and he awoke with a hard pole and a strong need to drive it into her enticing body. Feeling the stirrings of arousal now because her fighting spirit drew him, he slammed his hand on the table. Mead spilled over the lip of his cup.
“’Tis your fault she isn’t ready. But I’m sure she has learned something these last couple of weeks. Surely Lady Stanhope has learned enough to take charge for today, with the help of the servants.”
He stood and towered over Maggie. “When you are done breaking your fast, you will go to your bedchamber. You will stay there this day. Work on the mending. Work on the tapestry you’ve started. I don’t really care, but you will stay there this day!”
Maggie shoved back her chair and nearly set it on his foot. He stepped back and she got to her feet. “As ye wish, Lord Middleham. Whatever ye say, Lord Middleham.”
Sassy lass! His hand itched to reach out and swat her bottom when she turned and walked by him. Instead he glanced down at Mary and ground his teeth at the look of satisfaction on her face. She’d won this round of their battle, because of him. He cursed under his breath for having been pulled into their game and strode out of the keep.
He was tired of their warfare, but at least they kept it mainly to themselves. Yet he knew the servants were aware of the challenge going on and appeared to find it amusing. He didn’t. And he wanted to steer as clear of it as possible. Although it was beginning to look like he’d soon be turning Maggie over his knee. Perhaps Mary as well. If only he would hear some responses to the messages he’d sent out concerning finding husbands for them. He should have sent Mary away before now, but she truly had nowhere to go. Fortunately, Edward had sent word he did not demand Nicholas accept Mary as a betrothed. Unfortunately, he insisted Nicholas find her a suitable husband as well as Maggie. He’d gone from a hardened warrior with a respectably stern reputation to a matchmaker.
* * *
Maggie had been fuming mad ever since being sent to her chamber. She’d spent the first hour pacing the space, calling Nicholas every vile name she could think of, and calling that dark-haired conniving Mary Stanhope worse. Then she plopped down on her bed and plotted out how she would run away the first chance she got. It didn’t matter that traveling alone back to Urquhart would be dangerous, far beyond dangerous, in truth. It would be worth the risk to get away from here and a future she dreaded: a future with some Englishman. She was tired of worrying over what possible husband would ride up any day now. Nicholas had become so frustrated with the situation — and with her — that he’d probably agree to any disgusting man who came to Middleham. Hopefully, he’d find as equally disgusting a husband for Mary.
Angered even more by those troubled musings , she went to one of the trunks in her room and pulled out the tapestry she’d started her first week here. She would force her thoughts to something else. But after a good look at the piece of fabric, she sighed in disgust. Saint Ninian, ‘twas the worst piece of needlework she’d ever done! There were knots and miss-stitches everywhere. Even a spot or two of her blood from poking her fingers when she hadn’t been paying attention to her task.
With a huff of frustration, she tossed it aside, vowing to hide it before Nicholas ever laid eyes on it. He’d be stunned at her incompetence with a needle. And yet she truly wasn’t. Just with this particular piece.
She glanced around the bed chamber, hating it more by the second. So she walked to one of the narrow windows to look out upon the bailey. ‘Twas a blessedly beautiful day, too nice for being stuck inside.
She turned away, feeling depressed , a nd then she caught sight of her bow and quiver of arrows in the far corner. Excitement raced through her. The emotion was quickly followed by a tingling of apprehension and a tightening of her
“’Tis your fault she isn’t ready. But I’m sure she has learned something these last couple of weeks. Surely Lady Stanhope has learned enough to take charge for today, with the help of the servants.”
He stood and towered over Maggie. “When you are done breaking your fast, you will go to your bedchamber. You will stay there this day. Work on the mending. Work on the tapestry you’ve started. I don’t really care, but you will stay there this day!”
Maggie shoved back her chair and nearly set it on his foot. He stepped back and she got to her feet. “As ye wish, Lord Middleham. Whatever ye say, Lord Middleham.”
Sassy lass! His hand itched to reach out and swat her bottom when she turned and walked by him. Instead he glanced down at Mary and ground his teeth at the look of satisfaction on her face. She’d won this round of their battle, because of him. He cursed under his breath for having been pulled into their game and strode out of the keep.
He was tired of their warfare, but at least they kept it mainly to themselves. Yet he knew the servants were aware of the challenge going on and appeared to find it amusing. He didn’t. And he wanted to steer as clear of it as possible. Although it was beginning to look like he’d soon be turning Maggie over his knee. Perhaps Mary as well. If only he would hear some responses to the messages he’d sent out concerning finding husbands for them. He should have sent Mary away before now, but she truly had nowhere to go. Fortunately, Edward had sent word he did not demand Nicholas accept Mary as a betrothed. Unfortunately, he insisted Nicholas find her a suitable husband as well as Maggie. He’d gone from a hardened warrior with a respectably stern reputation to a matchmaker.
* * *
Maggie had been fuming mad ever since being sent to her chamber. She’d spent the first hour pacing the space, calling Nicholas every vile name she could think of, and calling that dark-haired conniving Mary Stanhope worse. Then she plopped down on her bed and plotted out how she would run away the first chance she got. It didn’t matter that traveling alone back to Urquhart would be dangerous, far beyond dangerous, in truth. It would be worth the risk to get away from here and a future she dreaded: a future with some Englishman. She was tired of worrying over what possible husband would ride up any day now. Nicholas had become so frustrated with the situation — and with her — that he’d probably agree to any disgusting man who came to Middleham. Hopefully, he’d find as equally disgusting a husband for Mary.
Angered even more by those troubled musings , she went to one of the trunks in her room and pulled out the tapestry she’d started her first week here. She would force her thoughts to something else. But after a good look at the piece of fabric, she sighed in disgust. Saint Ninian, ‘twas the worst piece of needlework she’d ever done! There were knots and miss-stitches everywhere. Even a spot or two of her blood from poking her fingers when she hadn’t been paying attention to her task.
With a huff of frustration, she tossed it aside, vowing to hide it before Nicholas ever laid eyes on it. He’d be stunned at her incompetence with a needle. And yet she truly wasn’t. Just with this particular piece.
She glanced around the bed chamber, hating it more by the second. So she walked to one of the narrow windows to look out upon the bailey. ‘Twas a blessedly beautiful day, too nice for being stuck inside.
She turned away, feeling depressed , a nd then she caught sight of her bow and quiver of arrows in the far corner. Excitement raced through her. The emotion was quickly followed by a tingling of apprehension and a tightening of her
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