“Are you angry, my love? I have been waiting to tell you, but what better time. Now it will be perfect for John’s service, don’t you think so?”
He stood there, shaking his head, thinking of all the lies he would have to tell in order to miss her brother’s sermons. If his past deeds hadn’t earned him a cozy place in hell, his future ones surely would!
She was looking at him so dejectedly.
How could he possibly be angry with her?
“Damn, woman!” he exclaimed and started up the stairs after her. “I’m going to paddle that delightful arse of yours!”
She shrieked in alarm and ran in the direction of their room, and Piers smiled to himself as he heard her giggle and slam the door behind her.
He would never touch her in anger, she knew, and the door would never be locked against him. No man worthy of the name would ever harm a woman. But truth to tell, he couldn’t wait to get his hands on his wife’s lovely arse.
It would be the one bright spot of this dark day.
Damn Tomas and Geoffrey, both.
CHAPTER 13
Elizabet had given him grief from the first moment she’d spied him, she realized. Of course he would regret helping her. She was behaving no better than those petulant ladies at court who expected everything simply because someone had slapped their bare infant bottoms.
“I’m sorry,” Elizabet offered as they reached the hovel, realizing he was still following and that he truly didn’t have to help her, but there he was.
“For what?”
“For all that you’ve done for me.”
“Och, lass, I’ve done nothing more than any man would.”
Mayhap it was true, but Elizabet had never known that sort of man. Not even her father had really had any use for her. He was kind, to be sure, but he’d certainly never sacrificed anything for her sake. And when she’d become a burden, he’d sent her away.
Uncomfortable with the feelings she was experiencing, she averted her gaze, peering down at his hands. Big hands. Gentle hands. The sight of them made her breath quicken. Those hands had touched her so intimately. They had caressed her where no man had ever dared… and he had stopped when she’d asked him to.
“What is it, Elizabet?”
She shook her head, her throat thickening.
“Naught… it’s simply that no one has ever championed me before—except for my brother John,” she amended. “Despite that it caused him grief from my other siblings.”
Broc furrowed his brow. “I dinna understand. Why should it cause him grief?”
“Well... I did not know them until I was grown, you see.” She cast him an anxious glance. “My mother was a leman—a mistress. She raised me alone and in fact, I did not know my father until a few years ago. He took me in after she died.”
He was quiet a long moment and then disclosed, “I understand what it’s like to be alone.”
And somehow, as she peered into his eyes, she understood that he did.
Kindred spirits.
Broc had never spoken to anyone of his circumstances, not to Colin, who was his best friend, or even to Iain, who was like his brother.
She glanced up at him, her heart in her eyes, and he wanted suddenly to take her into his arms and hold her, comfort her.
He recognized something in her, something that spoke to him instinctively, something that told him they were very much alike. It wasn’t anything he could put his finger on, but there was something there, nonetheless.
“You have no brothers or sisters?”
Broc shook his head. “Nor mother nor father. They were all murdered.” By your people, he nearly added. “When I was but a lad.” His anger resurfaced just in the telling, but he reminded himself that she was not responsible for their death. And the look she gave him tempered his rage, so deep was the compassion he spied in her eyes.
