Page 11 of Brigand

“Go on. You don’t want my men to get ideas.”

“They already have ideas,” she muttered under her breath butshe hunted for her dress.

Oh. Her pretty frock was ruined. Somewhere along the way ithad become stained and torn. The neckline was ripped and the lace was intatters.

“Come along. Don’t dally. You have a busy day ahead of you.”

She glared at him again. “Go to hell.”

He crossed his arms over his broad chest and grinned. “Ach.Such language. And from a lady.” The way he said the word made his opinion ofladies quite clear. She tipped up her chin and favored him with the haughtiestglare she could manage. A muscle in his cheek bunched. “Go on,” he snapped.“Get dressed. I wasn’t joking when I said the Cloud could use a maid. I fancyseeing you on your knees scrubbing the floor.”

“I will not.”

His smirk was chilling. “Then you won’t eat.”

“You’re an animal. No wonder Kaitlin ran from you.” This,she spat. She shivered as his expression changed.

His eyes narrowed. His voice dropped an octave. “Have a carewhat insults you hurl at my head, Violet Wyeth. Never forget I hold your fatein my hands.”

“You are a brigand and a beast. A common criminal.”

“Hardly common. And again, have a care. I have nocompunction about turning you over my knee.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

Oh heavens. The realization sank in. He would. He wouldindeed.

“I promise you this. If I don’t like what I hear coming outof your mouth, I will gag you again.”

She shuddered. She’d hated that gag.

“So. Be a good girl and put on that dress. Go downstairs andhelp Morna and Pippin prepare my breakfast. You will do whatever you are told.You will work from dawn to dusk. And you’d better hope your friend Kaitlincares enough about you to return home soon or you’ll spend your life in myscullery. Do you understand?”

Violet didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her throat was cloggedwith tears.

The McCloud didn’t care. He nodded in her direction, a darkfrown on his face. “Come along, my lady. Get dressed or I may assume you’drather serve me in some other fashion. A service that doesn’t requireclothing…”

She was dressed in a trice.

Chapter Four

If the McCloud was an animal, a beast and a brigand, his menwere worse. There were fifteen of them, all large and rough and raucous. Someof them had teeth.

Several of them made lewd comments and suggestions as shemoved around the table—most of which she didn’t understand but which elicitedriotous guffaws from the others. One man, a particularly crass fellow with adispleasing aroma, pinched her bottom as she brought him his ale. Another—theonly quiet one of the bunch—sat in the corner, picking his teeth with a knifeand staring at her with a predatory glint in his eyes.

The only one who was remotely kind was the hideous-faceddriver she’d met the day before. And even then, it was a grudging kindness.More than once, he stepped in to smack away a wandering hand or rebuke one ofthe other men for a rude remark in the presence of a lady.

The men laughed off his remonstrations. Taking their cuefrom their leader, the McCloud, they saw no reason to show her any deference.They treated her just as they treated Jessie, the other serving wench.

The difference was, Jessie didn’t seem to mind.

She leaned into their caresses and laughed at their jests.

But they treated her better than they treated Pippin, theyoung boy who served in the scullery. Most of them were fairly decent butCraig, the mountainous man with the lingering odor of onions, cuffed the childand boxed his ears with horrifying frequency.

Ah, but only when the McCloud wasn’t there.