Page 53 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander
“Och, ye dinnae want to talk now?” Ersie rode after him, drawing level, the horses’ hooves crunching the frosty fallen leaves and snarled underbrush. “Is it because I’m friendly with her? Is that the problem? Do ye nae want yer soon-to-be wife to have friends?”
Doughall inhaled the crisp morning air. “I dinnae want ye blurrin’ any boundaries.”
“Or is ityewho doesnae want to blur any boundaries with her?” she prodded. “I ken ye were so jealous at yer betrothal feast that ye would’ve put Laird MacMillen’s head on a pike and nae felt a bit of regret over it. I ken that’s why ye kissed her in the courtyard and got yerself roped into a marriage that, maybe, if ye were bein’ honest with yerself, ye’re nae so angry about.”
Doughall kept his gaze trained on the near distance, refusing to let even a hint of his astonishment show on his face. He was not aware that Ersie was privy to the details of what had occurred in the courtyard.Hecertainly had not divulged them to her, but he supposed he should not have been so surprised—women talked, even sensible ones.
Does she ken the rest of it? What happened in the study?
He let the silence between them steep, to see if she would mention it. When she did not, he reassured himself that she did not know about more than the kiss.
“Jealousy is for weak men, Ersie,” he said at last, his voice flat. “I dinnae feel it, much less feel it to the extremes of actin’ on it. Laird MacMillen disrespected me in me own castle—I did what was expected of a laird, nothin’ more.”
Ersie snickered. “Aye, ye keep lyin’ to yerself. See where it gets ye.” She cast him a sideways glance. “But I’ll tell ye where itwillnaeget ye—to a place of happiness with that fine lass who is goin’ to be yer wife. I like her, I think she’s good for ye, and if ye do aught to hurt her or upset her, ye might just have me to answer to.”
“Ye’re forgettin’ yerself again,” he replied coolly. “I give ye some leniency because I’ve kenned ye all me life, but dinnae start thinkin’ ye can speak to me however ye please. See wherethatgets ye.”
She shrugged, leaning forward again as the gelding picked his way carefully through a tangle of thick roots. She had always been at ease on horseback, the gelding like an extension of her body, and though Doughall knew he should scold her again, he did not. It was what she wanted, and he was in no mood for games.
“I think she’s good for ye…”
He let the words replay in his mind as they continued on toward the loch, wondering what that was supposed to mean.
No marriage could be good for him, could it? It went against all of the promises he had made to himself: never fail anyone the way he failed his parents, never watch his wife die in front of him, never force his children to feel all that he had to feel before he decided he wouldn’t feel anything at all.
Plus, marriage was an unwelcome distraction, diverting his attention away from his clan, his castle, his revenge, to… picking out books he thought she might like, running to her because he heard she was in distress, and instead of calling her tear-induced headache ridiculous, lingering to ask what had upset her so much.
How couldthatbe a good thing?
She is makin’ me weak. That cannae ever be a good change.
For one thing, hehadbeen jealous. Insanely jealous. Even now, if he were to see Freya smiling too sweetly at a guard or a soldier, he had no doubt it would flare up again. A laird who could not control himself or his emotions, or was influenced by such pitiful feelings as jealousy, was not worthy of the title.
Nae one of ye realizes what a danger she is to the peace of this clan.
Nor could he explain it without revealing the damage she had already done to the battlements that were built high around his inner being.
“I’m just sayin’,” Ersie piped up a short while later, “ye could be gentler with her. Ye dinnae have to be so… Laird MacGordon with her. Ye can afford to be more Doughall.”
He groaned. “Ye’re ridiculous.”
And I havebeen gentler with her, but ye’re beginnin’ to make me wish I hadnae,he neglected to add, his thoughts drifting to Freya’s bedchamber, curious to know if she had found the book yet.
A moment later, he chided himself for putting it there, concerned that she might think it meant more than it did.
“I might be mistaken, M’Laird, but was there nae a time, nae so long ago, when Laird MacNiall said he’d be a better laird without a lass cloudin’ his judgment andyewere the one who encouraged him to hare after his wife because ye didnae agree?” Ersie said, undeterred. “Just somethin’ to think about.”
Doughall wished he had never told his friend about that, though he could not have anticipated that it would come back to bite him quite so spectacularly.
They rode on in companionable silence, a vibration of smugness coming from Ersie that he chose to ignore. Instead, he looked out over the mirror-still loch and watched it burn with dawn colors, as if some heavenly hand was pouring autumn itself into the water, tinging the surface with streaks of orange and red and golden yellow.
He had forgotten how beautiful the loch could be, rarely visiting for fear of dredging up bad memories.
“Freya said she might like to swim here,” Ersie said as they neared the northernmost curve of the loch. “Ye ought to bring her one day.”
Doughall would have replied that there was a greater chance of raspberry fritters falling from the sky had he not spotted a sudden movement in the swaying willow trees just ahead.
Squeezing his thighs, he urged his horse into a lope, stretching into a gallop. The mare leaped up the grassy bank with ease,thundering through the curtain of willow fronds, chasing down the figure who was now sprinting for his life.
