“For the right coin, he would.” Leah glared right back at Wee Tam. “Dinnae give me an excuse. I’ve known ye since ye were in nappies, Tam, and I willnae tolerate your cheek.”
Wee Tam scoffed, but color flared up the back of his neck.
Fox’s wife stood firm, chin raised high. She was indomitable, a foundation refusing to be moved.
Admiration rose in Fox’s chest. He appreciated his wife’s good sense, but seeing Leah in full battle mode—cheeks flushed, eyes snapping—was a fierce sight. It made him regret even more the platonic circumstances of their marriage.
Tam leaned in again, not giving in. “George is an eejit and I willnae—”
“If ye want tae have it out with George, ye do it on your own time, not mine,” Leah snapped. “I’m not paying ye tae quarrel.”
“Och, ye no’ be paying us at all. That fancy Sassenach husband of yours be doing it.” Tam’s face reddened, his hands waving in the air. “Given that it’s scarce two days since your wedding, and you’re out here arguing with myself—and he’s nowhere tae be seen—it makes me wonder how much of a wife ye truly are!”
Fox hissed in a breath. How dare this man!
The hoots and ribald calls from the gathered men were outside of enough.
Damn Scots.
Never quite knew when to stop running off their mouths, did they?
But all of that paled as Fox looked to his wife. She had turned bright red, instantly biting her bottom lip.
Fox took a step forward, his immediate instinct being to prove Tam utterly wrong. To march over to his wife, sweep her into his arms, and claim her in a decidedly thorough kiss. To show all these idiots precisely to whom Leah Carnegie now belonged.
But he paused as he studied Leah’s face. Would she welcome a demonstration of open affection? Or would such a blatant display of male ego put her off? Moreover, was her blush a reaction to Tam’s crude language? Or a sign of humiliation?
Fox didn’t know. And that very fact left him hesitating too long until the moment for action passed entirely.
“Back to work, Tam.” Leah notched her chin higher and pivoted away.
Her gaze collided with Fox’s, causing her to freeze momentarily.
Fox saw it clearly, her realization that he had overheard Tam’s cruel words.
But his wife did not flinch. Her color climbed, her blush burning hot, but she kept her head upright.
“Husband,” she said, tone artificially bright, “I’m sorry if this ruckus has disturbed ye.”
Wee Tam snorted. Fox shot the man a quelling glance—the sort that, as an officer, had caused soldiers to scramble for cover. But he must be out of practice because instead of blanching, Tam merely touched his cap and turned back to his men, that smirk still in place.
For her part, Leah walked past Fox and into the castle.
Leaving him standing in the courtyard.
Fuming. Frustrated.
He hated this.
He hated the hesitating, vacillating,uselessman he had become.
He hated that everything felt so tenuous—his ability to keep Madeline safe, his suit before the Court of Arches, his desire to assist Leah with the monumental task before her.
And as the men took up knapping slate and calling to one another . . . he hated all this noise and his brain’s inability to shut it out.
He hated that Coorg and the chaos that followed had broken something within him and, like Humpty-Dumpty, he couldn’t seem to piece it back together.
He hated that his throat was dry and his body begged for the relief a bottle of wine would bring.
