"I daenae care."Theodore's tone left no room for argument. "I'll nae have me wife in agony for every meal."
"So ye really plan to go throughwith the weddin', do ye?" Boyd shook his head, gaze wandering to a blonde lass across the hall.
Theodore ignoredhim and turned to the nearest servant—a slight lad who looked barely old enough to serve. "Ye. Fetch someone from the kitchens. The cook, if she's available."
The boy's eyes widened.He bowed so low his nose nearly touched his knees, then bolted for the servant's corridor as if the devil himself were on his heels.
Boyd's laughter rang out."I think ye may have given that poor lad a spasm. Did ye see how he nearly lost his constitution? I daenae think I've ever seen anyone so eager to serve."
"Then maybe yecould take a pointer from the lad," Theodore said, his voice harder than he intended.
Boyd swallowed,the mirth draining from his face.
Theodore didn't soften.He didn't need to. Boyd knew when to stop.
A voice cutthrough the noise behind him. "Ye speak boldly for a man who cannae even keep his wife for a meal.
Theodore's vision went red.He shoved back from the table—hard. The entire surface tipped, roasted hens and platters crashing to the stone floor in a cacophony of shattering pottery and spilled ale.
The hall fell silent.
Theodore roseto his full height, his voice carrying to every corner of the room. "Listen here, and listen well." Each word fell like a hammer blow. "I'll nae tolerate any further foul words against the lass who is to be yer Lady. Who mocks someone who's injured? Who strikes when someone is weaker?" His gaze swept the crowd, meeting eyes that quickly looked away. "What sort of clan would disgrace a young lass? Ye'll all hold yer tongues from here on out. The next one to say anythin' against her will lose it."
He remained where he stood,shoulders coiled with tension. His words hung in the air like a dark cloud, smothering what remained of the feast's warmth.
Let them whisper.
They didn't seewhat he had. They'd never understand what the hunt had done to her.
He closed his eyes.For a moment, Madison's image flashed before him—not as she was tonight in her borrowed gown, but as she'd been when he'd caught her. Hollow-eyed. Bone-thin. Shadows beneath her eyes that spoke of sleepless nights running from monsters.
Theodore swallowed hard.He couldn't help her then. But he could help her now.
Madison hadevery right to fear. Life had been cruel. But he didn't have to be. Not to her.
Movementin his peripheral vision drew his attention. The servant boy had returned with a broad-shouldered, gray-haired woman, flour dusting her apron.
"Me laird,"the boy squeaked. "I found Greta."
Theodore gestured her forward.The woman approached and bowed, eyes downcast.
"Me laird,ye wished to see me." Her voice trembled slightly.
"Aye."Theodore kept his tone even. "Madison—Lady MacLeon—she's left the hall."
"I heard."Greta's sharp eyes studied him.
"And what else have yeheard, squirreled away in yer corner of the castle?"
Greta twisted her flour-dusted hands.She glanced around as if hoping someone would speak for her. "Nothin' other than the lass probably needs somethin' to eat after everythin' she's been through."
The knotin Theodore's chest loosened. This woman—not the richest in the room, but perhaps the one with the biggest heart—understood.
"I'm glad ye said that."Theodore's expression softened. "The poor lass looked near ready to faint. She's been through enough, and I daenae want ye or anyone else causin' her trouble."
Greta's brow furrowed."And ye think I'd cause her trouble?"
"What I want,"Theodore said carefully, "is for ye to be available tonight. If the Lady comes for food—at any hour—I want ye to make her whatever she wants. Can ye do that for me? For her?"
