Free Entwined by Kristen Callihan

our family, boy.
    Eamon outweighed Dougal by two stone of muscle now, and towered above him by at least a foot. Not that Dougal seemed to take that as a threat. He continued on his overloud voice, “Twenty thousand pounds.” He elbowed the man sitting beside him. “Imagine you were fair relieved when her old man went feet up before the wedding.” The two of them erupted into hennish cackles.
    Eamon kept his gaze on Finley, who had the grace to pale. “Let me know if he returns.” He set some coin upon the bar, and the man nodded, his hand sweeping the bribe up in a blink.
    The patrons were silent, and Eamon turned heel and walked toward the door. Dougal watched him come, his expression imperious. Every man here knew Eamon did not resort to violence. Eamon grinned inwardly. That might have been true once. But he hadn’t a wife before now. And he was right finished with playing nice. No one was dragging Lu’s name through the mud.
    He nearly passed Dougal, not making eye contact, and the fool smirked as if knowing he’d won. But then Eamon stopped short and leaned close, taking note of the way the smaller man’s eyes went wide and his mouth opened in silent protest. “You know what I’ve heard, Dougal?”
    Dougal weakly shook his head, unable to speak as Eamon pressed in, resting one of his massive fists upon the table before him. “I heard your pecker has spots and no woman in the village will have you.” With a swipe of his foot, he knocked the seat out from under Dougal just as he grabbed the man’s greasy hair and slammed his face into the table. Dougal’s head rattled the cups.
    Eamon held him down, exerting enough pressure to hurt. “And if you ever speak of my wife again, I’ll cut that pecker off and cram it down your throat.”
    * * *
    Eamon walked on light feet the whole way home. In truth, he grinned. He was grinning still as he took a moment to check on his smithy before going in for the evening. He didn’t even see the danger before a blow took him across his temple, and everything went crimson.

Chapter Nine
    Eamon did not come to dinner. Lu was painfully aware of the fact as she waited in the empty dining room on the night of her wedding. The fire roared in the grate, the candles flickered in their silver holders, and the ormolu clock upon the mantel ticked away. And still he did not come.
    Sitting before a rapidly cooling first course of fish soup, Lu tried to ignore the presence of young Sean the footman, who was witnessing her humiliation, or the hollow feeling within her breast. He had not abandoned her too. He had not. He’d merely lost track of time.
    Ten minutes later, she’d had enough. Tossing her napkin down, she wrenched back from her seat before Sean could pull out her chair. She ignored his sputtered apologies and queries as to her well-being. No, she was not well. She was close to murdering her husband on their wedding night.
    Stalking out of the house by way of the conservatory door, Lu headed toward the smithy. The moon rode high in the now clear sky, and she easily picked her way along the well-worn path. The small, squat stone building had windows that were glowing blocks of light in the darkness. A beacon that did little to quell her temper. In fact, it grew. Exponentially.
    “Do not go to the smithy, my arse,” she muttered. What rot. She was beginning to suspect Nan had ordered her not to go to the smithy to bait her. Lu didn’t know why Nan would want to, nor did she care. Eamon wasn’t hiding from her. And if he’d left, well then, she’d…
    Her steps slowed. She didn’t know what she’d do. She was now mistress of Evernight Hall, so she supposed she could stay here, humiliating though it might be. But then you aren’t really Mrs. Evernight, are you? Not if anyone should find out the truth.
    Lu ignored the insidious little voice in her head as she arrived at the smithy. Standing before the door, she could feel the heat coming off the walls, as warm as a baking