“Ye’re mine, little mouse. Ye’d do well to remember that.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Bloody hell, Me Laird, ye’re going to kill me,” Aiden complained as Fergus swung the wooden sword, clashing it down on Aiden’s stick.
Aiden preferred a walking stick to a wooden sword because it was quicker. Not today, though.
Fergus pushed him back against the fence, roaring as he swung the sword again, swinging it with all the anger and frustration he felt after the night before. The stick cracked in two, and Aiden cursed again.
Fergus could not stop thinking about Jeane—about her swollen lips, mouth parted as she looked up at him with lust-blown brown eyes. About her hot, wet womanhood beneath his fingers...
Lord, he wanted her. He wanted her so badly he could not think straight, and she had told him she wanted someone else. Atleast, that was what he had taken away from the conversation. She would not marry him but wanted him to find her a husband?
He pictured a faceless man in his mind, a man standing beside Jeane in her wedding dress, and rage rushed red through his vision. He swung his sword again, and Aiden’s trusty stick shattered into splinters.
Aiden looked up at him with wide eyes. “Me Laird. Ye wouldnae hit an unarmed man, would ye?”
Fergus took in a deep breath and moved away from his friend, not truly wanting to hurt the man. He was just trying to survive this whirlwind that was Jeane Forrest and somehow break the hold she had on him.
It must be his scarred, awful face. It was the only explanation of why Jeane would not marry him. She wanted him; that much was clear. He was good enough to kiss her, but she did not want to be associated with him. Did not want people to see them together.
He had lost so much that day. His confidence, his happiness. His friend. His looks. Even his betrothed.
He thought about Iris, the woman who had rejected him that day, her eyes wide and terrified as she looked at his scars. Fergus’ chest felt tight, anger warring with pain inside him. He wanted to keep hitting, keep throwing his sword until he could no longer think. Because all he could think about was Jeane, howshe was going to leave him. How she could never love a man as damaged as him.
Fergus panted, breathing hard after his assault on Aiden. Distracted, one of his men stabbed him in the side with a wooden sword, making him growl in sudden pain. It hurt worse than usual, and when he looked down at his tunic, he was shocked to see blood seeping through the fabric.
Shite.
He must have opened up the wound that Jeane had stitched up. He would have to find her, get her to fix it again. The thought made his heart flip over in his chest. As angry as he was right now, he still wanted to see her. Wanted to see those doe-brown eyes looking up at him, her upturned chin, that defiant way she had about her.
“Me Laird,” the man, a younger one named Ewan, breathed. “I’m sorry?—”
“It was me fault for being distracted,” Fergus said quietly. “Consider yerself lucky I didnae accidentally kill ye.”
Ewan nodded, looking down at the ground.
Fergus waved a hand to dismiss him, and Ewan took off, hopping the fence and making himself scarce.
Everyone should make themselves scarce around Fergus, at least for today, with the mood he was in.
Fergus placed a hand against the wound to give pressure and started to walk back toward Lottie’s quarters, hoping that he would catch Jeane dispensing his sister’s morning medication.
Aiden followed Fergus back into the castle, much to Fergus’ dismay. Aiden was his friend, but Fergus was in no mood for his teasing.
“I’ve never seen ye so distracted, Me Laird.”
Fergus grunted in response, slowly walking up the stairs, the pain making him even more short-tempered.
“It’s that healer of yers, isnae it?” Aiden teased, and Fergus had a brief fantasy of knocking him on his arse.
“Daenae test me today, Aiden,” Fergus warned in a low, calm voice that made Aiden’s eyes widen in fear. “I’m in nay mood.”
“Aye, I can see that,” Aiden mumbled, but when Fergus glared at him, he lifted his arms as if surrendering.
“How has the guard been? Have we taken any prisoners?” Fergus asked after a moment.
“One,” Aiden said. “Waitin’ in the dungeon for ye, Me Laird.”
