Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

W hen his sisters and Katherine had excused themselves and left the dining room after breakfast, Domhnall heaved a sigh and looked over at Kai.

“I really need tae gag ye at times, dae ye ken that?”

Kai looked mildly apologetic, and with a slight smile dancing on his lips, he said, “She asked.”

“Aye. And if she’d have asked ye tae drop yer trousers and run around the room naked, would ye have done that too?”

Kai smirked and shrugged playfully.

Domhnall shook his head at his brother. “For someone who can manipulate someone’s thoughts and emotions, yer nae very good at reading them.”

“Course nae. That’s his job,” Kai replied, jerking his head toward Magnus.

“Talking about reading thoughts,” Magnus said. “Ye need tae ken, Domhnall, that Lady de Beaumont is lying tae ye.”

Domhnall frowned deeply. “What dae ye mean? In what way?”

“She doesnae usually skip breakfast at all. In fact, she left this table starving. She just couldnae stomach what was offered her. Nae thanks tae this idiot.” Magnus jerked his head toward Kai.

“She wanted tae ken,” Kai defended again. “What was I supposed tae say?”

Magnus scowled at him. “What dae ye tell all yer lasses when they ask ye if they’re the only one in yer heart?”

Kai floundered then, and shrugging, he said, “I tell them what they want tae hear.”

“Exactly,” Domhnall said. “Ye nearly put me off me breakfast with the stuff ye came out with ‘afore, fer God’s sake.”

“All right,” Kai finally relented, raising his hands. “I’m sorry. I’ll try and watch me tongue in future.”

“Aye. That’ll be the day,” Magnus growled.

Kai beamed a grin. “And speaking o’ tongues,” he continued seamlessly while pushing himself up from the table, “I have a young lass tae meet.”

Both Domhnall and Magnus shook their heads, but gave their brother a smirk.

“If ye dinnae give that thing a rest,” Domhnall nodded to Kai’s groin, “it’ll fall off one o’ these days.”

“Then I’d better enjoy it while I can,” Kai quipped back just before he left the room.

Domhnall looked back at Magnus. “We have our own appointment tae keep.”

“Aye, we dae. The men will probably already be waiting on us.”

Half an hour later, and kitted up in protective armor, Magnus and Domhnall were with some of their best soldiers, enjoying a vigorous sparring session. It was getting colder by the day, and none of them were immune to it, but after so many seasons, all the men were accustomed to the bitter winters of their homeland. Besides, they battled so vigorously against each other, it kept them warm against the prevailing west wind that blew off the sea beside the castle.

Domhnall had just disarmed yet another of his men, when, after taking his helmet off to catch his breath, a movement at the corner of his eye made him turn. He was surprised to see Lady de Beaumont standing there. He was even more surprised to see her gazing at him, her lips slightly parted, and looking both mesmerized and surprised.

“This isnae the weather tae be wandering about in, me lady,” Domhnall said. “Ye should go back inside.”

He was trying to be considerate. They hadn’t exactly started off on the right foot, and after that small glimpse of civility at the breakfast table earlier that morning, he had determined he ought to try and make her feel a little more welcome.

But then, her top lip curled, and she snarled at him. “I’m not some precious thing that needs protecting. Nor do I appreciate being told what to do.”

God, I cannae win with this lass.

Not about to be humiliated again by her in front of his men, he put his consideration to one side, and once more, reverted back to mockery.

“The sparring field is nay place fer refined English ladies,” he growled mockingly.

But his words had the opposite effect, for instead of deterring her and driving her away, she stepped further forward until she was only a few feet away.

“I will duel with you any day,” she retorted.

Her remark elicited mocking chuckles from the men surrounding her, and Domhnall himself could only smirk down at her in disbelief.

“Woman, ye wouldnae last a minute. Please. Go back inside ‘afore ye catch yer death.”

“Again with the telling me what to do,” she bit back. “You may lord it over these men, but you do not own me. Not yet. Besides, I’m not the useless English woman you clearly assume I am.”

Taken aback by her boldness, Domhnall now realized that Lady de Beaumont was actually serious.

“This isnae a game, lass,” he replied. “These are real swords that can cause real harm.”

“Do you think I am some sort of fool?” she retorted.

And before Magnus had a chance to react, she had bent and lifted the short sword that lay near his feet.

“Or are you simply too afraid to fight a woman?” she mocked, planting her feet into a stance to do battle.

He had to give her some credit. She at least seemed to have her positioning right.

Ye might as well get this over with. She’s only going tae humiliate hersel’, and clearly, nae dissuading is going tae stop her.

Rolling his eyes, Domhnall heaved a sigh. “Fine.”

Dropping his long sword into the snow, he matched her sword with his own short one. He watched as his men stepped back to give them some room, all with smiles on their faces. No doubt they had the same thought he did. His future wife was a mad woman. But if she wanted to prove herself, perhaps a little light entertainment for them all would be no bad thing.

Planting his feet firmly on the ground, he lifted his sword. “Ready?”

With her eyes full of determination, Lady de Beaumont nodded abruptly.

“Good.”

Of course, he had no intention of fighting her for real. She was less than half his size, and besides, this was clearly a show of what he now knew, was part of her stubborn character. Something she had showcased more than any other part of her personality in the last twenty-four hours.

The duel started off tentatively, his future wife watching him carefully, waiting for his strike, and readying herself to defend against it. But as they began to get into a flow, Domhnall couldn’t help notice that she was, indeed, skilled with the sword. No match for him, of course, but she was certainly no novice.

While he tried to keep the fight light and non-threatening, Lady de Beaumont tried to push him with her heavier strikes. When Domhnall did not respond, she mocked him.

“What’s the matter, me laird? Are you scared of hurting me?”

“Are ye nae afraid o’ being injured?” Domhnall countered, pushing a little harder to see how she would fare.

“I’m not afraid of you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Domhnall smiled. “Well, ye should be.”

He out maneuvered her a few times, but still, she held her own, which, he could not deny, impressed him. He also noticed that the men watching on were no longer smiling in light mockery, but seemingly as impressed with her skills as he was.

“That’s the problem with you Scots,” Lady de Beaumont retorted. “You think because you are the descendants of Vikings, that you’re unbeatable. But the English have taught you a lesson or two about losing, have they not?”

Unbeknownst to her, Lady de Beaumont’s words cut him to the bone. Both of his parents would still be alive if it were not for the English. His mother and father were slaughtered viciously, and even though years had passed, Domhnall still struggled to reconcile his guilt for not being able to save them.

He felt his anger rising at her words, and struggling to hold back, his next strike was given with far more force.

“Domhnall,” Magnus said, a warning tone in his voice.

“Oh, have I hit a nerve?” Lady de Beaumont smirked. “Have I finally found the warrior? What’s the matter? Have the English proven themselves to be worthy of your skills?”

She was going too far, and the rage bubbled up within him.

“Domhnall,” Magnus barked, but Domhnall ignored him and lunged at her again.

She side-stepped, and struck him with a novel move, but he could feel himself losing control, and as his anger took him over, he moved swiftly, strike after strike, pushing her further and further back.

“Domhnall,” Magnus yelled.

But it was too late. With a skilled maneuver, he swiftly disarmed her and as she stumbled backwards, Lady de Beaumont toppled back and fell into the stream that ran through the castle grounds.

“Ah!” she gasped, the freezing cold water clearly taking her breath away.

For a second, Domhnall could only stand there dumbfounded at what he had done. Spinning to look behind him, he saw the glowering eyes of his brother, who had tried to put a stop to it. Magnus, with his arms folded across his chest, only shook his head, his face loaded with annoyed disappointment.

Domhnall then turned back and reached for Lady de Beaumont, but she swiped his hand away.

“Get away from me,” she shrieked.

She was unharmed, but clearly humiliated, and as she struggled to wade through the water, Domhnall’s eyes fell to her gown. Clinging to her body, it showed off every curve, including her pert nipples that, with the cold, now peeked through her soaking wet clothing.

Good God!

He then realized that all his men could see what he could, and swinging around, he barked, “Turn around and keep yer eyes averted.”

Immediately, the men did as they were told, all of them looking a little embarrassed that they hadn’t done so without being asked.

With her body shaking from the cold, Lady de Beaumont finally climbed out of the stream, and even with her skin turning blue, it was clear she was raging with anger.

“That is how you win your battles, is it? By being a complete brute?”

But Domhnall didn’t care that she was angry. The guilt of what he had done was eating him. It was one thing to lose his temper with his men, but a completely different thing to lose it with someone so delicate as the woman who stood shaking with cold in front of him.

Magnus had retrieved the shawl that had fallen from her shoulders in battle, and approaching her with it held in front of him, so he could not look upon her body, he handed it to her.

Snatching it from his hands, she wrapped it around her shoulders, and stormed past the brothers. But then she stopped and abruptly spun around to face Domhnall.

“As strong as you are, you are nothing more than a bully. Your men might respect your strength, but it takes more than brutish force to be a man. Indeed, you are stronger than I, but you will discover, Laird MacLeod, that I will not be dismissed so easily.”

Domhnall opened his mouth to speak, but she had already spun on her heels and was storming back to the castle before he had a chance to say anything. All he could do was watch her go.

“Well done, brother,” Magnus snarled sarcastically. “First Kai, and now ye. I’m sure Lady de Beaumont feels right at home now.”

Domhnall had no words to defend himself, and instead, barked to his men that training was over. As they quickly dispersed, Domhnall could only stand there feeling like an idiot. A very guilty idiot.

He had known what she was doing, and instead of letting her words wash over him, he had allowed her to trigger his darkest regrets. It made him wonder if she knew about his family and the losses they had sustained. Surely, she wouldn’t be so cruel. After all, she had lost her own father in battle.

It doesnae matter what she kens. Ye cannae lose control around her ever again.

No. He couldn’t. He had been intrigued by her boldness, but whether she knew it or not, she had managed to reach the pain he kept hidden deep inside. It was no excuse. He had to get a handle on himself when he was near her.

“Are ye happy now?” Magnus said.

“O’ course, I’m nae happy,” Domhnall spat. “I should’ve stopped the first time ye called me name.”

“Aye, ye should,” Magnus said knowingly. “She’s hurting as much as ye, ye ken. Neither o’ ye want tae be in this position. But ye ken yer strength, Domhnall. Ye cannae allow yersel’ tae lose it again like that when ye’re near her.”

“Get out o’ me head, Magnus.”

“Actually, I wasnae in yer head, braither,” Magnus replied. “I’m just talking sense.”

“Aye. Well. I have things tae be getting on with,” Domhnall said before walking away.

Indeed, there were things he needed to attend to, but on his way to his study, he would divert to the kitchen and get Cook to make up some manchet bread with butter and honey. It was hardly going to fix what he had done, but it was an olive branch of sorts.

Ye mean, it’ll alleviate yer guilt.

He wished it would, but it wasn’t going to be that easy.