Free Fairy Tale by Jillian Hunter Page A

eating.”
    Marsali nodded weakly, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes. “I’ll have it done after supper.”
    “Not after supper.” He drummed his long tapered fingers on the chair’s lion-paw arms. “Now.”
    She took a deep fortifying breath. She would find a way to sneak out of the castle and confront Colum tonight if it killed her because another day of pretending servitude to this selfish wretch would kill her. She could not bear the way he played her like a puppet on a string, and he liked it too.
    “Yes, my lord.” She edged away from the table, digging her nails into her palms. “I’ll find a couple of lads to take care of the offensive smell.”
    “I want you to take care of it, Marsali.” He folded his arms across his chest, his face as arrogant as an emperor’s. “This instant, before the dessert course is served, and my appetite is spoiled.”
    From the co rn er of her eye she caught the sly grins of her clansmen. Stung by their amusement, she lowered her voice. “You want me to climb on a ladder and pull down the tapestries?”
    He tossed his napkin onto his plate, his blue eyes reflecting the flame of the candles flickering on the table. “Unless you know of a better way to remove them.”
    She sauntered up to the side of his chair, pretending to brush a few crumbs from his shirt as she whispered with cold fury, “And shall I trim your toenails with my teeth when I’m finished?”
    “If you like,” he said calmly. “But not too closely, mind.” Marsali gazed down, infuriated, into his dark chiseled face, wondering if she could overturn the soup tureen in his lap and make it to the door alive.
    He reached for his goblet, a lazy smile touching his lips. “Have you suddenly turned to stone, lass? I’m expecting guests at any day, my dessert any moment, and I cannot abide the reek of mildew. I have a delicate nose.”
    Marsali gritted her teeth. “Yes, my lord.” But this is the last bloody time. Tomorrow I’ll put as much energy into humiliating you as you have me.
    She whirled, her pale blue muslin skirts swishing behind her like an angry cat’s tail. Duncan chuckled to himself, savoring the victory. Poor Marsali. She had no idea of the little humiliations he had planned for her tomorrow. He had restrained himself this evening. He had been kind to her while he assessed the situation. In the morning she would learn the true meaning of respect, and he would have fun while she did. Nothing too cruel, though. Just the proper dose of domestic discipline to put her in her place.

 
     
     
     
     
    C h apter
    6
     
    D uncan’s glow of satisfaction had already begun to fade before midnight, replaced by the unwelcome barrage of memories that assaulted him as he began to prowl the twisting torchlit corridors of the castle.
    As if it had been only a week ago and not fifteen years, he remembered his poor stunned father dragging him through these very passageways, the clan’s tacksman, Andrew, following with concern on his gentle face, trying to reassure the young terrified boy that all would be well.
    And how had Duncan repaid the man?
    He had spat in Andrew’s face, rejecting, mocking the kindness he had never known even as his lonely heart craved it. He had cursed and swung with all his might; he had broken loose from his father and Andrew to run shrieking through the kitchens, breaking bottles and chairs, shoving a much younger Cook against the stove with such uncontrolled rage he dislocated her shoulder.
    “Young demon,” she had whispered, cowering tearfully in t he corner. “Dirty murderer… ”
    Demon. Murderer. But no one had ordered him, at only eleven years old, to be flogged when God only knew he’d done far more than Marsali’s cousin to deserve it. Abercrombie would have to pay for that cruelty, after Duncan had gotten his use out of the stupid man.
    Eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere of the castle, he left the deserted great hall by a side passage and walked to the