Tam had assured him that the women would handle his wife with a firm but caring hand, and surely they would do no worse than Gabriel. The desperate look in Magdalene’s eyes when he had reached up to lift her from the saddle haunted him still, which made him drain the last of the ale from his tankard.
He wasn’t a man who found solace in drink, either, though he wished at that moment that the serving maid hadn’t carried away the pitcher. How else was he to amuse himself while Tam and some of his helpers had gone to clean out the storage room across from the spacious bedchamber now occupied by his bride?
Gabriel had given her the best accommodations in the castle—his own room—as demanded by her position, while he would lay his head tonight on a wooden cot.
Of course he hadn’t considered for a moment that he and Magdalene would share a bed, and there were a few rooms left unoccupied in the keep that would have undoubtedly been more comfortable. Yet he didn’t want to be far from her side in case he might be needed, especially during these first days in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar faces.
He was no heartless bastard not to recognize how hard this transition would be for her after being coddled and indulged by a host of nuns. He had seen the tears glistening in Sister Agnes’s eyes upon their departure from the convent, the woman doing her best to lift her chin bravely while Gabriel had carried away her precious charge.
Love, aye, the Reverend Mother clearly loved Magdalene like cherished kin. How still and quiet the convent must be without her running amuck among them—Gabriel chuckling in spite of himself, his dark mood starting to lift.
He had to admit it, Magdalene had enlivened his life as well in ways he would never have expected. How could he have even conjured in a dream what he’d seen her do in the past few days?
Jumping naked into a fountain.
Knocking him flat on his arse.
Riding a great beast of a stallion with unparalleled skill.
Running headlong into a dark forest.
Staring at him with those incredible emerald eyes—no, glaring at him was more accurate, and in such a keen manner that left him wondering if mayhap his bride wasn’t quite as mad as Seoras had claimed her to be…
“Laird, forgive me, I was hoping tae find the healer. Tam said Clovis might be here—”
“Why the healer, woman? What is amiss?” Gabriel had risen so abruptly from the chair and cast off his breacan that Donella stepped back in alarm.
“Nothing too serious, Laird, I swear it! Your wife is bruised, is all, around her rib cage, and she has some cuts on her feet. Did she not have slippers?”
“She lost them in the woods,” Gabriel said tightly, already striding past Tam’s sister. “I could find no other pair in her things. By God, the man was here only moments ago.Clovis!”
His roar echoing around the great hall, Gabriel heard a startled gasp from Donella, who struggled to keep up with him.
“Find Clovis at once!” he ordered, shooting her a glance over his shoulder that made her face blanch white.
“Y-yes, Laird. I will find him.”
Gabriel didn’t waste a second look but headed for the north tower, his gut churning.
Bruises? Cuts? No wonder she had cringed. No wonder she had cried out that he had hurt her, disgust at himself nearly choking Gabriel again.
If Magdalene had any clarity of thought at all—and he was beginning to believe that she might have more than he’d ever imagined—what must she think of him?
A brute, no doubt, a sudden thought chilling him as he lunged up the stone steps.
Debora, Magdalene’s sister, had been wed to such a man. Brutal. Cruel. Sadistic.
Gabriel had never seen a blacker pall as the one that settled over the MacDougall household the fateful day word came of Debora’s death.
Now that he thought of it, he had never heard Magdalene’s bright laughter again after that day, either, though he had left the fortress with Seoras only a week or so later. How devastated she must have been by her sister’s death—all of them! Her father. Her mother.
Everyone except Seoras, who had commandeered his men, Gabriel among them, and gone off to fight for Red Comyn and King Edward.
No sorrow there, no grief. Only a callous, coldhearted disdain for his suffering family.
Mayhap with what lucidness Magdalene still possessed, she likened Gabriel to her brother. No wonder she had fought him tooth and nail and tried to escape from him at every turn…
“Fool!” Gabriel berated himself, pushing open the door with such fury at himself that it slammed against the stone wall.
