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above all others?
    By God, he may have had no choice but to wed Rionna McDonald, but it didn’t mean he was going to be made a cuckold, or that he’d let his wife run wild as her father had done for years.
    He was now her laird whether she liked that fact or not, and if she did nothing else, she’d obey him.
    The sound of steel striking steel drifted through her window. He frowned and strode over to lift the fur. Her room overlooked the courtyard, but who would be sparring so early. And why?
    He leaned out to see torches surrounding a small area in the middle of the courtyard. Two men were sparring furiously. One of the fools was going to get himself killed. As one turned, Caelen caught the flash of golden hair and the decidedly feminine set of the lips pursed in concentration.
    Hell.
    One of the fools was his wife.
    He let the furs fall back to cover the window and he turned to stalk from her chamber. Shaking his head, he descended the stairs only to have Cormac fall in next to him when he strode into the great hall.
    “Did you know that Rionna was out sparring?” Caelen bit out.
    Cormac’s eyes widened and he looked abashed—and uncertain as to what to say.
    “Nay,” he finally muttered. “I only just arose.”
    Caelen glanced at him in disgust. “Are you growing soft and lazy on me?”
    Cormac grinned, undisturbed by Caelen’s censure. “I find now that I have a soft, warm lass in my bed every night, ’tis hard to find motivation to rise so damn early.”
    Caelen grunted.
    “The question is, why your lass is out of your bed the morning after she wed with you. One might draw some interesting conclusions.”
    Caelen sent him a chilling glare.
    Not in the least bit worried over Caelen’s mood, Cormac continued. “Why, the very fact that she has the strength to spar suggests that you did something … well, not right.”
    Cormac’s smug teasing made Caelen’s lips turn up into a snarl. “I’d wager that Christina wouldn’t care too much for a toothless husband.”
    Cormac held up his hands in surrender, but he wore that stupid grin all the way outside.
    Caelen welcomed the brisk chill. It was a reminder to him never to get too comfortable. Never let his guard down. When men became too ensconced in their own comfort, it was inevitably their downfall.
    That wouldn’t happen to him. Not if he could help it. Nor would it happen to his clan—both new and old.
    “She has skill,” Cormac noted.
    Caelen scowled again as they approached the area lit by the torches.
    “Rionna!” he barked.
    Her head yanked in his direction just as the other man’s sword flew. Directly at her exposed neck.
    Caelen thrust his sword forward to deflect the blow, and Rionna’s eyes widened as the tip of her sparring partner’s blade stopped within an inch of her flesh.
    With a flick of his wrist, Caelen knocked the sword from her opponent’s hand and sent him a look that had him backing away in a hurry.
    If he expected his wife to be frightened, abashed, or grateful that he’d prevented her death, he was wrong.
    She was bloody furious.
    Her eyes sparking with demonic light in the glow of the torches, she turned on him, reminding him of a spitting kitten. The comparison would probably only make her angrier, but it was an amusing enough thought.
    “What did you think you were doing?” she yelled. “You could have gotten me killed! You don’t bellow at someone when they’re sparring!”
    His nostrils flared and he advanced on her, furious that she’d address him thusly in front of others.
    “Think you that distractions don’t exist on the battlefield, Rionna? Think you that no one will ever shout at you? A warrior is strong, not just physically but in the mind as well. Allowing yourself to become distracted during battle will get you killed.”
    She flushed and looked away, her sword lowered toward her feet.
    “Nor do you ever lower your sword. You’re now completely vulnerable to attack.”
    Her lips twisted in anger.