“I have just realized that I do no’ ken yer name, and I—what did ye’ do to my room, ye’ bloody wench?”
Blay rolled onto her back, cracking an eye at the sound of a man bellowing.
“Oh, my,” she said between a yawn, stretching her arms above her head. “Ye’ do look quite furious, standing there with yer face all red like that.”
“What. Did you do. To my room?”
She frowned. “I’m not sure—oh.” Blay looked at the corner he was standing directly in front of, then nodded. “Aye. That is in yer room.”
“I did no’ ask if—woman,” he bellowed. Blay jumped to her feet, her finger in the air. That had been such a nice, cozy nap from a day of hard work, and she would not let this brute of a man destroy how happy she was. Blay had worked hard on her creation, and was quite proud of it.
“Shame on ye’,” she said, stabbing a finger at his chest.
“On me? Woman, ye’ donna live here. This is no’ yer house, where ye’ can do whatever ye’ please. I did no’ approve of this…this—whatever the hell this is!” he shouted, gesturing to her corner.
“That’s no’ my fault,” she said. “And aye, shame on ye’—for being so unbearably rude and no’ appreciating my masterpiece.”
“That is no’ a masterpiece. That’s an evil plan concocted by an evil woman, who—”
“My lord, I am sorry to point this out, but ye’ canna possibly know I am evil.”
The rage came straight off his face, and then…he had that damn look. Blay pressed her lips, crossing her arms over her chest. Oh, he just had something to say, didn’t he? It seemed he always did.
“I can surmise from multiple things that yer evil,” he said coldly. “The first indication that yer no’ right in the head—”
“Being evil is no’ the same as being right in the head, ye’ bru—”
“—ye’ did this on purpose, in order to infuriate me. The second indication, ye’ obviously had help, and any person foolish enough to help ye’ must have suffered through tremendous efforts in order to make this happen without me finding out sooner. The third indication—ye’ created a bloody puddle in my room.”
Blay’s nostrils twitched.
“Actually,” she corrected him coldly, “that is no’ a puddle. Tis a quaint little pond and I find it—”
“I donna even ken yer name and yer ruining my keep,” he grated in disbelief.
At least that damn look was off his face. Once again, he looked furious—a look she was accustomed to. She remembered all of the times her mother had done something to anger her father—and smiled.
“I’ll no’ be telling ye’ my name, either, lad.” She gave him a sweet smile, then returned to her spot on the bed, lying across it on her stomach. Trews were no’ so bad a thing to nap in, she had figured out. Much more manageable than a puffy skirt.
If Connor ever asked for these back, she was going to run for the hills in them. Her mother may not approve of them so much, but in private, she could do what she pleased.
The thought of her mother sobered her. By now, her mare had most likely made it back to the castle and her parents had realized something was wrong. At least, she hoped so. Her father was probably sending out his warriors right now in search of her.
She had to contact her father somehow. She couldn’t leave here—partly because this brute of a man deserved to be put in his place, and she wasn’t ready to face her mother and Leith’s proposal, but…she could send him a missive, if she found the right person.
“Of course ye’ will,” he said, narrowing his eyes on her. Blay rolled over, bending her knees and putting her hands on her tummy. Aye, this was so comfortable. She could just imagine trying this in a dress. Men had made it their job to make life harder for women, she thought angrily. If it were not for the men and their expectations of a perfect wife who wore dresses and worked by the stove all day, she would be able to wear trews all she pleased.
“Of course I willna,” she said smartly, narrowing her eyes on him.
His jaw ticked. “Yer doing that thing.”
“What thing?” she asked innocently. She knew very well what he was talking about, and was immensely pleased that it was bothering him. He did no’ like the fact that she wasn’t hanging on his every word and complying with his every demand.
Poor man. At least he was realizing this sooner rather than later, though.
“Being…insufferable.” His jaw ticked. A long finger pointed to the adorable little pond she had made in the corner of the room.
It really was a beaut, she thought proudly. The clay had dried during her nap, and she had woken with just enough time to fill it with the buckets of water then return to her nap. Sticking out of the clay were the plants that she’d picked, tufts of grass, and smooth pebbles. Along with the large stones that boarded the fake pond, the plants and pebbles served to create an adorable little scene.
Her mother would be proud of her.
“That needs to be taken out of this room,” he said furiously. “No ifs, ands, or—.”
“I refuse to take that out of here. If I am going to be yer captive and kept away from the river, then I must have a piece of it here with me, ye’ inconsiderate man.”
“This is not up for discussion, woman.”
“Good!” she piped, rolling back onto her stomach. She closed her eyes, not caring that this was worthy of a lashing. She was disrespecting a chieftain to the highest degree. If he ever found out who she was, he could be so furious with her that he would start a feud with her father. The thought made her sick.
Nay, after her catastrophe marriage to Hagen, and the trouble she undoubtedly caused by refusing Leith and running away, he was already going through enough. He did not need more trouble because of his daughter’s lack of respect for a fellow chieftain.
The good thing about this, she thought with a cat-like smile, he did not have to know who she was, so she could continue her teasing.
“I have no need to discuss it anyway. Now, if ye’ will kindly leave me to nap in peace, that would be much appreciated.”
“Yer no’ napping until ye’ take this damn thing out of here.”
She sighed.
“If ye’ donna, I’ll have someone else do it,” he threatened.
She sighed again.
“And ye’ll never be allowed to leave this room again.”
Sigh. “What, will ye’ starve me, too?”
“Aye. And ye’ll not get a wink o’ sleep, either, woman.”
“Am I allowed to breathe?” she asked, moving her head to give him a droll look.
The man was standing there with his knees a part, arms crossed over his chest, complete seriousness covering his face.
“What sort o’ question is that? O’ course ye’ can breathe, ye’ dull-witted wench.”
The insult caused her to sit up once again, this time anger stiffening her back. “Would ye’ like to repeat yerself?”
He growled, eyes flashing. Good, let him be angry at her blatant disrespect. He wasn’t being very kind to her either! What sort of chieftain insulted a woman’s intelligence? Aye, woman may not be accounted for as much, but one did no’ simply insult them. “Nay.”
“Oh, I think ye’ would,” she said coldly, pushing herself off of the bed. He didn’t move from his place, staring at her with eyes as hard as rock—which made sense. The man could have been made out of rock, she thought as she ran her eyes over him.
He…was a handsome warrior. Nay, not handsome. Rugged. He was ruggedly appealing. It was no’ his face that drew her to him, but his presence, the way he demanded her attention simply by the way he stood before her.
Her fists curled. By the time she was standing next to him, she was nearly trembling.
“Would you,” she asked quietly, “like to repeat yerself?”
She knew he could not only see how angry she was, but sense it. Even a dolt like him should know better than to be so rude. She did not care if he was a chieftain—her father would never be this insufferable.
Then, her father had never been faced with a woman like Blay. She had her mother’s passion and her father’s viciousness. The two of them together? Not a very good combination for the man standing in front of her.
“Nay,” he said, just as quietly, his voice a near growl, “I donna think I would.”
She stared at him for the longest time. In truth, she stared at him for so long that his features began to blur in the red haze that was overcoming her vision.
“Ye’ dare to insult me—”
“Tis no’ like yer worth my time. I donna care if yer offended, woman. I am only going to tell ye’ this once more. Clear out the room.” He turned to the door, then paused. “There is to be a feast tonight. I will have a maid bring you a dress so ye’ can finally get out of…that.” He raked his eyes over her garb, sneering, then left her in silence.
He didn’t like her clothing? Blay left the bed, sitting on the floor next to her make-shift pond. As she stuck her hand into the shallow water, she couldn’t stop the smile that overcame her face. Poor man, not liking that.
Too bad she was not a pleaser.
* * *
“Agatha has a complaint—”
“Thomas, I do no’ have time to take up the complaints of a servant.” He expected the hard words to leave his squire with nothing but silence. When he heard the sigh, Alec closed his eyes to the missive that was in front of him.
“Tis about the woman.” Alec knew who Thomas was talking about, simply by the way he said, “woman.” It was wrought with irritation, much the way Alec felt when he thought of “the woman.”
“The complaint is? I can only imagine that she is doing this on purpose. I sent Agatha to assist her because I knew the old woman would no’ let her get away with nonsense.”
“Aye, that is what all of us expected, but…”
“But, what?”
“The raven haired girl has taken to throwing herself over the pond, mid-destruction.”
“That’s not surprising.” If she had done anything less, he would have been worried. She seemed to have a vindictive, impulsive, and foolish nature. Taking this in silence would have given him cause for worry. That she was reacting…well, to Alec, that meant one less thing to worry about.
“Aye, but the dress ye’ve sent for her…well, it has been ruined.”
He paused.
“Did ye’ provide her with another?”
Thomas nodded his shaggy blond head. Alec took a moment to absently study his squire. The tall, lithe lad looked scattered, confused. Almost out of breath, as if he had been running around. Alec forced his grip on the missive to loosen.
“How many dresses has she destroyed?”
“She—she, ah, she’s ruined three. Two of which were from your mother’s chest. After the third one, Agatha refused to let her dress like a lady and gave her a drab gray gown—that one met the same fate as the others.”
“Have they all been ruined by the water?” he asked, already knowing the answer. Of course they have. What other way to rebel against him than to ruin his offerings with the very thing he was trying to take away from her. Vindictive woman, indeed.
“Aye.”
“Has no one thought to take that…that thing out of there before attempting to dress her?” he asked, lips pressed. The woman was serving to be more of a bother than the news the missive he held in his hands did.
“The second someone goes near it, she screams like a banshee.”
“Surely my men can handle screaming. Tis no’ something they’ve never heard before.” He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. Ridiculous woman. Absolutely ridiculous. “Even if her screaming drove them off, they could have brought her to another room.”
“Then she just throws herself into the water.”
Alec was beginning to understand something—and honestly, he wished he had thought better of involving himself with her nonsense. Leaving her out in the woods would have been better for his clan than bringing her within the walls. But nay, he had foolishly brought her inside, expecting to get answers, only to get complete absurdity.
He was not going to let it bother him. That was her whole plan—to get under his skin. Alec was an even bigger fool to think that she did not have a brain. Obviously she did—or she wouldn’t know that her insane antics would get under his skin.
Order. Rules. Peace. That was what he valued most with his clan, with his home. Not even a full day here, and she was ruining that order as if she had been born to do so.
“Leave the pond. We will clean it out during the feast, when she is nowhere near that room. Get her into a decent gown so that she looks presentable. The clan will no’ like me letting a ninny into the keep when they are so used to steady routines. She is…” He couldn’t even finish his opinion on the woman.
“Aye, my lord. Should we attempt to give her another one of your mother’s dresses?”
He hated to risk his mother’s gowns, but his father would not like to see the woman dressed in dower garb. If he wanted to save himself some more headache, it was a necessary risk. Still, his poor mother was most likely rolling in her grave over her first two gowns being destroyed.
“Aye. Just…be careful.”
Thomas nodded, bowing out of the room.