Gathering what courage she could, she shut the door, trying to do so with dignity to show that she would obey him but that she did not fear him. Although she felt warm and would have liked to take off the cloak, she did not think it wise to display her breeks again so soon. She forced herself to breathe deeply, hoping to calm her nerves so that she could hold her own in the confrontation ahead. He did not rush her, and for that she was grateful. By the time she turned from shutting the door to face him again, she felt more like her normal, competent self.
One look into his blazing eyes, however, and her resolve evaporated. She opened her mouth to speak, but he kept her silent with a slight gesture.
"Not one word," he said grimly. "Stay right where you are, too. I have not dared to touch you, because I fear what I might do to you if I do. I am no bully, Jenny, but neither will I allow you to make me look like a fool or a felon. Tonight I killed a man out of nothing more than plain fury."
"I know that I should not have-"
"No, you should not," he snapped, "but you did, and the consequences may be much more than you bargained for. You did not spare a thought for consequence, though. That much is plain. You did not think about how your actions would affect others-not just me, but the men who rode with me. Supposing that instead of those two louts you met, you had met your brother with a hundred men? Do you think he would simply have sent you back to Broadhaugh?"
"But I did think of Hugh. Not at once," she amended hastily, "but later, when I nearly told those two that I was his sister. I realized before I spoke the words that they might turn me over to him and that he would be as likely to hold me for ransom as to return me to you."
"Much more likely, I'd say, but that is not all." His tone was calmer now, as if he had regained some control over his temper, but he still sounded grim when he said, "Have you considered yet what will be the most likely consequence of my killing the scoundrel who tried to rape you?"
She had not, but she did, and the possibilities chilled her. "Surely anyone would understand that you were protecting me," she said.
"Oh, aye, I'm sure of it," he said, and she could not mistake the sarcasm in his tone. "I have only to explain to the wardens at Truce Day that two men attacked my wife on the English side of the line some moments after a Scottish raid on Kielbeck. I would, of course, explain that the raid had naught to do with it, that she merely tripped over two English watchers during an evening stroll-"
"Quinton, stop! First of all, they tripped over me. I lay completely concealed from them, for I did not stir a step from where Tip left me. Had that lad, Gibby, not left his companion and come afoot-"
"He was most likely looking for a place to relieve himself," Quinton retorted. "What would you have done if, instead of stepping on you, he had pissed on you?"
She winced, feeling flames leap to her cheeks.
He said, "What you might have done then does not matter, nor would such a tale influence the wardens or a jury. No one would believe it."
"But your Bairns would back any tale you told!"
"Would they? Perhaps they would if I were such a rogue as to ask that of them. Have you stopped to think how they would explain their presence on the English side of the line? Beyond that, have you stopped to think that perhaps Scrope and his jury would believe only that my men were supporting a tale made up to excuse cold-blooded murder?"
"But-"
"No, Jenny, don't try to excuse your behavior. There is no excuse. You defied my orders, and I won't tolerate that from anyone at Broadhaugh. I am master here, not you, and the sooner you learn that, the better it will be."
"What are you going to do?"
"You deserve that I should put you across my knee and teach you to submit to my commands. I may yet do that, but I am too angry with you to chance it now when my inclination is to use my riding whip rather than the flat of my hand."
She shut her eyes to the image his words stirred. He had every right to punish her as he chose, but even Hugh had never taken a whip to her.
"You will keep to your bedchamber until I am in a better frame of mind to deal with you," he said. "If you are wise, you will exert yourself to please me for some days to come. Go up now, and do not come down again until I send for you."
Fearing that if she tried to speak, she would lose her temper and shout at him-at which point he would most likely make good his threat to whip her-she turned on her heel and left the room. She could not resist shutting the door with a bang, however, and by the time she reached her bedchamber, her fury had taken fire. He was wrong to be angry, and she had been right to go.
Her instincts had not misled her. Had she not followed him, Lem and Gibby would have lain in wait for the Bairns. They could easily have summoned a larger patrol, and Quinton and the Bairns would have been captured. She knew it would be useless now to debate the point with him, though. Like Hugh, he would refuse to listen and would simply react, most likely with violence. She would not allow him to cow her, however, nor would she try to coax him into a better frame of mind. By morning she would be well away from Broadhaugh.
Quin stood staring into the flames in the fireplace, fighting to control his anger and other, less familiar emotions that warred with it. He had hated sending her away. He had wanted to hold her. Just thinking of what she must have felt when the English lout ripped her shirt off made him feel sick. Even now, he wanted to go to her bedchamber, to hold her tight and make sure she really was all right.
He could not do it, though. She had to learn to obey him. Anything else was too dangerous, and she seemed constitutionally incapable of understanding that. He admired her courage as much as he admired her beauty, but he did not admire her stubborn nature or her defiance. Clearly, she was too accustomed to getting her own way, to doing exactly as she pleased. She thought she had lived under Sir Hugh's thumb, but Quin knew that it could have been no such thing. Had she lived so, she would never have dared to defy his orders and follow him from Broadhaugh as she had. She would have learned to show proper submission to masculine authority.
Since Sir Hugh had failed, he would have to teach her himself, but at the moment he did not know how he would do so.
He did not know what he was going to do about Tip either. The man had done all that anyone could have expected short of calling for others to help him lock their mistress in her bedchamber. Quin's lips twitched at the thought, but he quickly grew sober again, knowing what he would have done to any man-even one of his own-who had dared to lay hands on his Jenny.
The fact was that he did not think any of them would have dared. Tip would have been the most likely, and only to the extent that Quin believed the little man would have locked his mistress in her room could he have but thought of a way to do so without carrying her there. There was no such way, however, none that Tip could have achieved without Jenny's cooperation.
Tip expected a flogging, and for disobeying his master's command to remain within the walls of Broadhaugh he deserved one. Certainly the other lads would expect him to suffer for helping Jenny in her mad venture. That argument no sooner occurred to Quin, however, than another voice piped up in the back of his mind, reminding him that Tip had fairly flown through the boggy darkness to find him. The little man had kept his head and had put aside any fear of consequence to himself to save Jenny. For that, he deserved a substantial reward.
Quin was accustomed to the conflicting voices in his head, for he had heard them all his life. He had only to decide to do a thing to hear a quite reasonable voice in his mind telling him that a better way existed. Over the years he had learned to make decisions, even difficult ones, despite the ceaseless mental debates; and he believed that the constant questioning and rethinking made him a wiser leader than he would have been without it. Nonetheless, there were times when he wished that he were not always so conscious of the fact that questions generally seemed to invite more than one reasonable answer.
It occurred to him then to wonder what, exactly, Jenny had thought she could accomplish by following him, and this time his fertile imagination swiftly produced an answer. She had not trusted him to see his Bairns or himself safely home again. Knowing that he had failed once, she had expected him to fail again.
His anger was stirring anew when a soft meow startled him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Jemmy Whiskers emerging from behind the bed curtain, where apparently he had been curled up on a favored pillow.
"What do you want?" Quin demanded, even as he realized that Jenny had probably already missed the little cat and was wondering where it was.
Jemmy Whiskers stretched, then sat and scratched an ear.
"Here," Quin said curtly, striding to open the bedchamber door. "Go and find Jenny. Go on now. Scat!"
Jemmy Whiskers cocked his head, blinked, then casually raised a forepaw and began to clean his face.
Quin strode back to the bed, picked the cat up, and carried it to the threshold. Setting it down outside the bedchamber, he firmly shut the door and returned to his contemplation of the fire.
Moments later a soft scratching announced Jemmy Whiskers' desire to return. Quin resisted a strong temptation to let him in, and with difficulty forced himself to ignore the persistent, rhythmic sound until it stopped.