“Patience,” Brodee warned as his clanspeople started to file out of the castle and walk toward them.
“Woof,” Patience said again, but this time she took a step away from him, as if she could not quite yet believe he’d not hurt her, even as the brave woman inside her was dying to surface.
“Ah, poor lass,” Father Murdock said and patted Patience on the arm. “I see now the affliction ye suffer. Ye believe yerself to be a dog.”
Patience’s eyes widened as the clanspeople approached, and she looked suspiciously as if she were struggling not to laugh. Finally, she pressed her lips into a hard, thin line and nodded. And then his mischievous betrothed had the audacity to bring her hands up like a dog and pant. He had to turn away from her so she would not see his own smile, which had shocked him when his lips had pulled up.
William, who faced him, stepped quickly forward and drew close to whisper, “I heard murmurs in the hall that the Kincaides believe yer reputation inflated. That ye can be killed and replaced by one of their own.”
Brodee nodded his appreciation of the warning and narrowed his eyes on the approaching men. He wanted peace in his life, but to get it, it seemed he’d have to pretend to be the Savage Slayer a bit longer.
Patience had determined the character of her first husband in the space of a breath, and her second in two. And she’d sinfully wished to God above that both would die by breath three. A moment after meeting Ivan, he’d slapped her in front of the priest who was to wed them, for God, her father, and all her clanspeople gathered to bear witness of how he was going to treat her. No one had raised their voice in protest, not even her brother. That had stung worse than Ivan’s hit.
Of course, Duff had explained that Father had given Duff the warning look, the one that only Father could give.Disobey and die. Their father had two looks he reserved for them, and neither were filled with love:Do or dieandDo and die. Neither ended well. It was a rather final ending, which was what really mattered. So Patience had forgiven her brother, for how could she not? Hadn’t she been moved like a chess piece by the threat of death enough times over the years? Who was she to judge Duff?
She swallowed, her mouth dry, as she stared at Brodee’s very broad back. Thankfully, he’d relegated her to the outer circle with William once again as her keeper, while her future husband oversaw the punishment of Father Bisby. The priest had been shoved underwater, branded property of Brodee with the wordBlackswell, made to walk on burning logs, and now he was being stripped of his robes, which Brodee had pronounced he was not fit to wear.
It wasn’t that she had changed her mind, or that she thought Father Bisby undeserving of all the punishment he was receiving. The man deserved it all, perhaps more, but she found that she had no heart or wish to stand here and witness it. In fact, his continued squealing like a pig who’d just lost his bollocks was making her stomach roil and her head feel light. Too light, as if she would swoon. But worse, frightfully worse, was that her betrothed had not blinked, flinched, or shown even the slightest hint that delivering the punishment to Father Bisby bothered him in the least.
When she glimpsed Brodee’s face, it had been stony, as if nothing could crack his ruthless demeanor and touch his heart.
Who is he? The Savage Slayer or another man altogether?
Her nails bit into her skin as her worry mounted. Earlier, she’d sworn she’d seen compassion and protectiveness in him, but perhaps it was Brodee’s natural tendency to simply protect what he believed was his. That was quite different from being a kind and good man.
Silas had been a man like that, one who had showed one face to the world and another to her. She’d been introduced to him by her father, and Silas had been all smiles, bows, and a press of his lips, albeit cold, to her hand. But when the solar door had closed and her father had stepped out of the room under the pretense of tending to an urgent matter, Silas had ordered her on her knees. When she’d hesitated, he’d kicked her feet out from under her so that she’d fallen. Once he was towering over her, he’d told her never to forget that she would always be below him, only to rise above others when he permitted it. Every protection she had would only come to her if she pleased him, and if she didn’t, his men could do with her what they wished. And then he’d described in gory detail what they might wish.
She shuddered recalling it.
“Take him outside the protection of Blackswell land,” Brodee announced, drawing Patience’s attention, “and leave him.”
“What am I to do?” Father Bisby wailed. “I will be attacked.”
The torch Brodee was holding lit his face as he looked at the priest. Patience sucked in a breath. Her betrothed was savagely handsome, but was he savage? She sifted through the shadows of his face but saw no mercy.
“What was Patience to do when ye tortured her and she had to endure it?” Brodee’s face was a hard as his voice.
“I’ll die,” the priest said, dropping to his knees. “Mercy. I beg ye for mercy.”
“I dunnae have mercy for someone who has lied to me,” Brodee said, his tone like steel.
As much as Patience despised Father Bisby, she’d never be able to close her eyes in peace again if she sat there and said nothing. She has said she wanted him to suffer, but standing here, she realized that she could not be party to what equated to allowing him to go to his death. If he should find it later, without her knowledge, well, that was God’s justice. Yet she had to be careful what she said and how she said it. If she was going to convince Brodee she was touched, she could not let her pretense falter. “Silas says to give the priest a dagger,” she announced, moving from her place in the outer circle.
Silence fell, and Brodee motioned her forward. She took a step, and he waved his hand for her to come closer. She didn’t want to. Her body really didn’t want to aid her, either. Her legs trembled and her feet felt encased in thick, unmovable muck. But she forced herself to walk, knowing if she didn’t, he’d likely simply come to her. She did not want to look weak anymore. Never would she have chosen to appear cracked, but at least it had beenher choice, and that made her feel better than she had in a very long time. She almost felt proud of herself.
Father Bisby scrambled to his feet, and when he moved to step toward her, she flinched. Brodee shot his arm out and shoved the man back. “If ye value yer life, ye will nae even blink at Patience.”
“Of course, of course,” Father Bisby hurriedly agreed.
In one long stride toward Patience, Brodee closed the distance between them. Heat and power radiated from the man. As her gaze slowly inched up his corded chest to his face, a dozen thoughts filled her head, one louder than all others.
Do yer enemies tremble when they see ye coming?
“Aye,” he said, making her cringe with the realization that her thoughts were escaping her again. She clenched her jaw, deciding she’d keep it this way until he asked her a direct question.
“Ye say yer dead husband told ye to equip Father Bisby with a dagger?” Brodee asked, incredulous.
Heaven above, that had been a stupid lie, but she could not turn back now. “Aye.”
