Never Love a Highlander - Maya Banks [51]
’Twas the truth, she’d had more rest over the last week than she could bear. She’d wallowed. She’d sulked. She’d dealt with her fear and her sense of failure. Now … Now she was just furious.
Furious with the men who’d trespassed on her lands. Furious with the cowardice of Duncan Cameron. Furious that she’d been rendered helpless against a vicious attack.
No longer could she accept her husband’s decree that she become a meek, feminine version of whatever fantasy he’d built in his mind of the perfect wife. That wasn’t who she was. He should have given more thought to stepping in to marry her if he wasn’t prepared to accept a wife he considered wholly unsuitable.
She dressed in trews and a tunic she saved for what she viewed as special occasions. It was soft. No holes, no stains, and the hem was finely stitched.
It was overlayed in red velvet with gold stitching. It had taken every coin she’d saved for three years, but it was the finest thing she’d ever owned.
She wiped at the dirt on her boots and rubbed a finger over the toe where the leather was so thin that a hole had nearly been worn. She had need of a new pair, but it was a luxury she couldn’t contemplate, not when everyone else in her clan had shoes and boots just as worn, if not worse.
Still, she could dream of how a new pair would feel on her feet. Fur lined. She could practically feel the softness surrounding her toes.
She stood and her hand went automatically to her throat where she tested the soreness. It still hurt to swallow and her voice had a soft rasp that hadn’t yet gone away. She probably looked a fright, but after so many days, she was ready to be out of her chamber.
She took to the stairs, feeling a moment’s panic that she’d left the safety of her chamber. She stopped midway down, black dots swimming in front of her eyes as she panted for breath.
Such weakness infuriated her. She clenched her fist, slammed her eyes shut, her nostrils flaring as she sucked in deep breaths.
For too long she’d hidden in her chamber because the idea of going out terrified her. It was a weakness she’d never admit. The attack and the days following were a humiliation she’d live with for the rest of her life.
“My lady, you shouldn’t be out of your chamber. Do you need my aid returning? Is there something you have need of? I would be happy to fetch it for you.”
She glanced up to see Caelen’s commander standing on the stairwell, blocking her path down. His hand gripped her arm and concern burned bright in his gaze.
She brushed off his hand with a push of her own and nearly took a step back from the warrior before she caught herself. She forced her chin up and then leveled a calm stare at him.
“I am well and nay, I do not require anything. I’m on my way below stairs.”
“Perhaps ’tis best to wait the laird. I’ll summon him and tell him you’d like to leave your chamber.”
She frowned. “Am I a prisoner in my own home? Am I not allowed out of my room without the laird’s permission?”
“You mistake me, my lady. ’Tis my concern for your well-being that drives my statement. I’m sure the laird would want to escort you himself once he’s ascertained whether you’re well enough to be below stairs.”
“I can ascertain for myself that I am well enough to be up and out of my chamber. Kindly remove yourself from my path so that I may continue downward.”
Gannon didn’t look happy with the dictate. He wavered a moment, clearly trying to decide whether he should cleave to his initial idea.
She wouldn’t wait. Knowing he would do nothing to harm her, she pushed at his chest until he relented and stepped aside. He didn’t allow her to pass, though. He cupped her elbow and took her hand in his, tucking it around his arm.
“At least allow me to escort you. I would not want you to fall on the stairs.”
She nearly yanked her hand from his, so great was her frustration. But she was getting what she wanted and