Seven
“I think if ye make the men wait any longer for the bride, ye may have a riot.” William’s tone was light, but his face was serious from where he sat to Brodee’s right upon the dais.
Brodee nodded, stood, and held up his hands for silence. It took a moment for the cacophony in the great hall to subside, but when it finally did, he could have heard a sigh, or a door creaking open, which is exactly what happened.
He looked toward the entrance more swiftly than he wished he had. The anticipation in his gut to see Patience was undeniable and irksome, but the disappointment that immediately consumed him was shocking. And more than troubling. He should not care where she was as long as she was safe. Except he’d told her to be in attendance, and if he could not command obedience from his wife, the men would note that and think they could disobey him, as well. And then he’d have a problem. He preferred to avoid problems that would cause him to punish people. Yet, as Kinsey Kincaide entered the hall and strolled toward them, he found himself hoping she was coming to tell him of Patience’s whereabouts.
“Laird,” the blond-haired, blue-eyed woman said as she curtsied. “Might I join ye at the dais?”
He was tempted to say no, but he’d learned from his time working for the king, that sometimes it was best to keep close those you were not sure you could trust.
“Let the celebration begin!” he said to the waiting clanspeople, and then he motioned to the empty seat to his left where Patience should be sitting. “It seems I’m minus one bride, so by all means…”
Once Kinsey was settled into her seat, she leaned close to him, as if what she had to say were secret. That or she simply wanted to press her breasts against his arm. He suspected it was the latter based on the flirtatious look upon her face, and based on William behind her shaking his head and wagging his finger. Brodee scowled at William. The man should know he’d never take up with the sister of the man he’d killed—or any woman, for that matter. He’d told William he intended to be loyal to Patience, and he meant it.
“I’m dismayed to tell ye that Patience may nae come to the supper,” Kinsey said.
He arched his eyebrows at the revelation. “Is my wife ill?” he asked, his chest tightening at the wordwife. Would he ever feel settled with the new state of his life?
Kinsey placed her hand on his bicep, a smile curving her lips even as her fingers tightened upon him. It was a seemingly innocent gesture, but a warning went off in his head. Yet, when he looked at her, he saw nothing concerning in her gaze. The woman let out a long sigh, too exaggerated to be believable, and said, “I dunnae wish to speak ill of her…” She glanced expectantly at him from under her now-lowered lashes, giving him a prodding look.
Behind her, William rolled his eyes, and Brodee found he wished he could do the same. Except of course, he’d play whatever game she was currently involved in until he learned her rules and defeated her. It would be simpler to wed her away, but he had no liking for forced weddings. Mayhap she had someone in mind, though.
“Of course ye dunnae,” he said, picking up the stick she dangled in front of him. “But I must insist, if ye ken something that will guide me in dealing with Patience, then I wish to hear it.”
“Well,” Kinsey said, quirking her mouth, “she was always most difficult for my brother. Nae ever wishing to do as he commanded. It seems she will continue to be that way with ye. I heard,” she whispered, “that she was verra difficult with her first husband, as well.”
“She was wed before yer brother?” Brodee asked, surprised. The king had not told him that.
She tilted her head at him. “Aye. Did ye nae ken it?”
“Nay,” he admitted. “To whom was she wed?”
“Ivan Sutherland.”
Brodee had known Ivan. He’d crossed paths with the laird at many tournaments. The man had been sadistic and had a penchant for beating women and boys who he was supposed to be training. An uneasy feeling flared in his chest. “How long was she wed to Sutherland?”
“Three months,” Kinsey said. “He simply dropped dead. Some say she killed him.”
“He probably deserved it,” Brodee announced, pleased he kept his tone neutral even as he gripped his wine goblet so hard his fingers pulsed. William spat out the wine he’d just drank onto his trencher and laughed.
Kinsey frowned, looking back and forth between William and Brodee. “Laird, surely ye dunnae mean that.”
“He likely does,” William said, scooting forward so that his chin was almost resting on Kinsey’s shoulder.
A look of pure annoyance swept across her face. “Do ye mind?”
“I do, as a matter of fact,” William replied with a grin. “We both kenned Sutherland, and I’ve nae a doubt that if Lady Blackswell killed the man, he had it coming.”
“Do ye have proof that she killed him?” Brodee asked, his mind turning. He thought he recalled someone mentioning that Sutherland had been wed earlier this year. That had to be to Patience, which meant Brodee’s marriage to her made the third in a year. He had an unwelcome suspicion the first two marriages had not been pleasant.
“Well, n-nay,” Kinsey sputtered.
He’d not thought she had. Still, the confirmation was welcome. “Then dunnae accuse someone of murder,” Brodee replied.
“Blackswell dunnae take kindly to accusations of murder, having been accused of it twice himself,” William announced in his characteristically blunt, unthinking manner. Brodee would have cheerfully throttled William in that moment for revealing things he wished to remain private.
“Oh,” Kinsey said, her eyes not showing the fear he would have expected at such news. She seemed strangely unaffected by the announcement that people had accused him of murder. Maybe his gut was wrong about her. Maybe she was a better person than he had thought. She shrugged. “I did nae have any notion. I’m verra sorry, laird.” She squeezed his arm, and his fingers twitched with the need to smack her hand away. “Obviously, ye were nae guilty of the deeds, as ye are sitting here now.”
