Eleven
“Yer new wife is making a habit of holding up supper,” William said with a grin.
Brodee was not amused. “I dunnae ken where she could be,” he said, thinking out loud. “She worked alongside the other women in the kitchens all day.” And they were all present.
“She did?” Kinsey asked, a note of irritation in her voice.
“Were ye nae in the kitchens with them?” Brodee replied.
“Nay. I had to tend to a sick clan member,” she said easily. “It’s fallen to me to act as lady of castle since Patience is nae able.”
Her comment sparked irritation within him. “Sheisable. Yer brother made itseemshe was unable and unwilling.”
“Of course,” Kinsey said, her jaw tensing noticeably, but she did offer a smile, albeit a slightly brittle one. He was certain she was unhappy with what he’d just told her.
“I’ve made it clear that she should be treated in her rightful place as lady of the castle,” he reiterated.
“As she should be,” Kinsey agreed, biting her lip. “But are ye certain she is capable, though, given, well—” She tapped her head, indicating Patience’s mental state.
He knew damned well Patience was not crazy, and he thought they’d mostly gotten past her trying to pretend she was. But if that was the case, either she’d not told Kinsey yet, who it seemed Patience must have actually enlisted to aid her in driving him away, or he’d been wrong that he and Patience had made progress.
“Mayhap, she is simply nae capable of fulfilling her duties as yerwife,” Kinsey suggested softly.
He frowned at the woman, unsure if she was working with Patience or against her. He preferred it to be the latter, and he could quickly deal with Kinsey. But perhaps he leaned toward that option because somewhere between yesterday and today, his pride had become involved.
God help me.
“Whether she is capable or nae,” he said, rising and stepping away from the hand Kinsey had just placed on his arm, “we are wed, therefore she will become capable.”
He started to move away from the dais, glaring down at William, who was watching him and Kinsey with open amusement, but as he did, Kinsey jumped up and grabbed his forearm. “Aye,” she said on a rush of breath, “but we both ken”—her voice dropped to barely above a conspiratorial whisper—“that if the marriage has nae been consummated, it is nae a true marriage, and therefore can be set aside. That would save a tiresome time.”
A powerful surge of denial at the suggestion of setting his marriage aside, setting Patience aside, whooshed through him and left him shocked for a moment. His feelings for his wife were quickly becoming a confused mess. The wife he’d vowed to feel nothing for. The wife he’d known for two days and been wed to for only one. The turn of events did not bode well for what was to come.
Flashes of painful memories lit within his mind. Arabel dead. The dark, consuming guilt that he’d failed to protect her. The doubt of his worth. He gave himself a little shake. He would not go down that path again. He’d loved and lost. He’d learned his lesson. Hadn’t he? Why could he not seem to stop how he was beginning to feel for Patience? He didn’t want these emotions, but what he wanted and what was occurring were not the same thing. “Our marriage will nae be set aside,” he said, not bothering to look at Kinsey when he answered.
He pulled his arm out of her grasp, made his way off the dais, stalked toward the door that led to the passage to the kitchens, but as he was opening it, Mari appeared holding jugs of wine.
“Where is Patience?” he demanded by way of greeting. His temper had now snapped like a twig under his boot.
The older woman’s eyes widened. “I assumed she was in here, my laird. Has she nae come to supper at all?”
He shook his head, a familiar sense of unease, one that had kept him alive in many battles, rising.
“Is Cul in here?”
“Nay,” he said. He’d looked for Cul repeatedly since he was to be guarding her. “Was she with Cul?”
“Aye. They left hours ago to make their way to the edge of the woods to see Patience’s lady’s maid, Jane.”
Another kitchen lass, a small thing with blond hair and green eyes stopped in the doorway and gaped at Brodee and Mari. “They did nae return?” the woman asked on a gasp.
His uneasiness gave way to hot worry. “Who are ye?”
“Ada.” She dipped a curtsy, but he impatiently waved her up. She bit her lip, then launched into a rambling story about how she had thought it a bad idea for them to go, but after twenty sentences she’d not explained why. All Brodee could feel was the pounding of fear within him for Patience’s safety.
“Enough,” he said, trying not to bark the word, but he knew he’d failed when the woman Ada’s body jerked, and then her lower lip tucked between her teeth. “Tell me what I need to ken about Jane and why ye did nae believe it a good idea for Patience to go.”
“’Tis nae Jane,” Ada said, to which Mari nodded.
