right that there are even worse men than him, but I could also do a lot better. I could find a man who cares for me and respects me. I might even be fortunate enough to find one who loves me.”
This time it was Robert Thomson’s turn to laugh cynically. “Love?” he said, his voice high with disbelief. “I thought I had brought you up better than that, you ignorant girl. There is no such thing as love. It’s a fiction that only exists in fairy stories. You really have been reading too many of those books; they put all sorts of stupid ideas into your head. You should be thanking me for finding a man who will provide well for you and keep a roof over your head. One day he will inherit the Lonely Shepherd, and it is a thriving business. Think with your head and not your heart for once!”
“If my mother were alive, she would never have allowed me to marry Iain Crawford!” Isla retorted, her eyes blazing. “She would never have let you shove me into this horrible marriage with a man I loathe, despise and detest! I loved my mother with all my heart, but Ihatemy father.”
“How dare you,” her father roared, “you ungrateful little wench! I have given you everything your heart desires; food in your belly, a roof over your head, servants to cater to your every whim, a horse to ride and a wardrobe of clothes that many girls out there would die for! As well as that, you have all of your mother’s jewellery and possessions. You will never want for anything.”
Except love.Except tenderness, and except compassion. Except warmth. Isla was tempted to blurt all this out but realised that it was useless. Her father had already told her just what he thought about those feelings, and it was clear to Isla that he possessed none of them, and he never would.
“Call yourself afather?” she spat. “You are not my father–you are a vile despicable monster!”
Robert Thomson roared, then leapt forward, his hand upraised to strike her, but Isla, driven by some instinct she had not known she possessed, ducked under Raffy’s belly and emerged on the other side of her. If her father had bent down to follow her, Isla would have been able to kick him with her stout leather boots on his loathsome face.
They stared each other out across Raffy’s back for a long moment. Isla had always hated the fact that her father’s eyes were so like her own–she had always wanted to have her mother’s bright blue ones. Instead, nature had saddled her with her father’s dull brown ones, which she hated.
However, brown or blue, they were keen-sighted and determined. A member of one of the local Laird’s castle guards had once shown her how to win a staring competition, and she was using her skill in the battle of wills against her father.
She aimed her gaze at a point between his eyes and concentrated on it with all her might. Indeed, if her eyes had been a weapon of war, Robert Thomson would have been stone dead, but he endured it for longer than Isla thought he would. Eventually, he gave up and looked away.
Isla had been planning to go out for a ride after she had finished reading, so Raffy was already saddled. All she had to do was leap onto her back and leave.
That was easier said than done.
Robert eased around to the front of the horse and stood, immobile, blocking her way. He was clearly taunting her, not believing that she would ride over him. A sarcastic leer spread over his face and he planted his feet wide apart on the floor, arms akimbo, making himself look as big and intimidating as he possibly could.
“Go on then!” he invited. “If you have the courage. Ride me down if you must–but you will not, because you are too much of a coward, my daughter, just as your mother was!”
That was the last spark that ignited the smouldering flame inside Isla and sent it into an inferno of rage. She let out a roar, leapt into the saddle and urged Raffy forward, concentrating so hard on escaping that she barely looked to see if her father had managed to jump out of her way. At this point, she did not care if she had killed him or not, but she did not want to be hanged for murder.
However, a few seconds later she heard her father’s furious voice yelling at her to stop. “Come back here, you little bitch!” he screamed.
