“Aye.” He didn’t bother to explain that he’d had it fashioned some time ago in the hopes of one day owning his own land and his own sheep. That was too personal, and it made him look sentimental and weak. Two faults that he needed to overcome, something he’d heard growing up more times than he could count.
“Have mercy!” Father Bisby begged, rushing toward Patience.
Brodee moved to shield her, but she pushed his hand away, her chin going up in a sudden show of bravery. “Mercy?” The word was a hiss of disgust. “Whatmercydid ye have for me? I begged ye,” she said, voice low.
The priest’s lips curled back in a vicious smile. “And I enjoyed it, Pa—”
Brodee sent his fist flying into the priest’s nose. Bone cracked, and blood spurted. The priest sagged in the guards’ arms, and Brodee stepped forward to yank up the man’s lolling head. “I verra much enjoyed that,” he said through gritted teeth. “And I’d verra much enjoy killing ye, so if ye wish to live, I suggest ye refrain from speaking another word, or I will send my sword through yer gut with much glee, despite Lady Patience’s wishes. I’m the Savage Slayer, remember? Ye will do well nae to forget it.” With that warning, he released his hold on the priest’s head and stepped back to Patience’s side.
When his gaze caught hers for a moment, fear and awe dwelled in her eyes. “Should I fear ye, Savage Slayer?” she asked so only he could hear.
He could have told her no. He had never raised a hand to a soul who had not been attempting to do him bodily harm, or in this case harm to his soon to be wife. He wanted her trust, but he didn’t want complications, nor did he want her to have expectations of him that he could never meet. The best way forward seemed to allow her ruse to continue—for now. “I would nae ever hurt a lass who’s touched in the head.”
Her eyes widened at that, but she nodded. He held his hand out to her. “Come. We will watch the punishment of the priest, and then we will wed.”
“I dunnae wish to watch it,” she said, shaking her head.
“Ye must.” He grasped her hand when she did not put hers in his. “Ye will look weak otherwise, and ye kinnae be weak.”
“Why nae? I’m mad, remember?”
He had to stifle his desire to laugh. She spoke too logically to convince anyone she was truly cracked, but he wouldn’t tell her that. “I recall. But I’m laird, and I will nae have a weak wife.”
“Ye kinnae command me to be strong,” she protested.
He pulled her along toward the door to the great hall, careful to tug her just hard enough that she had no choice but to follow, yet not so much as to trip her or hurt her wrist with his hold. “I just did, Patience,” he said as they exited the great hall and headed down the passage toward the courtyard. Behind them, he heard the people filing out of the great hall after them. Without pausing or looking back, he said, “Ye will either make yerself strong or I will do it for ye.”
If she appeared weak, the men and women would never respect her. He could command them to treat her with respect, but that was not the same thing as being respected. When she did not answer, he stopped at the door and turned to look at her. Her mouth had dropped open, and she’d gone pale again.
God’s teeth. He’d only meant he’d work with her not to fear things, but he could see he’d stirred up a ghost for her. Likely that of one—or both—of her two dead husbands.
“I will do it,” she said in a choked whisper. “I dunnae need yer aid.”
He frowned. Why did he feel a flash of disappointment instead of an immediate rush of relief? This woman affected him strangely, and the less time they spent together, the better. In fact, no time together at all would likely be best. Well, except when they joined. He was a man, after all, and he had needs. His gaze fixed on her full mouth, and damned if the mere suggestive curve of her lips did not make him hard as stone.
“Go out,” he commanded, stepping aside and waving her forward. The unbridled lust a simple glance at her mouth stirred in him unsettled him.
“Woof,” she said, glaring at him and not moving.
This time, it was his mouth that slipped open. “Dunnae disobey me, Patience.”
“Ye told me to be braw,” she said, crossing her arms. But when he narrowed his eyes, a shadow of alarm touched her face. There was most definitely an inner fire in his betrothed, as well as a hefty dose of fear. He would prefer her inner fire, he realized with a start. Even if it caused him trouble, which he suspected it very well could, once she had more faith in herself. There had been a time in his life when he had no belief in himself, and he’d not wish that miserable existence on anyone.
“I do wish ye to be brawwith others, but ye must be obedient to me,” he clarified.
She quirked her dark eyebrows. “So with ye, I’m to obey mindlessly?”
“Aye.” Now she was understanding. He gave her an encouraging little push out the door and into the night. Torches cast a glow around the courtyard; the guards he’d sent ahead had already started a fire in the center as he’d ordered.
He caught her by the elbow as he came to her side and guided her toward his men, seeing William and Father Murdock, who must have encountered his guards when William and the priest were on their way to the great hall. “Father Murdock,” he said, releasing Patience, “this is Lady Patience. Ye will wed us tonight after I deliver justice to the priest I’ll need ye to temporarily replace until I can get a new one here.”
“Ah, the cracked bride-to-be!” Father Murdock exclaimed in a slur of words that made Brodee grind his teeth. Apparently the priest had already over indulged by the time William found him. Father Murdock gave a bow that almost landed him on his face.
Brodee glared at William, who shrugged helplessly. “He was in this state when I located him, and I thought it prudent to apprise him of the situation.”
“Father Murdock,” Brodee began, “ye will be respectful to Lady Patiencealways, or else—”
“He’s likely to threaten to cut off yer hands,” Patience cut in, as if she were relaying what was being served for supper.
