Maya Banks - In Bed with a Highlander

She splashed water on her face and brushed the dust from her dress. Aye, it had been a good day, and her wound wasn’t even paining her.

“Mairin!”

She flinched as the laird’s roar carried all the way up the stairs and through her chamber door. He bellowed loud enough to shake the rafters.

With a shake of her head, she picked up her brush and made quick work of the tangles in her hair. If maneuvering her left arm didn’t prick at her side, she’d take the time to braid her hair. Maybe by morning.

“Mairin, present yourself at once!”

She dropped her brush and scowled. Lord, but the man was impatient. After one more pat of her dress she headed down the stairs. When she rounded the corner into the hall, she saw Ewan standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed over his chest, a deep scowl etched around his mouth.

To the side stood Arthur and Magnus along with Gannon and Caelen. A few of Ewan’s men tarried around the tables, having taken a keen interest in the fuss.

She came to a stop in front of Ewan and smiled demurely up at him. “You summoned me, Laird?”

Ewan’s scowl deepened. Then he ran a hand through his hair and looked heavenward. “In the course of the last hour, you’ve stolen a man’s horse and somehow managed to leave me without a stable master. Would you care to explain yourself, lass?”

“I settled a dispute,” she said. “And when I discovered that this odious man who clearly abuses his horses was responsible for your horses, Laird, I remedied the situation.”

“You had no authority to do either,” Ewan said tightly. “Your duties are quite simple. Obey me and don’t interfere with the running of this keep.”

Hurt squeezed her chest. Humiliation tightened her cheeks as she looked from man to man. She saw sympathy in Gannon’s expression, but in Caelen’s she saw agreement.

Not trusting that she wouldn’t further humiliate herself, she turned away and walked rigidly back out of the hall.

“Mairin!” Ewan roared.

She ignored him and increased her pace. She bypassed the stairs and slipped out of one of the doorways leading to the outside.

Odious, impossible, infuritating. All of them . They accused her of being daft, but this was the daftest clan she’d ever come across.

Tears burned her eyes, and she angrily dashed them away. Dusk had fallen over the keep, blanketing it in hues of lavender and gray. The chill nipped at her but she paid no heed, as she hurried across the empty courtyard.

One of the guards on the wall called a warning to her but she waved him off and told him she had no intention of going far. She just needed to be away. Away from Ewan’s roaring and the censure in his eyes.

She kept in line with the wall of the keep, making sure to remain inside the stone skirt. There had to be a place somewhere that afforded privacy while still offering safety.

Her solution came in the form of the old bathhouses in the rear of the keep. There was even a bench in the shell of the stone walls. She ducked under a sagging doorway and settled herself on the bench that lined the only wall still standing in its entirety.

Finally, a place away from the rest of the clan where she could have a private weep and lament her husband’s disgraceful behavior.

CHAPTER 22

It was important that Ewan not go chasing after his wife, especially in front of his men. It was obvious the lass had no idea what she’d gottenself into. He’d give her time to cool down and then he would instruct her on the way of things.

He turned back to the men who stood behind him. Gertie was already putting the evening meal on the table, and judging by the smell, it had been a good hunting day for the men assigned to bring fresh meat into the keep.

“Do I have my position back, Laird?” Arthur asked.

Ewan nodded wearily. “Aye, Arthur. You’ve a fine hand with the horses. However, I’ve had enough of your incessant bickering with Magnus, and ’tis obvious that it upsets your mistress.”

Arthur didn’t look happy but he nodded and hurried away to take his seat. Magnus looked as though he wanted to make a jibe at Arthur but Ewan’s fierce scowl stopped him. He, too, took his seat—at a table over from where Arthur had sat.

Ewan took his seat and was followed by his men. When Maddie made her way by to fill his trencher, he stopped her.

“When you are finished serving the men, take a tray up to your mistress. She’s in her chamber, and I don’t want her to miss the evening meal.”

“Aye, Laird, I’ll see to it immediately.”

Satisified that his wife wouldn’t go hungry and that, for the moment, all arguing was done, he dove into his portion, savoring the taste of the fresh venison.

By letting Mairin get over her upset, chances were that by the time he retired to their chamber, the initial storm would be over. He congratulated himself for his brilliant analysis and had a second helping of the stew.

A half hour later, however, when Maddie hurried into the hall to tell him that his wife was not in their chamber, he realized that his mistake was believing anything would be simple when it came to his impulsive wife.

She made him feel incompetent, and that his efforts to keep her safe were haphazard at best. None of that was true, but it raised his ire because he hadn’t felt a moment of self-doubt since he was a lad. He could train and lead an entire army. He could win a battle when he was outnumbered five to one. But he couldn’t keep a slip of a lass under control. It defied all reason and was making him daft in the process.

He pushed away from the table and stalked in the direction that Mairin had left. It was obvious she hadn’t gone up the stairs, so he continued past to the doorway leading outside the keep.

“Have you seen your mistress?” he called to Rodrick who was up on the wall.

“Aye, Laird. She came by half hour past.”

“And where is she now?”

“She’s in the bathhouses. Gregory and Alain are watching over her. She’s having a good cry, but otherwise, she is well.”

Ewan winced and heaved a sigh. He much preferred her spitting like an angry kitten "0em">female tears and even less experience in dealing with them.

He went in the direction of the bathhouses. Gregory and Alain were standing outside one of the walls and they looked vastly relieved when Ewan strode up.

“Thank goodness you’re here, Laird. You must make her stop. She’s going to take ill with so much crying,” Alain said.

Gregory frowned. “It isn’t right for a lass to cry so much. Whatever it is you have to promise her, please do so. She’s going to drown herself!”

Ewan held up a hand. “Thank you for your protection. You can go now. I’ll see to your mistress.”

They did a sorry job of hiding their obvious relief. As they left, Ewan heard the light sniffles that came from the inside of the bathhouses. Damn, but he hated the idea of her crying.

He stepped inside the dark interior and glanced around, blinking to adjust to the darkness. He followed the sounds of the sniffling until he found her sitting on a bench along the far wall. She was partially silhouetted by a sliver of moonlight that crept in through the narrow window carved into the stone, and he could see that her head was bowed, her shoulders slumped forward.

“Go away.” Her muffled voice filtered through the crumbling bathhouse.

“Ah, lass,” he said as he sat beside her on the bench. “Don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying,” she said in a voice that clearly indicated she was.

“ ’Tis a sin to lie,” he offered, knowing it would get her back up.