Four
The stodgy, red-faced, bulbous-nosed man who swept into the room made the tic that had started at Brodee’s right eye worsen. But when Patience tensed beside him and inhaled sharply, Brodee wanted to punch the priest. He may be wearing robes of the cloth, but one look at the anticipatory glee in the man’s dull brown eyes confirmed what Brodee had suspected: Father Bisby was no true man of God. Men who held God in their hearts did not enjoy the pain and suffering of others.
Brodee stole a swift glance at Patience. The paleness of her face and the slight trembling of her body bespoke her fear. He didn’t for a moment believe she was a witch. If she were, she would have simply put a curse on Brodee rather than wed him, as it was quite obvious she had no desire to do so. Neither did he believe she was touched in the head, as she wished him to think. No doubt it was a ploy she’d come up with in the hope that he might not wed her. If only things were that simple.
But nothing was. He had taken this castle, but he could not take loyalty. It had to be won, and he’d rather have the Kincaide men’s loyalty than more deaths. And to get that, he had to show he was willing to listen and judge whether Patience was a witch. He just wished he’d had a moment of privacy to reassure her, and hereallywished he didn’t care that she needed reassuring. Caring brought complications, but he was no more capable of stopping the tide of protectiveness that had risen when she’d been shoved to the ground than he was capable of halting the need to draw breath.
He assessed the priest. Rings on every finger.Greed. Eyes affixed to Patience’s breasts.Lust.Brodee clenched his teeth against the urge to throttle the man. Brown eyes glancing swiftly between Brodee and back to Patience. “Let me take theban-druidhlass from yer sight, Laird Blackswell. I’ll take her to my chambers, and—”
“Nay.”Ye covetous swine.
Brodee didn’t need to be a seer to read the burning desire on the man’s face. Did he satisfy that unfulfilled hunger for Patience by punishing her? Is that why she trembled? Would she even tell him if Brodee asked? Not likely. The lass feared him. Trust would take time. “My betrothed stays with me, and if she needs punishing, my priest will be the one to do it.”
Father Bisby frowned. “I was told ye called me here to—”
“I called ye here to tell me what proof ye have that Lady Patience isban-druidh. I assume ye have some since I’m told by Lady Kinsey that ye have been cleansing Lady Patience’s soul.”
“I have,” the priest said, his tone boastful.
“Then what did the lady do to cause ye to think her soul needed cleansing?”
The priest looked disdainfully at Patience. “She talks to herself.”
“That dunnae mean she’sban-druidh,” Brodee said, thinking of his own past and times his father would make him feel worthless. Brodee would talk to himself because he could never admit his feelings to anyone else.
“She made Alfred ill,” the priest said, pointing at her.
“What is yer proof?” Brodee asked. He’d been thought a murderer in his lifetime because one person had whispered it, and the whisper had spread like fire. When the priest did not answer, Brodee went on. “I suspect ye dunnae have any, Father.”
“Are ye accusing me of…of…lying?” the priest demanded.
Brodee raised his hand and flicked it forward, a silent command for his men to grasp the priest, which two of Brodee’s guards did immediately, one taking each of the man’s arms.
“Unhand me!” the priest shouted.
“Bring him forth,” Brodee commanded. Patience’s leg suddenly brushed his, and he looked to her, realizing his betrothed was practically trying to hide herself behind him. He had to clench his jaw on a curse at the fear this priest elicited in her.
When one Kincaide guard stepped forth as if to stop Brodee’s men, Brodee said, loud enough to be heard over the den of noise that had set in, “I’d nae if I were ye.”
The man’s eyes met Brodee’s and narrowed, but he stepped back out of the Blackswell guards’ path. When the priest stood before Brodee and Patience, who was hovering at Brodee’s back now, Brodee motioned for his guards to release the man.
Father Bisby huffed and jerked his arms away. “How dare ye have yer men treat a man of God thusly!”
The man was challenging him. That was fine. He’d been challenged many times before, and he’d yet to lose. “I ask again, what is yer proof that Lady Patience is aban-druidh?”
A flicker of apprehension crossed the priest’s face. “She…she…she’s nae had a bairn after two husbands!”
Patience sniffled behind him, and he wondered for a moment if was she crying. Damn the man before him. “That is nae proof. Mayhap her husbands did nae perform properly.”
“Are ye faulting my laird?” the priest demanded.
Brodee leaned forward and down until his face was a hairsbreadth from Father Bisby’s. “Iam yer laird now.”
The priest’s mouth slipped open, and then he said, “I, well, aye, of course.” Finally fear had set in. Brodee could smell it and see it. “Silas told me she wasban-druidh. I simply did as he bade.”
“So ye cleansed her soul regularly because Kincaide claimed his wife wasban-druidh?”
“Aye. What else could I have done?” The priest spread his hands as if he were helpless, which Brodee sincerely doubted.
