Page 22 of Dark Side of the Laird
“My laird,” she mumbled, glancing at a chair before the unlit hearth. I didn’t offer her a place to sit, preferring she remain as uncomfortable as possible. The lady, as bold as she was, wouldn’t go and take it without permission. There were some things even obstinate fools knew better than to do.
When her gaze met mine it was with barely held in fury. “Ye said I wouldn’t be a prisoner here,” she spat.
Judging from her stance, there was so much more she wanted to say, but the woman held her tongue, ’haps wanting to see what I had to say about it. Wanting to glean from me what I knew of her treachery. Smarter than I thought, though not as cunning.
I stalked toward her, invading her space enough to be uncomfortable but not enough to make her like it. She moved back only an inch or two, her eyes glancing down, and I wondered if she was taking in the weapons I carried or simply interested in my physique.
Towering over her, I said through gritted teeth, “And ye never said ye were here to skulk around in places where ye dinna belong.” I flicked my gaze to Ewan and nodded my head toward the door. “That will be all, Ewan.”
Ewan raised a brow but said nothing as he retreated. “I’ll be just outside the door, my laird.”
“’Twill not be necessary, Ewan. Please see to Lady Emma’s protection.”
We exchanged nods then I turned my attention back to the woman who represented my enemy in so many ways. Her hair was pulled back tight, making the skin around her temples stretch. She wore a dab of rouge on her lips and cheeks as was the fashion with ladies at court. And if she weren’t so damn mean, she might have been a beauty.
“What are ye doing here?” I asked her, studying her eyes for signs of lying.
“That brute guard of yours brought me here.”
Ah, so she meant to play games. I was hoping for quick and painless. “Nay, ye dinna understand my meaning, or ye ignore it. I’m asking what ye’re doing in Gealach.”
She lifted her chin, showing the haughty side that was so much a part of her that if she dismissed it, I’d be concerned. “King James brought me, if ye dinna recall.”
I bared my teeth, losing patience fast. “I recall,” I drawled out, hoping she would continue.
“Then why did ye ask? We are to be married.”
So much for hope. The chit was a thorn buried deep in my arse. “And why did he leave ye then, when I said nay? I’ll need more than your short answers, lass. Mark my words, ye’re trying my patience. I’d beat it out of ye if ye were a man.”
She smirked, and crossed her arms over her chest, pushing her breasts up, but I avoided staring openly, knowing that was exactly what she wished. “Ye dinna understand your king very well. He gets what he wants. It doesn’t matter if ye’ve said yay or nay, nor does it matter what ye desire. The king’s wish is our demand.”
“Ah, but ye see…” I circled her, and judging by the way she shifted, I was making her uncomfortable. Good, it was about damn time. I stopped behind her and growled, “I also get what I want.”
“Appears not so in this case, though, I canna imagine why ye dinna want to marry me. I’m ten times the woman that simpering whore is.”
I gripped her by the arms and whirled her around, my fingers clenching tight to her chin, lifting her face up to mine. “Dinna ever speak about her in such a way. Ye and her could never compare. Never.”
“As I said,” she retorted haughtily.
I laughed bitterly. “Nay, lass, ’tis as I say, and I’ll nay be marrying ye. Not now, nor ever.”
Isabella actually had the gall to step toward me this time, “And ye won’t be marrying her either.”
I had to restrain myself from grabbing hold of her and shaking her so hard her neck snapped. The bite in my voice said no less. “That is not for ye to decide.”
She glowered up at me, and through her impudence, her anger, I could see a hint of fear, as though she did dread failing in whatever she’d been tasked with. “Does it matter? The king has deemed it so. He has sworn to never allow ye to marry that whore.”
My stomach tightened. I wrenched back my fist, reminding myself that punching a woman went against everything I stood for. Could it be true? Could it be so that he had already expressed such a thing? Not possible. She was bluffing. Playing her cards like the good MacDonald she was. Traitor.
“But ye see, the king has left without a contract written. Ye’re at my mercy.” I circled her again, stopped behind her, leaned close to her ear and whispered, “Let us pray he doesn’t forget ye.”
She stiffened. Then turned quickly, our faces only an inch apart. I could see her interest rise, but my disgust did the same. I refused to back down. Refused to step away.
Isabella glanced toward the ground, then coyly back up at me. “My laird, I dinna want either of us to be uncomfortable here.”
“Ye mistake me. I’m nay uncomfortable.”
She shrugged and walked away, sauntering around the room, not looking at anything in particular which made me think she was stalling. The sudden change was jarring. Unsettling.
