THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

ears. By now he understood her well enough. “Yes, husband, your fever and weakness could return.”
    He cocked an eyebrow, “Cease fashing, woman. I am mended enough.” She opened her mouth to protest again, and he placed a firm finger to her lips. “I am sorely tired of rest and coddling. ‘Tis much I need attend to, so say no more or leave.”
    He was dismissing her! Why the arrogant...
    She spun on her heel, embarrassed to her hair roots. How dare he chastise her before an audience?
    Before she could take a step, his hand clasped her arm. She instinctively pulled back. He hauled her into his side with little or no effort. Through clenched teeth, she hissed, “Let go.”
    He leaned down and whispered directly into her ear, “My dear lady, I canna be seen being ordered about like yer lap dog. I command yon men with the mere lift of my hand, only because they respect my past valor and fear my reprisal should they not obey.” He squeezed her arm just a bit. “Ye ken?”
    Fear and embarrassment made blood pound in her ears. Determined not to show it, she hissed, “Aye, my lord.”
    Please, God, get me out of here!
    He surveyed her face for a moment, then whispered. “Fash not, goodwife. Ye may always say what ye must to me in private.”
    Ya, right. And what happens “in private” if what I have to say isn’t to your liking? She shuddered.
    While vulnerable and dependent, her husband had been as docile and compliant as a trained bear. On the mend now and feeling more himself, was he finally showing his true colors?
    She looked at the hand that held her captive, then into the depths of his steel blue eyes. Masking her anger behind a patently false smile, she asked, “Is there anything else, my lord?”
    He huffed. Why he sounded exasperated she couldn’t imagine. She was the injured party here.
    He released his grip on her arm. “Nay, my lady, not at this time.”
    Head high, she stalked away.
    Duncan frowned watching Beth’s straight-backed progress through the hall. She was still obviously furious with him and he hadn’t a thought as to why. He had apologized, no?
    “Ack, ye’re a brave man, Duncan,” Angus muttered, as he pulled out Duncan’s chair. “The last time I nay-said the wench, I found my balls in my throat.”
    Duncan grimaced as he settled at the table. “Not so brave, friend. Having heard what happened to ye, I made damn sure I kept my hip to her.” He shook his head. “She is a confusion, Angus. As gentle as the mist at gloaming one moment, a flame-eyed termagant the next. And her tales...augh, you’ve not heard the like. I swear I could live one hundred years and understand her not.”
    “Understand her or not, ye must consummate this marriage soon.”
    “So ye heard?”
    “Who hasn’t?”
    “Tonight ‘twill be done.” When Angus’s ale suddenly spewed across the table, Duncan cast a scathing glance at him. “Think me not man enough?”
    Angus stopped wiping the ale from his beard and held up his hands. “’Twas not my meaning.” He finished cleaning his face. “Ye merely surprised me by choosing this night. Yer wee wife left me with the distinct impression she’d sooner geld ye as look at ye. ‘Tis all.”
    Humph! His friend did have a point. What to do? He couldn’t take time to woo his lady into a favorable frame of mind, having been locked away from his duties for nigh onto a week. He’d have to ponder the problem further. He did, after all, have six hours before dark.
    As he finished his meat, the solution to his dilemma dawned. It lay just above his head in the library. Beth had been most impressed with What the Goodwife Taught Her Daughter . She could only be doubly pleased and placed in a perfect set of mind with his next surprise.
     
     
     
    Chapter 11
     
    I’m going to kill him. 
    Beth reread the title just to be sure she hadn’t misunderstood. Yup, that’s the title. One Hundred Ways For A Goodwife To Please Her Husband .
    Stabbing would be too good for the man. Poisoning would be better...a long, slow, painful poisoning she could watch and gloat over. Yes, that was the way to go.
    She tossed the book onto the solar’s high poster bed and picked up the heavy granite pestle and mortar she’d appropriated from the castle’s distillery.
    As she wrenched dried kelp leaves from their rubbery stalks, Rachael tapped her hunched shoulder.
    “Doth not my lord’s gift please thee, madame? ”   
    “I appreciate the value of the book,