Page 4 of The Highlander’s Hellion Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #1)

4

S ilence. That was all Duncan received from his wife as they stepped into the room.

He turned to look at her, watching the way she shied away from the bed on the other side of the room.

“I’ll speak to the barmaid,” he said, hoping to elicit some kind of response from her other than this stony silence that had fallen between them. “Have them send up a few maids to draw a bath and get yer stew.”

“Thank ye.” Alison’s voice seemed far off, her gaze unfocused as she stared out the window.

Christ, what have I gotten meself into?

Duncan had been furious when he received the ransom note. His men had ridden out in the middle of the night, while he tracked them through the woods to where they had agreed to meet for the coin.

He had scoured the region for her, terrified that yet again, after all those years, he would prove himself incapable of protecting his wife.

During his time away, he had only the image of her on their wedding day to hold onto. She had been so young back then, nothing more than a meek, little thing, doe-eyed and terrified.

But the woman who now stood in front of him was as different from that lass as a thorn was from a rose. Two parts of the same whole, but one was determined to cut.

Alison’s form had filled out, and the roundness of youth was now gone from her face. He found her more beautiful now than he had on the day they had said their vows.

Alison stood stock-still in the center of the room with her arms wrapped around herself. Her dark brown hair glistened in the waning light, and if it was not for the soft rise and fall of her chest, Duncan would have thought her a statue.

Mayhap she’ll feel better after she’s eaten.

The stairs creaked under his considerable weight as he returned to the front of the inn. The same barmaid stood behind the counter, drying a large mug.

Her dark eyes looked up at him as he approached, the apples of her cheeks reddening.

“Is there anythin’ I can get ye, Me Laird?”

Her tone was no longer as flirtatious as it had been when he had first approached the counter, but it was also not as meek as it had been when he walked away. There was a question within it—she wanted to see if he was amenable to her advances now that his wife was not with him.

Duncan was used to women throwing themselves at him when he found himself in a tavern. He never encouraged them or entertained their advances, not when he knew he had a wife at home, even if—in her own words—he never tried to claim her as a real husband should.

Flirting was also not something he was in the mood for now. Not when his sole concern was the woman in his room.

“I’d like that stew sent up to me room immediately,” he barked. “And maids to draw me wife a bath.”

At the mention of his wife, all traces of flirtation evaporated from the barmaid’s expression, and she nodded. “I’ll send everythin’ right up.”

“I’ll take the stew now.” His tone was unyielding, and he regarded her with a cool, hard gaze.

She blanched under the weight of his stare, her eyes lowering as she bowed her head to him.

“Aye, I’ll bring it right to ye, M-Me Laird,” she stammered, before spinning on her heel and disappearing to prepare a tray.

It was not long until a tray bearing two steaming bowls of beef stew and large chunks of fresh bread was set before him on the counter.

Before Duncan made his way back to the room, the barmaid had assured him that she would send two of their girls to help draw his wife’s bath.

When he returned to the room, he found Alison sitting on the windowsill, staring out at the town. She did not turn to look at him as he approached, and he held the tray out to her.

“I kenned ye must be hungry.”

She started at the sound of his voice, and he realized she had not noticed that he had entered the room.

She nodded, reaching out to take one of the bowls and placing it in her lap.

Still holding the tray, Duncan crossed the room before sitting down on the edge of the bed and turning his attention back to her. She was facing him, her back to the window, staring down at the bowl in her lap.

“Are ye all right?” he asked tentatively.

Talking gently did not come naturally to him. The Laird was used to doing everything by force. But even he could sense a scared animal when it was in his presence, and that was exactly how Alison was behaving.

“I dinnae ken.”

He was surprised at the honesty of her answer, at the gentle vulnerability of it, but he did not press her any further.

Slowly, Alison lifted her spoon and began to eat her stew.

They had only taken a few bites when a knock sounded at the door. Alison began to set her bowl down, but Duncan waved her off.

“Keep eating,” he ordered, pointing at her bowl, which was still more than half full.

He marched across the room, his heavy footsteps echoing in the small space. Wrenching open the door, he found two young women on the other side.

The maids had arrived.

Duncan stepped aside, allowing them to move past him with their pails of hot water. They poured them into a tub that sat in the far corner of the room, then left to fetch more.

“I’m assumin’ that bath is for me?” Alison asked, drawing his attention once more.

He turned to look at her. A burst of smug satisfaction rang through him upon seeing her chewing on a large hunk of bread, having heeded his words from a few moments ago.

Alison gestured pointedly at her soiled clothes.

“Aye,” he confirmed. “Thought it might help ye feel a bit better to clean up. I’ll also have them wash yer gown while ye’re bathin’ and see if they have anythin’ ye can wear in the meantime.”

Alison shook her head. “Nay. I’ll bathe and wash up, but there is nay need to clean this frock. I’ll just toss it when we get to the castle.”

“Ye’ll be changin’ back into dirty clothes, then.”

“I ken.” Alison gave him a pointed look. “But I’ve been through worse things than wearin’ a dirty dress these past few days.”

Duncan blanched reflexively at her words as a barrage of sordid images filled his mind—visions of the men he had slain taking his wife, hurting her.

“Did they… Did ye… Did they take ye by force?”

The words hung in the air, thick and heavy with everything they implied.

Alison regarded him as she absorbed the deeper meaning of his question. After what felt like an eternity, she shook her head.

“They captured me by force,” she explained. “They werenae particularly kind. But they didnae do what ye’re thinkin’.”

Duncan sagged as relief washed over him. He would be unable to live with himself if anything worse had happened to her, and he was unbelievably grateful that she had come out of it mostly unharmed. He had been riddled with fear that another wife of his would die and he would have been a useless failure once again.

They continued eating in silence, and the maids soon returned with a few more pails of water. When the tub was full, Alison stood up, placing her empty bowl next to Duncan’s on the writing desk.

“Ye can leave now,” she said, her voice a little brighter than it had been moments ago.

“Leave?” Duncan asked, furrowing his brow at the order.

“Aye, ye’re nae seein’ me without me clothes on, that’s for certain.”

Alison glanced meaningfully over her shoulder at him before her eyes flicked to the door.

“Ye’re me wife,” he reminded her gruffly.

She chuckled dismissively. “I already told ye, we’re nae married in any way that counts. So, if ye want me to take a bath, ye must leave.”

Some of the fire from when he had first rescued her was back in her voice. Her chin was jutted defiantly as she waited for him to leave the room. For a moment, he wondered what she would do if he said no. Would she sit on the bed and continue staring at him until he finally did as she commanded? Would she go as far as sleeping in her soiled clothing?

He did not doubt that Alison would find some way to make him suffer for not giving her the privacy she demanded. Part of him wanted to see her unclothed, but the other smarter part of him knew that it would not be a prudent decision to refuse.

She’s already been through enough. I can give her what she’s askin’ for. I’ll go down to the tavern, have some whisky, and come back later.

Duncan stood up. “All right,” he said, giving her a smirk. “But I’ll be comin’ back to settle in for the night. So dinnae get too comfortable.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, her gaze never leaving him as he turned and walked away.

Duncan placed his hand on the doorknob but paused when she gently cleared her throat.

“I fought them,” her voice rang out behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder at her. “I thought ye should ken,” she continued, her gaze still defiant. “I kicked ‘em, and I bit ‘em. They thought they could take me by force. They tried. I didnae let ‘em. Finally, they realized I wouldnae stop fightin’ ‘em, and they cut their losses, decidin’ to wait for the ransom instead.”

Duncan swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing behind his beard.

“Good job, lass,” he said hoarsely, not trying to hide the pride he felt at her admission, before turning and striding out of the room, the door closing firmly behind him.