“Tough,” she retorted instantly and his head went back as he again saw the flash in her eyes.
And he suddenly understood what that flash meant.
“Are you angry with me?” Frey asked.
“No,” she lied again.
“Gods,” he stared in her irate, still beautiful eyes, “you are. You’re angry with me.”
“I said I’m not, Frey.”
“You lie again, Finnie. I see it in our eyes, your anger is very clear and you’re not hiding it. What, by the gods, I would like to know is what I did to deserve it. I’ve been gone not two hours.”
She glared at him and kept her mouth shut.
“Finnie, we’ll delay joining your parents until you tell me.”
That was when her cheeks flushed, her eyes blazed and her jaw got tight and before she could rein the words in, she spewed, “That’s okay by me. I’ll just call my maidservants and order trays to be brought up. Maybe, if you’re lucky, Viola will bring them up.”
Bloody hell.
Her bloody maids had been talking.
“Finnie –”
“Let me go, Frey,” she demanded, now pushing at his arms with her hands.
“Wife, look at me,” he ordered, she did and she stilled.
Then she suddenly lost control and shouted, “I said, let me go!”
At her losing hers, Frey felt his temper snag and therefore growled, “Calm down, wife.”
She stopped pushing and glared at him.
Then she stated, “I see, you’re done with her. Three days, was it? That’s a long time. I can see that you would be. Perhaps I should talk to my mother and father, see about letting her go. Would that be good for you?”
Damn it to hell.
Her bloody too informative, gods damned maids.
“Finnie –”
“Well?” she cut him off to demand.
It was then he clipped, perhaps not cleverly, “As you know, wife, the Winter Palace is yours. You live in Fyngaard. Your parents reside in their castle in Snowdon and have returned here to prepare for the Gales. The lovely Viola is in your employ and if it is your wish to let her go then you’ve every right to do so.”
“Then I’ll see to that without delay,” she returned hotly.
“That is your right,” he shot back and continued, most definitely not cleverly, “though it would be a shame to lose her charm serving your table.”
She went completely still in his arms but the pink fled her cheeks as the pain flashed in her eyes.
Gods damn it to hell.
“You didn’t just say that,” she whispered.
He tried to gather her closer but her hands went instantly to his chest to hold herself back.
“Finnie, my love, this discussion is ridiculous. That was years ago. She’s a servant. Just a servant. She didn’t mean a gods damned thing. They never do.”
This, although he would have no way to know it for a woman of his world, a princess especially and Sjofn of the House of Wilde definitely would understand that a man like him would freely dally with a wench like Viola without thought or shame, but apparently a woman of Finnie’s world did not think the same thing and he belatedly understood that it was very clearly the wrong thing to say.
And he would learn this because her beautiful eyes closed down, shut him out and she replied quietly, “Then let me educate you, Frey, if it was years ago or yesterday, if it was a servant or a duchess, to your wife, no matter what you think of her or what you think she thinks of you, it means everything. Now, let me the fuck go so I can have dinner with my parents.”
The ugly word he didn’t understand but she emphasized so tersely caused him to loosen his arms and she pulled instantly away and then didn’t delay in moving directly to the door.
She opened it, stood at it, turned back to him and called, “Are you coming?”
She needed him to guide her to the dining room for she had no earthly clue where she was going and she didn’t wish him to know she didn’t.
And suddenly, their game annoyed him but Frey moved across the room to his wife. However, when he got there, he quietly shut the door.
She glared at it then tipped her head back to glare at him.
He lifted a hand to curl around her neck and bent so his face was close to hers.
“We’ll finish this discussion after dinner,” he said gently.
“No we won’t,” Finnie retorted immediately, her voice a snap and it whipped across his frayed temper like a lash, causing him to lose hold on it so he squeezed her neck and got closer.
“Yes, wife, we will.” His fingers again tensed at her neck, he dipped even closer to her and his voice was a low rumble when he decreed, “We’ll finish a number of things unfinished between us after dinner.”
Her eyes widened, her face paled and her lips parted.
She understood him.
He let her neck go, opened the door, took his wife’s hand and pulled her into the hall.
Then he dragged her down it, his strides long and angry, and as he did so he thought dinner with her parents was going to be interesting.
And it was going to be long.
Too long.
So he was going see to it that it ended as soon as possible.
He and his bride had vastly more important things to do.
Chapter Fourteen
Sleep Well, Wife
“I’ve a marvelous idea,” my Dad announced as we stood outside the dining room having just finished a sumptuous five course dinner that was sitting like a weight in my stomach, “I’ll order a sleigh brought ‘round and we’ll go to Esmeralda’s for a mug of that warm, liquid chocolate my Sjofn loves so dearly.”
I thought this was a great idea mainly because both my mother and father were acting a lot more patient and even kind to me, if weirdly watchful. Though I put this down to them wondering how things were going with me and Frey and they would wonder since I didn’t speak to him (at all) and barely looked at him all throughout dinner except to glare daggers at him when he specifically asked for Viola to serve him personally.
Yes, oh yes, he did exactly that.
The freaking, dickhead jerk.
And, by the way, Viola was very pretty and she didn’t look a thing like me.
Ugh!
I also thought this was a great idea because it would mean delaying being alone with Frey, something I did not want because I was pretty certain I couldn’t strangle him to death but if I was lucky I might get in a well-aimed kick that if I did it as hard as I wanted, might mean the end to everyone’s hopes that he’d provide a future king.
I also thought this was a great idea because a mug of warm, liquid chocolate sounded pretty good regardless of the dinner sitting like a weight in my stomach (as, everyone knew, chocolate in any form sounded good no matter what) and a place called Esmeralda’s sounded worthy of exploration.
I opened my mouth to agree wholeheartedly with this idea but my freaking, dickhead jerk of a husband got there before me.
“I’m afraid not, Atticus. Finnie explained she was tired prior to us joining you for dinner. So now I think it’s
