Eight
Patience stole a sideways glance at her new husband as he gave a full belly laugh at the tale the bard was spinning in the center of the great hall. For a man called the Savage Slayer, he seemed anything but savage currently, and in honesty, at many more times as well since she’d met him. Oh, he looked savage enough, in an incredibly rugged, handsome way. She’d wager he could kill a man with his bare hands. He had more muscle than she’d ever seen on a man, and when he was angry, well, ithadfrightened her. Yet the only time he’d become angry since arriving was on her behalf.
No one had ever acted protective of her in the way Brodee had. She ran through the times he’d come to her defense today: He’d ensured she was safe when he was about to raid the castle. He’d punished Father Bisby when he’d discovered what the priest had done to her. He’d punched Ulric when Ulric had shown her the disrespect that Silas had always encouraged. And Brodee had hidden her secret of not knowing how to fashion a plaid because she’d never had the chance to learn.
He’d not even known why, yet he’d kept her secret so she’d not be embarrassed. And she had a suspicion he saw through her ruse of being mad, yet he was allowing her to continue with it. Was it conceivable that he truly was a good man? Was there a chance his reputation was wrong? Possibility and tentative hope sprang in her as she studied him from under her lashes, yet she was not so foolish as to let down her guard. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Her memories of her past husbands were much stronger than any new memories of one single day. He could turn to cruelty in the blink of an eye, she knew. Silas had done so the moment the door had been closed on them. Every time the door had been closed, really. But to others, he had made it seem as if he cared for her, was concerned for her. And Ivan, he’d praise her beauty in one breath, and then be flogging her the next for supposedly purposely tempting his men.
“Patience?”
She blinked and raised her gaze from her hands, which rested on her empty trencher, to find Brodee staring at her and the kitchen servant Mari standing in front of them. Mari had her faded-blue eyes narrowed on Patience. The woman’s silver eyebrows were arched and her lips were twisted in a scowl that made the fine lines around her mouth more pronounced than usual. The woman was head of the kitchens and disliked Patience with an obvious intensity, which Patience suspected was likely Silas’s doing. No telling what he’d said to Mari about her.
Heat warmed Patience’s cheeks as she realized everyone at the dais had been served but her. Had Mari spoken to her, perhaps asked her to move her hands so she could put cuts of meat on her trencher? “I’m sorry,” Patience said and quickly moved her hands, letting out a relieved breath when William asked Brodee something, and he turned away from her.
“Aye, ye are,” Mari responded, her tone derisive and low. Patience’s nostrils flared at the disgusted look the woman gave her. “Ye’d nae last a day doing my chores, but ye dunnae care, do ye?”
“I’m certain my wife cares a great deal about the rigors of yer chores, as she is yer mistress and has yer welfare in mind,” Brodee said, his tone a gentle reprimand.
Mari’s eyes widened, and she pressed her lips into a thin line. After a long, awkward silent moment, she finally said, “If ye say so, laird.”
“I do, but better than my words, Patience will come to the kitchens tomorrow so ye can lodge yer complaints of yer duties with her and show her what is too taxing.”
“Do ye ken how to find the kitchens?” Mari asked in a falsely sweet voice. Patience wanted to hate the woman for being so wretched to her, except she understood the older woman’s anger.
Devil take Silas for refusing to allow Patience to see to her duties as mistress. She’d wanted to, but he’d told her no one wanted her there, so he’d forbidden her to go there. She’d attempted to once, and he’d sent her off to Father Bisby for a particularly painful round of soul cleansing.
“I ken how,” she said, finding it hard to choke the words past her mortification. She stole a glance at Brodee’s face and found his jaw tense and his eyes lit with obvious anger. Whether at her or Mari was the question. Patience bit her lip. She didn’t want to incur his anger, but she did not want his vexation turned upon Mari, so she would hide the truth and take the blame. “I’m terribly sorry I have nae been a better mistress. I will rectify that now.”
Mari gave her a doubtful look but nodded and placed a few pieces of meat on Patience’s platter before moving on, leaving Patience under Brodee’s intense scrutiny.
“Why did ye nae ever go to the kitchens?” he asked.
“I could nae,” she said, hoping to God he’d not question her more in front of William, Father Murdock, and Kinsey, all of whom sat at the dais.
“She had better things to do.” Kinsey popped up from the end of the dais by Father Murdock where Brodee had instructed the woman to move when he and Patience had come into the great hall.
Brodee frowned. “Such as?”
What could she say? “I… I…”
“She dunnae care for the duties of mistress,” Kinsey said, to which Patience stilled with disbelief. Was Kinsey on her side or not? “She’s too many voices in her head, and all the chatter in the kitchens makes it worse. Is that nae right, Patience?”
She understood now that Kinsey was trying to help her, trying to make her seem crazy so that Brodee would leave her be, yet Patience was not as sure as she had been that making Brodee think she was mad was the right course. “I’ll manage,” she finally said.
She turned her attention to her food, attacking it as if she had not eaten in years. Honestly, she was too embarrassed to look up. Conversation around her flowed, and then Kinsey excused herself, but Patience kept her focus on her trencher. Suddenly, she became aware of a low chant.
She looked to the center of the great hall, and her breath caught in her lungs. Two lines of Kincaide warriors had formed down the center of the room all the way to doors. The men were chanting, “Bedding,” and then Cul, one of the youngest Kincaide guards, started stomping his feet. The other warriors soon followed. Patience noticed Kinsey behind Cul, whispering something in his ear, and then the woman blended back into the gathered crowd. Had she been trying to intervene on her behalf? Is that why she’d left the dais? To get Cul to stop rallying the men to call for a public bedding?
Patience began to shake as fearful images of her past public consummations built in her mind. The louder the chanting grew, the harder she trembled, when suddenly Brodee’s hand, warm and solid, settled on top of hers.
When she glanced at him, she sucked in a breath at the determined set of his jaw and the tic of irritation by his right eye. “Will?” Brodee asked, looking to the man.
William frowned. “I told them, Blackswell. I vow it.”
Brodee nodded, squeezed her hand, and stood. He held up his hands for silence, and within moments, it fell. All Patience could hear was the loud thumping of her heart as she waited for Brodee to speak. She did not have to wait more than one fearful breath. “I dunnae hold with the practice of a public bedding.”
Patience let out a relieved breath. Brodee did not look at her, but his fingertips came to rest on her shoulder, and to her utter astonishment, she did not flinch from his touch.
