She braced herself for the insult she knew was coming.

"Timid."

"Timid?"

"Aye, m'lady. We call you Timid."

Johanna was suddenly in a fit mood again. She smiled all the way home.

They called her Timid. It was a fair start.

Chapter 13

Johanna didn't see her husband until dinner. The men were already seated at the two tables when she walked down the steps into the great hall. No one stood up. Gabriel wasn't there yet. Both Father MacKechnie and Keith were also absent. The servants were busy putting oblong platters of meat on the table. The aroma of the mutton filled the air. A wave of nausea caught Johanna by surprise. She thought the soldiers' behavior was the reason she was suddenly feeling ill. They were grabbing handfuls of food before the trenchers were even placed in front of them. They weren't waiting for their laird to join them or for the priest to give the blessing before dinner.

Enough was enough. Mama would have heart failure if she witnessed such shameful behavior at her dinner table. Johanna wasn't about to be shamed in front of her dear mother. She'd die first. Or kill a couple of the Maclaurins, she thought to herself. They were the worse offenders, though the MacBain soldiers were certainly trying to keep up.

Megan noticed her mistress standing by the entrance. She called out to her, realized Johanna couldn't hear her over the noise the men were making, and walked across the hall to speak to her.

"Aren't you going to have your supper?" she asked.

"Yes, of course."

"M'lady, you don't look well. Are you feeling all right? You're as pale as flour, you are."

"I'm fine," Johanna lied. She took a deep breath in an attempt to get her queasy stomach under control. "Please fetch me a large bowl. Bring one that's cracked."

"Whatever for, m'lady?"

"I might have to break it."

Megan thought she'd misunderstood her mistress. She asked her to repeat her explanation. Johanna shook her head. "You'll understand soon enough," she promised.

Megan ran to the buttery, grabbed a heavy porcelain bowl from the shelf, and hurried back to her mistress.

"This one's chipped," she announced. "Will it do?"

Johanna nodded. "Stand back, Megan. Sparks are about to fly."

"They are?"

Johanna called out to the soldiers first. She knew they wouldn't hear her over all the racket, but she thought she should at least attempt ladylike conduct at first. She tried clapping her hands together next. Finally she whistled. Not one of the soldiers looked up.

She gave up trying to be diplomatic. She lifted the bowl and hurled it across the room. Megan let out a loud gasp. The bowl crashed into the stone hearth and splintered to the floor.

The effect was just as she'd hoped. Every man in the hall turned to look at her. They were silent, looking incredulous, and she couldn't have been more pleased.

"Now that I have your attention, I have several instructions to give you."

Several mouths dropped open. Calum started to stand up. She told him to stay where he was.

"You meant to throw the bowl?" Lindsay asked her that question.

"Yes," she answered. "Please listen to me," she explained. "This is my house and I would therefore appreciate it if you would follow my rules. First, and most important, none of you will eat until your laird has been seated and served. Do I make myself clear?"

Most of the soldiers nodded. A few of the Maclaurins looked irritated. She ignored their frowns. Calum, she noticed, was smiling. She ignored him, too.

"But what if our laird doesn't come in for supper?" Niall asked.

"Then you'll wait until your mistress has been seated and served before you eat," she answered.

There was a considerable amount of grumbling over her dictate. Johanna held onto her patience.

The men turned back to their trenchers.

"I'm not finished giving you my instructions," Johanna called out.

Her voice was drowned out by the clatter again. "Megan, fetch me another bowl."

"But m'lady…"

"Please."

"As you wish."

Less than a minute passed before Megan handed her mistress a second bowl. Johanna immediately hurled it at the hearth. The loud crash turned everyone's attention again. Several of the Maclaurin soldiers were giving her surly looks now. She decided a threat or two would be appropriate retaliation.

"I won't throw the next bowl at the hearth," she announced. "I'll throw it at one of your heads if you don't pay attention to me."

"We're wanting to eat, m'lady," another soldier shouted.

"I'm wanting your attention first," she replied. "Listen carefully. When a lady enters the room, the men stand."

"You interrupted our supper to tell us that?" Lindsay shouted. He added a nervous laugh and nudged his neighbor's side with his elbow.

She put her hands on her hips and repeated her dictate. Then she waited. She was pleased to see every soldier finally stand up.

She smiled, satisfied. "You may sit down."

"You just told us to stand up," another Maclaurin muttered.

Lord, they were dense. She tried to hide her exasperation. "You stand when a lady enters, and you sit when she gives you permission."

"What do we do when she comes in and then goes right back out again?"

"You stand, then sit."

"Seems a nuisance to me," another Maclaurin remarked.

"I'm going to teach you manners even if it kills you," she announced.

Calum started laughing, but her glare stopped him.

"Why?" Niall asked. "What do we need manners for?"

"To please me," she snapped. "There won't be any more belching at my tables," she said.

"We can't belch?" Calum asked, looking astonished.

"No, you can't!" she said in a near shout. "You can't make any other rude noises either."

"But it's a compliment, m'lady," Niall explained. "If the food and drink are good, a belch is due praise."

"If you enjoy your food, you'll simply tell your host it was a fine meal," she instructed. "And while we're on the topic of food, I'll tell you I find it gravely offensive when I see one of you ripping food from your neighbor's trencher. That's going to stop right now."

"But m'lady-" Lindsay began.

She cut him off. "You aren't going to slam your goblets together when you give a toast," she announced. "The ale spills everywhere."

"We do it on purpose," Calum explained.

Her eyes widened over that admission. Niall hurried to tell her why. "When we toast, we make certain some of our ale spills into the other goblets. That way, if there's poison in one, everyone will die. Don't you see, m'lady? We do it to ensure no one will try trickery."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Were the Maclaurins and the MacBains that suspicious of each other?

The Maclaurins dared to turn their backs on her again. Johanna was infuriated by their rudeness. They were being deliberately loud now in their bid to drown out her voice.

"Megan?"

"I'm fetching it, m'lady."

Johanna lifted the pitcher in the air, turned toward the Maclaurin table, and was just about to throw the thing when it was snatched out of her hand. She turned around and found Gabriel standing right behind her. Keith and Father MacKechnie flanked his sides.

She didn't have any idea how long they'd been standing there, but the stunned look on Father MacKechnie's face indicated it had been long enough.

She could feel herself blushing. No wife wished to be caught screaming like a shrew or throwing things to get attention. Johanna wasn't about to let her embarrassment deter her, however. She'd started this and by God she was going to finish it.

"What in God's name are you doing, wife?"