His Bonnie Bride Hannah Howell (e reader comics TXT) 📖

"Taken. Will ye get off?" he wailed, sure that his nose was broken as well as a few other things.

Tavis lifted the little girl off her defeated foe and Hilda rushed over to help Robin, moaning, "Lass, lass, it ain't right for ye to be tussling about like a stablehand."

"He called my mother a ... one of those," she cried, defending her lapse from gentility.

"And bad it was for him to do so, there's no denying, but it wasn't right for ye to answer the insult with yer fists. That ain't the way of a lady."

"No," Storm snarled, "the way of a lady is a bit of poison in the meal. So much more refined." She tried to yank free of Tavis's grip, but he ignored her struggles, seating her next to Colin.

"My mother was no whore," she grumbled as Tavis began to clean her up, checking her for anything worse than a scrape or a bruise, "and I am no bastard. I could not let him get away with those lies."

One look at her troubled, beseeching face told Tavis that Robin's words were an often flung insult. "If your parents were wed before ye were born then ye are no bastard and she no whore." He knew that was far too general a statement, but he would not try to explain that marriage did not always stop a woman from being a whore. "It looks like ye just missed having this eye swell."

She shrugged. "I have had one or two before. They were late wedding for Papa was off to battle, but ere I saw the light of day they had taken their vows. My mama was beautiful and a lady."

"'I'm sure she was," Tavis murmured as he continued to bathe her face.

With that fine sense a child often has, Storm realized the man was murmuring soothing nothings. "Well," she drawled, "I cannot see what her being Irish has to do with it."

Tavis paused in his ministrations, saw her dancing gaze and grew wary. "Quite right."

"After all," she looked at him, appearing quite innocent save for the twinkle in her unusual eyes, "she could have been Scottish." She met his disgusted look with a peal of laughter so light, carefree and lovely to the ear that many a mouth smiled in response to it.

Unraveling what remained of her braids so that he could free her hair of twigs and leaves, Tavis grinned at her. "You are a wretched wee lass that ought to have been beaten thrice a day."

" 'Tis what Papa says, yet he never does it." She eyed him as he combed his fingers through her hair, ridding it of foreign clutter, and began to adeptly rebraid her hair. " 'Tis a skill ye have for that. Do ye have a wife then?" Tavis shook his head, and she looked at Colin with a grin. "Frisky, is he?"

"Sit still." Tavis gently yanked on her hair as his family laughed. "Why the name Storm?"

" 'Twas the weather the night I was born. They had expected a son, so had no girl's name chosen. So, too, did my Mama believe that as I was born midday on the summer's solstice in the midst of thunder, lightning, wind and rain that my character, perhaps even my life, would be stormy so 'twas a fitting name. I fear I have too oft proven her right." She looked down at her dirty, tattered dress and sighed. " 'Tis plain for all to see that I have been in a tussle. Papa will be angry."

"I think your papa will note little save that his bairns are well and whole," Tavis predicted.

Chapter Two

The great hall at Hagaleah was the scene of hectic activity as the highest-ranking men of the Eldon and Foster households gathered in various states of health. The squires saw to the care of the armor and the weary men relaxed in their shirts and breeches. Conversation centered around what had gone wrong in the battle.

"Leave it be," Lord Eldon snapped at the young maidservant who had started to see to his small wounds. "Find my daughter. Storm has the touch I need, and where the hell is my wife? Find her." When the young girl fled to do as he commanded Lord Eldon turned his brown eyes upon Lord Foster. "Did they catch many of our men? A heavy ransom would be unwelcome at this time."

"Not many, and few of any standing." Lord Foster ran a grimy hand through his blond hair. "We may have lost the battle, Eldon, but our loss of men was not as high as I had feared," he said half-heartedly, and the talk turned to trying to recall exactly who had fallen that day.

"What mean you her ladyship cannot come?" bellowed Lord Eldon when the maid returned with no one. "Where is my daughter then? Or Robin? He e'er rushes to his father when the man returns."

"I cannot find them, m'lord. The ladies are abed and looking pale. Aye, as are their maids. I cannot find Hilda, nay, nor none o' the wee ones. They weren't any o' the places they oft go."

"Get her ladyship and Lord Foster's fiancee down here, wench, if you have to drag them. Now," Lord Eldon snarled and watched the girl race off before turning to Lord Foster. "I cannot like it. Not at all."

He liked it even less when the ladies arrived. They looked ill and terrified. Their personal servants huddled near them, acting as if they were headed to the gallows. He exchanged a look with Lord Foster, and they both began to tense, especially when the women began to weep piteously.

"Where are the children?" demanded Lord Eldon in a voice that silenced everyone. "Cease that damnable caterwauling and answer me."

"We do not know," whimpered Mary, and she cringed when her husband leapt to his feet.

"When did you last see them?" Lord Foster barked as he moved to tower over the women.

"On the knoll near to the battle."