Reade’s chest tightened while he let out a rush of air at the sight of them. Blair hadn’t tried to escape, and from the shining expression and rosy apple cheeks of his sister, they didn’t encounter any rogue Campbells either.
“Reade!” Adaira called out as she rode in. “We’ve just come back from our ride. Where are ye off to this late in the day?”
Reade remained tight-lipped as he slid off his horse to meet his sister. He flicked his eyes from Adaira to Blair, then back to his sister. “I was riding out to find ye. ‘Tis nearly sunset, and I worried ye might no’ return before dark.”
Adaira’s horse reached Reade. She tossed him her reins and waited for him to offer an arm in support as she dismounted. Flint had followed Reade to the women and took both Reade’s and Adaira’s reins from him.
“Well, we made it back fine, with plenty of wild garlic to show for it. Did we no’, Blair?”
Adaira held up her woven sack to Reade, who nodded briefly before approaching Blair’s horse. Reade grabbed at the reins, and she released them to his hands. Instead of offering an arm in support as she dismounted, Reade reached up and wrapped his arm around her waist and helped, or rather forced, her to slide down into his arms.
“Aye, we did,” Blair answered, not as exuberantly as his sister. He had believed they made some progress in touching and being near each other. Why did she now speak quietly and drop her gaze?
“Come!” Adaira called out to both of them. “Let’s get these greens to the kitchens. Fresh garlic is always welcome!”
Reade snatched the bag Blair had draped over her shoulder, pulling it roughly off her arm, and handed it to Adaira. Then he tossed the reins to Flint.
“Here, ye take this to the kitchens,” he instructed Adaira. “I must have a word with my wife.”
Blair shuddered in his arms at his emphasis on the wordwife.
As well she should.
Adaira opened her mouth to speak, but Reade ignored her, brushing past his sister and the horses, dragging Blair with him.
To his surprise, she didn’t fight or complain. She only walked stiffly beside him.
Much like a proud woman walking to the executioner’s scaffold.
Her plaid cape dragged on the ground behind her by the time he escorted her into their chambers. Then he thrust her away from him, and she stood near the overstuffed pair of chairs, her chin quivering by her eyes like iron as she stared at him. She gathered her plaid off the ground and tugged it around her arms.
“My sister had a fine time. Odd ye never mentioned to me ye were riding past the gate.”
Blair kept her eyes level, meeting his. “Why must I? Does being your wife mean I am your prisoner?” He didn’t miss that she used the same emphasis on the wordwife.
“How do I know ye weren’t plotting with the Campbells behind our backs, or putting my dear sister, whose heart is oft grander than her senses, at risk? For the present, until we can learn what the Campbells wanted with Mungo, and if ye know where the letter is, or if ye are as duplicitous as your dead husband, I should know of your whereabouts at all times.”
It certainly sounded like she was his prisoner, which was the opposite of what his parents had instructed. But not only did he not want to risk his clan if she was a traitor to the true king, he also didn’t want her to befall the same fate as Mungo Gordon.
His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Why couldn’t he justtellher that?
Why was everything with her so difficult?
“I did naught wrong! And I know naught of my dead husband’s deceptions or this letter ye seek! Why can ye no’ trust me?” she shrieked.
“Trust ye? I dinna even know ye!” he roared back at her as he raised his hand to grab at his hair.
As his hand rose to his head, though, Blair flinched backward, stumbling into the chair in a tangle of plaid. Reade stilled, his eyes locked onto her. The room was quiet, as if trying to absorb what had just happened. She resembled a wee rabbit hiding from the predatory eyes of a hawk. Reade despised that she looked that way because she feared him.
“Why did ye cower from me?” he asked in a clenched voice.
Blair dropped her chin to her chest and studied her wringing hands.
“I thought ye were going to strike me,” she said, her whisper the lone sound breaking the harrowing quiet.
Reade couldn’t move. He’d struck many people before, his brothers and cousins mostly, Campbells when the opportunity presented itself, but never in his life had he struck a woman. A man who did that was not a man at all. The bruise he’d seen on her backside now made better sense in this moment of clarity. His hands curled into frustrated fists.
Her behavior when he raised his hand and her words about what she’d expected burned in his head. Her life with Mungo might have been unpleasant — marrying an older, limpid man who might be a traitor rarely boded well in a marriage. But that Blair cowered from him, recoiled in fear, no matter what Reade thought of her or the emotions, flared in his heart. The conflict of hating the Campbells while desiring her faded to nothing with the realization that she believed him a low enough piece of vermin to strike her because they were exchanging heated words.
