After being summoned to his study, Vivien stood in front of Reginald to relay the message Kieran had left with her.
Reginald was in his usual mood – a wine glass in his hand, the decanter on the mantle more than halfway empty. Vivien closed her eyes for a brief second, praying for the strength it would take to get through this conversation without saying something wrong.
“And what did the Scotsman want?” Reginald did not bother to greet her as he drank a deep measure from his glass.
Vivien recounted what Kieran had said to her husband as best she could.
She left out the part of having met him before – she knew that letting that slip would be as good as signing her own death warrant. Reginald would not hesitate to punish her severely for having lied to him. He would not stay his hand if he found out that she had been alone with the Highlander in the middle of the forest; she would surely be locked up in the dungeons if he ever found out that she had kissed him. She imagined those would be the most merciful scenarios – she shuddered to think what the worst he would do to her could be.
“He threatened me?” Reginald laughed at Kieran’s final passing words. “He dared to threaten me in my own castle? What a fool the man is.” He laughed harder, pausing to catch his breath and drink his wine. Reginald walked over to the mantle, refilled his glass, and stood staring at the flames flickering in the hearth.
It was not an overly cold evening, but there was a certain chill to the air within the castle. Vivien liked to blame Reginald for that. She knew it was foolish, but she imagined that his cruelty and lack of compassion or kindness had infiltrated the very walls around them, leaving nothing but walls of frozen bricks and stone to house them.
“Yes, Lord. It was a foolish, arrogant thing of him to do,” Vivien said, looking at her husband’s back, thankful that he couldn’t see her expression of disgust. She despised the man, but here she was, trying to placate him.
Agreeing with him was something she rarely did; Vivien found she had to bite her tongue more often than was really healthy when discussing with Reginald. It had been difficult for her to do so in the first few months of their marriage; she had always thought that a husband would welcome his wife’s opinion in any matter he sought her out to discuss. That was the way her parents’ marriage had worked; she had assumed it was the norm.
It was clearly not; she had learned that in the most painful ways possible in those early months. Reginald did not welcome her opinion in any way, shape, or form. She was to be a dutiful wife, nod her head, and agree with him, no matter what drivel spilled from his lips.
Vivien realized she had a problem at that moment. She was struggling to keep her opinion to herself for the first time in over six months. The thrill of speaking her mind to Kieran without the threat of horrible repercussions had brought out the girl she once was.
She had been happy to speak her mind in her younger years; nothing had kept her quiet except her lack of regard for propriety. The freedom she had found in saying what she wanted to say was a potent drug to her bruised soul.
Reginald continued to contemplate the fire for a few more minutes while Vivien stared out of the window across the room, wishing more than anything she could forget Kieran grabbing her by the throat.
She shuddered at the thought. Even though it had been a terrifying move for him to make, one that she had never expected, she had seen no malice in his eyes. He had not hurt her; his grip was far too gentle.
He had backed away from her so quickly that she knew he had not meant to frighten her. The agony in his eyes tore at her – his regret obvious in the trembling in his hands. Vivien didn’t know if she could forgive him for his actions, but she couldn’t help reveling in the proximity between them, being so close that she could have kissed him if she had wanted to.
She had wanted to kiss him, much to her dismay.
“These Scots are a disgrace to themselves. They behave like animals; they are nothing worse than dogs fighting over scrap.” Reginald finally turned around to look at Vivien.
“They should be wiped off the face of the world. I am only too glad to assist the council in that regard,’’ he said, chuckling as though he had told a joke and was not excited at the thought of genocide.
Vivien swallowed with difficulty, feeling as though a lump had formed in her throat.
“I thought we were here to improve relations between our people,” she said softly, hoping against hope that she would not receive a beating for her insolence.
Thankfully, Reginald was too far into his cup to pick up on her disagreement. It was as if he had simply forgotten that Vivien was capable of having an opinion of value that she should be punished for.
“Hah!” Reginald began to laugh. “We only ever say we’re here to make attempts at peace with these heathens. We are not. We are here to root out problematic clans, and if we can, we’re happy to slaughter as many of them as we can.”
Bile rose in Vivien’s throat; she was trying her best to hide her shock and horror by squeezing her nails into her palms as hard as she could. The pain almost made her gasp aloud. Reginald was more cold-hearted than she had ever thought he was.
The thought of that terrified her immensely.
Vivien would never have wanted to believe that Reginald would be involved in something so horrifying. But something much stronger than doubt now plagued her mind; it was far too possible that Reginald had ordered the attack on Kieran’s men. This could only mean that he was behind the fire that had destroyed the MacBride clan’s wheat fields as well.
Vivien was at a loss. Her fear for Kieran and his clan was overwhelming.
“The man must try to get to me – he will find himself incredibly disappointed. I have him outnumbered and outsmarted. His arrogance will be his downfall. And I will take great pleasure in killing this Laird MacBride,” he said, hatred and disdain dripping from every word.
“Yes, Lord. He deserves nothing less for his folly,” Vivien nodded emphatically, wishing she could roll her eyes.
“Indeed, he does. I’m off to sleep, wife. It has been a long day; I feel I need to rest.” Reginald drank the last of the wine in his goblet, sighing as though he wished he could pour himself another glass.
“Let yourself out, would you?” he said, not bothering to look at Vivien as he walked out of the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
