Scoundrel of Dunborough by Margaret Moore

Author:Margaret Moore [Moore, Margaret]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical, Medieval, Action & Adventure, Sagas
ISBN: 9781488003868
Google: Y9oaCgAAQBAJ
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

His broadsword slapping against his thigh, Gerrard came striding across the yard toward them. The chandler, looking as if he might be sick and with good cause, backed away, for Gerrard was clearly, frighteningly outraged. Lewis staggered to his feet but didn’t seek to interfere, not did any of the onlookers.

Scowling, Gerrard pulled his sword from its sheath and placed the tip against the trembling chandler’s chest. “Now then, Norbert,” he said, his voice hard and remorseless, “what gives you the right to strike this woman?”

“I didn’t mean to hit her,” the chandler sniveled as he held his arms wide in surrender. “She got in the way.”

“Because he was going to hit his son again and that I will not permit,” Celeste explained, coming closer. She was angry at Norbert, yet sought to keep her tone moderate, lest her words enflame Gerrard’s temper more.

“He stole from my shop!” Norbert cried, looking desperately to the curious spectators for support. “If a father can’t discipline his own son—”

Not a single person came to his defense, nor did anyone regard him with empathy. Some began to go on their way, others stayed behind, clearly curious to see what would happen next. Norbert fell silent when he got no sympathy from anyone and saw the stern expression on Gerrard’s face. Perhaps the chandler hadn’t heard of Sir Blane’s methods of disciplining his sons. If he had not, Celeste had, and it was no wonder Gerrard sought to intervene when Norbert struck his son.

Swallowing hard, the trembling Norbert raised his hands higher in supplication. “I was angry and the lad needs to learn he can’t simply take things from the shop.”

Gerrard slowly lowered his sword, but didn’t sheathe it. “Shall I have him thrown in the dungeon and brought before the king’s justice?” he asked with cold deliberation.

Lewis turned as pale as snow.

“Gerrard, please,” she said, putting her hand on his arm, hoping he didn’t mean what he said.

He turned to regard her as if she were some lowly minion who dared to speak, not the woman he had embraced with passion. Or a nun.

His dark brows lowered, his lips a hard, thin line, Gerrard said, “If Norbert wishes to teach his son a lesson, how better than to show him the lawful consequences of theft?”

“I’m willing to pay for the candles,” she replied.

Still Gerrard’s expression did not change nor did he even seem to notice her hand upon his arm.

“I’m certain he’s learned and you can be merciful,” she pleaded, clutching him a little tighter, feeling the strength in his tense muscles.

Gerrard didn’t answer her. Instead, he addressed Lewis. “Have you learned it’s wrong to steal?”

“Yes!” the young man cried, falling on his knees and nearly in tears. “I have! I promise you I have!”

“And you, Norbert?” Gerrard demanded, glaring at the man. “Have you learned that you must never again strike a woman so long as you live in Dunborough?”

The chandler rapidly nodded his head and took a few steps back.

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