The Laird by Sandy Blair

thee?”
    Why, indeed, did she care about a man who’d only shouted at her since she’d arrived? “He’s my husband.”
    “Ye love him not.” Angus’s scowl deepened. “Ye have yet to tup, so should he die, ye’ll not inherit.”
    “Tup?”
    “Ye have yet to consummate yer vows.”
    How in hell did Angus know this? Only she, plain-as-pudding Pudding, could be married three—-no, four days--to the dreamiest hunk this side of a romance novel and still be a virgin, but that wasn’t the point. Ire rising, she stood and glared at her husband’s guard. “Whether or not we’ve tupped is none of your damn business.” She would have banished Angus from the room had he not made it abundantly clear he wasn’t about to leave her alone with Duncan. “And another thing. I have a castle of my own--far nicer than this, I might add--so don’t you dare suggest I’d do away with Duncan to take what is rightfully his.” Through grit teeth she asked, “Do I make myself clear?”
    He glared back. “Verra.”
    “So long as we understand each other.” She huffed and sat back down on the high-backed chair Rachael had provided when she realized Beth wasn’t about to leave Duncan’s side.
    She looked at her hands and arms. They hurt despite Rachael’s ointment. Tiny blisters lined her fingers like corn on a cob. Tears came unbidden as she looked at the only part of her person she thought pretty. They’d be scarred.
     
     
     

Chapter 7
     
    D uncan felt fluid pass his lips and gagged. What ever it was tasted like low tide, salty and rank.
    “Shh, Duncan.” A cool hand touched his brow. “You must drink this.”
    Ack! He recognized the voice. Why would the woman not leave him in peace? He rolled away from his ladywife and white-hot pain shot down his left arm and spine. He flopped onto his back and struggled to open his eyes. His voice cracked as he managed, “Leave.”
    “No. You need to drink this if you’re to heal.”
    Heal? From what? His lashes finally untangled. Beth, his termagant wife, hovered over him with tears in her eyes and a hollow reed in her hand. Why?
    He turned his head and saw he wasn’t in the solar but in one of the smaller third floor rooms. Ah. He’d relinquished the solar to his ladywife until her apartment could be completed. Soon she’d be locked away. Verra good.
    “Duncan, open your mouth.” He turned his attention back to her and saw she now held a spoon.
    “Leave.”
    She shook her head and pinched his nose. When he opened his mouth to yell, it filled with broth. He choked as he swatted aimlessly. Dear God, what ailed him? His strength had evaporated.
    Beth held out another spoonful. “You are going to drink this. We can do it the easy way or the hard, but one way or the other, it’s going in.” He shook his head and she reached for his nose again. Rather than drown he opened his mouth.
    “Thank you. I’ll not have you dying of malnutrition after all you’ve put me through these last five days.”
    He scowled. What five days?
    She heaved a sigh as she approached with another spoonful of broth. He recognized the taste. It was one of Rachael’s noxious remedies. For what, he could not recall.
    “You scared the stuffing out of me,” Beth mumbled. He scowled at her as he opened his mouth for another spoonful of broth.
    “I swear I’ve never been so frightened in my life as I was that first night. You were so hot I honestly thought you’d have a seizure.” He opened his mouth again like a wee bird. She shoveled more broth in.
    “It didn’t help having Angus hovering over my shoulder for the first three days looking like he wanted to slit my throat, either.” She shuddered. “I really thought he might the first time I removed your dressings.” She ladled more soup into him. “I couldn’t blame him, though. Your wound looked ghastly, and he didn’t know me from a hole in the ground and here I was, taking over, issuing orders. Thank God, he listened. Truth be told,