Page 46 of A Bride for the Kilted Beast

Rollo smiled his fatuous grin.

“Thank ye, Faither,” Odhrán replied, hiding the fact he was itching to strangle the both of them, while at the same time feeling relieved that he had won Maddison a temporary stay of execution. He intended to use that time to put his plan into action.

“Be off with ye, before I go down tae the dungeons and slit that Kincaid lassie’s throat meself,” his father threatened.

“Aye, Faither.” Odhrán left immediately.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

After the embarrassing incident of a few days earlier, where Lillie had got the better of him in spectacular fashion, Diarmaid had largely avoided her. He had been sleeping in his study, unable to face his wife quite yet.

However, on the occasions they had met, in his chambers while collecting clean clothing , in the dining hall, or passing each other in a hallway, he reckoned he could have cut the tension between them with his claymore.

However, in the meantime, he had been feeling like the laughingstock of his own clan, and the roasting Ciarán had given him over it after confiding in him had been more or less nonstop.

“I dinnae like tae imagine how ye got yerself in such a pickle,” his brother kept saying, shaking his head at Diarmaid with an air of amused wonder. “She pulled the wool over yer eyes, right enough, ye great fool. I have tae take me hat off tae her fer that.”

“Ach, shut yer trap, will ye? I’ve heard enough of it. Ye would have done the same in me shoes,” Diarmaid complained one morning as the brothers made their way to the training ground at the rear of the guardhouse.

“I would nae be in yer shoes. I dinnae see how ye could hope tae impress a bride by buying’ her and forcing her tae wed ye. I’d be more inclined tae go a wooin’, ye ken? Pay her compliments, take her flowers, give her presents, that sort o’ thing. But I suppose that’s a wee bit tame fer ye, Braither,” Ciarán told him, not even bothering to hide his sniggering.

Dairmaid was greeted by more sniggering and mocking looks when he joined the cohort of warriors ready to practice their battle skills against one another.

“She’s let ye out of the bedroom today, has she?” jested Archie Bland. He and Duncan Morgan were there, both old hands. The pair now spent a lot of their time training the younger soldiers in all the battle skills. Ciarán had of course filled them in on the latest happenings.

They were two men Diarmaid had grown up with, roughhousing and training with since any of them could hold a weapon. They still treated him just the same as they always had, even now that he was laird. And that was how he liked it.

“Ye’ll regret that, Archie Bland,” Diarmaid threatened, grabbing a shield and gesturing with it at the joker. “Ye and me, now!” he declared, squaring up to Archie, his sword already in his hand.

“Och, he’s touchy today,” declared Duncan Black, making them all laugh again.

“Aye, nae getting’ enough sleep, ’Tis what it must be, I reckon,” Archie shot back, dancing around teasingly in front of a scowling faced Diarmaid.

“That’s the lasses fer ye, they sap yer strength if yer nae careful,” Ciarán chimed in, readying himself to spar with a partner, as the others were now doing.

There was a fearsome whoosh and then a loud thunk as Diarmaid buried the blade of his claymore in Archie’s shield.

“I see I’m gonnae have tae watch meself today, m’laird. I must say, I’m surprised ye’ve got the strength,” Archie teased, affecting amazement as Diarmaid pulled his blade free.

With an incensed roar, Diarmaid attacked him ferociously, beating back the still laughing Archie, who light-footedly dodged the blows. After five minutes though, he begged a recess.

“Look what ye’ve done to me shield,” he complained to Diarmaid, holding up the battered article. “’Tis little more than splinters!”

“Aye, and ye’ll be splinters if ye carry on bein’ so funny,” Diarmaid warned him, panting with exertion as he stood back for Archie to change his shield. “And that goes fer the lot o’ ye,” he added, glaring at his friends and brother. Much to his chagrin, they just sniggered.

At the end of his tether, Diarmaid threw down his shield and sheathed his claymore.

“That’s it. I’ll take nae more of yer disrespect, ye bastards. I’m goin’ fer a ride.”

“Hey, Braither,” Ciarán called to him as he strode away, his face turned serious. “Just watch yerself out there, and keep yer eyes open, eh? We dinnae ken who could be waitin’ fer the chance tae ambush ye.”

“I can take care o’ mesel’,” Diarmaid grumbled as he headed off towards the stables. As he walked back through the grounds to the main courtyard, his irritation cooled somewhat. The lads were only teasing, he knew it, and he’d done the same on plenty of occasions. But for some reason, this time, he had let it affect him.

It had got him thinking about Lillie. He knew he had acted stupidly over Finian. He should not have said the things he had. But she did not understand. Nobody did. He could hardly make sense if it himself. He had never felt such all-consuming jealousy over a woman in his life before. It had unnerved him, made him doubt himself.

And then, when he had been at his most vulnerable, filled with lust, dressed only in his kilt, Lillie had taken him by surprise and humiliated him. She had taken her revenge and at the same time forced him to think about what he had done to her. Well, now he had, and he was ashamed of himself.

Then why d’ye nae go and tell her ye’re sorry? Because ye’re too damned stubborn, too prideful tae admit ye made a mistake. But ye cannae go on forever like this, avoidin’ her.