“That certainly wasnae my question!” she snapped. As her voice rose with frustration so did the throbbing in her ears. “I just wanted to ken where ye slept and what ye’re doin’ in my bedchamber.”
He snorted. “Ye mean, the bridal chamber.”
“Aye, well,” she floundered, “I think ye would’ve done what I did, drinkin’ and such, if ye’d been in my shoes.”
Noah looked unimpressed, but she wasn’t sure if the glare on his face was just masking his amusement. She thought she could see a glimmer of a smile in his eyes.
He’s enjoyin’ this.
“Iwasin yer shoes,” he reminded her. “Or did ye forget that this marriage is as foreign to me as it is to ye?”
“Yer nae the one bein’ taken from yer family. Whereas, I am.” Saoirse’s stare was hard, and she prayed it looked as cold as she intended. But she couldn’t be certain, considering the mess the wine and mead had made of her. For all she knew, she looked like an owl caught in a hedgerow, and just about as menacing.
Noah clapped his hands together. “Glad ye reminded me. We leave in an hour, so get up, finish that drink I brought ye, and pack yer things. Whatever ye neglect to pack will be left behind.”
“Ye cannae be serious,” Saoirse moaned. “I’m in nay condition to go anywhere.”
“That,” Noah said as he puffed his chest out, “is nae my concern. I dinnae force ye to drink half of Scotland’s supply.”
Saoirse winced from the pain and dropped back onto the pillow, wishing the world would fade from view. “I barely had a sip.”
“Ye said that last night,” Noah retorted, “and I dinnae believe ye then, either.”
She curved the pillow around her face. “Ye cannae be this cruel. Surely, there’s some mercy in ye to allow me to stay the three days that were agreed? I’ll need them just to feel well again.”
The prospect of being rocked and rolled in a carriage for hours and hours on end was enough to make her fight this unjust demand with everything she possessed. That, and the realization that she would truly be stuck with her husband, the moment she left the safety of Baxter Keep.
“I’ll repeat, as ye’re clearly nae hearin’ me properly this mornin’—yer self-inflicted wounds are none of my concern,” Noah said flatly. “Perhaps, next time, ye’ll remember nae to overindulge. Now, get up.That,I willnae repeat again.”
“Good, because I daenae wish to hear it again. Go and harass someone else.” Saoirse burrowed deeper into the pillow, blocking him out.
To her surprise, Noah’s voice softened. “Ye daenae seriously think that ye can stay here now that we are married, do ye? What dae ye think yer parents will say?”
“They will let me stay as long as I want,” Saoirse argued.
A quiet laugh from Noah’s throat rankled her. “I assure ye, ye daenae want to test that theory. Ye’ll only be disappointed.”
“I dare ye,” Saoirse muttered, taking a grim peek at her husband.
A wicked smile curled at the corners of his lips. He bobbed his head, turned and walked out of the room. Hearing the click of the door closing, Saoirse relaxed and grinned up at the ceiling. In the depths of her heart and mind, she knew that her father would take her side. There was no way he would force her to go anywhere.
* * *
The bombardment of heavy footsteps stomping down the hallway jolted Saoirse from her peaceful drift back to the land of sleep. She shot up and stared at the door, just as her father burst into the room. Suddenly not so confident, she shrank back onto the bed as her father strode toward her with a disapproving glare glinting in his eyes.
“Yer husband tells me that ye daenae wish to leave with him.” Michael kept his eyes locked on Saoirse.
She swallowed. “Faither, I daenae feel well. My head is poundin’ and my stomach is sour as old milk.”
“And if I were to allow ye to stay for as long as ye please,” Michael’s frown lifted into an expression of sadness, as he shook his head, “how dae ye suppose yer husband would take that?”
Saoirse’s eyes flickered to Noah, who had appeared in the doorway. He leaned against the jamb with a smirk on his face. She wished more than anything that she had the strength to get up and smack that smirk away, but lifting her head was a chore.
“I daenae care,” she said, as bravely as she could. “And if we were bein’ honest with each other, neither daes he. He only marched ye up here to prove a point.”
Michael arched an eyebrow. “And what is he tryin’ to prove?”
“That I daenae belong here anymore, that I have nay choice in the matter, and that I shouldnae be allowed to enjoy my own weddin’ festival,” she whimpered.