Page 56 of The Wolf Queen’s Curse

Dennis shakes his head and then grabs Angus’s hand and twists it behind his back, making his older brother yelp.

“Enough!” Hamish snaps. “Is this really what we’ve come to?” He curls his lip. “Talk to them? Negotiate with them? They’re parasites. Modern-day Viking invaders.”

“We’re not saying we don’t throw our weight around,” Angus says. “It’ll probably mean some skirmishes, maybe even a battle or two. I’m up for that.”

“A show of force,” Bishop says. “Provoke them. See how they respond. If they respond with force, we meet it. If they don’t?” He shrugs. “We will still show force. It’s the language they understand.”

“Language.” Hamish sniffs. “More words, more talking.”

“That is not what he—” Edwin begins.

“Enough,” Hamish says. “I have told Mr. Danvers what I am offering him. If he wants that, he will pay the price.”

“Price?” Dennis says. “What—?”

Angus clamps a hand on his brother’s arm, warning him to silence.

Hamish meets Bishop’s gaze. “Bring me the head of Franklin Doyle.”

TWENTY

Bishop doesn’t say a word after that. He doesn’t need to. His face may be blank, but his rage is a palpable thing, whipping around the room like an energy bolt.

“Think on it,” Hamish says before we leave, and when he smirks, I fear I’ll need a binding spell to hold Bishop back. Which proves, I suppose, that I am still getting to know my husband.

Bishop only walks out, guiding me with him. Behind us, Julius murmurs something to Edwin, and then Edwin says, “Of course. The northern forest will be empty. Follow the path from the granary.”

We walk straight outside with Rufus and Julius behind, Bishop heading for that path. Julius must have been asking for a place where we could be alone, maybe a forest for Bishop to run in.

We reach the path, and Julius murmurs he’ll patrol with Rufus to make sure none of the Caledonians get close enough to overhear us. He says it to me. Bishop is beyond hearing, lost in swirling rage.

Bishop and I continue on, and we’ve gone about a hundred paces when he stops and turns, blinking as if I materialized there, as if his hand isn’t holding mine so tight my fingers ache.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says.

I look pointedly at where his hand is clamped around mine, and he stares down for several heartbeats, but doesn’t let go.

“Bishop?” I say.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he repeats, and he’s holding himself very still as that roiling rage swirls from him.

“If you want to be alone, I’ll join Julius and Rufus,” I say.

“You should,” he says, and doesn’t let go of my hand.

“Bishop…?”

“I can’t hold it together much longer,” he says. “You should go.”

“Because you might hurt me?”

He finally drops my hand, stepping back. “Never.”

“I know,” I say gently. “If I thought you were someone who could lash out at me in rage, I wouldn’t be with you. Are you afraid I’ll see you get angry?”

“Not just angry.”

“Lose control.” I step back. “If you really don’t want me here, I’ll leave, but I think maybe you need me to see this.”