Married to the Icy Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #3)

Chapter 4

4

S eparate lives? What was that even supposed to mean? It made her feel… cheap. It was the first part of what he had offered her that made her reconsider the whole arrangement. She had no intention of being cast aside like some trinket to collect dust on the shelf. Whatever anticipation had been building inside her started to fizzle out as she removed her arm from his grasp and took a step back.

Some choice words hung on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed them when the study door burst open again. This time, a small figure darted into the room like a blur.

“Faither!” she called, hurrying past Ceana as if she didn’t even see her.

Only a few steps behind her was her maid, ruddy-cheeked and panting for breath as if she had been chasing after the little girl for quite some time now.

“Pardon me, M’Laird,” the maid huffed, doubling over as if to catch her breath as she attempted to catch the little girl, who ran to her father. “The young lass was gettin’ a wee bit anxious because she didnae want to miss yer game of chess.”

Only then did the girl realize that her father wasn’t alone. In an instant, she went from pulling on his kilt to hiding behind him as she peered up at Ceana. He nudged her forward, and she seemed to remember her manners, as she dropped into a small curtsy, blushing so deeply that her ears turned red, nearly blending into her strawberry blonde hair.

She was a pretty thing, but she seemed to take much more after her mother than her father at first glance.

“I’m sorry, Faither. I didnae ken ye had company!” she said quickly.

The Laird shook his head. “It’s all right, Jeanie. The lady was just leavin’.”

Jeanie glanced sheepishly at Ceana, who realized a moment too late that she was staring.

“Right. We should talk, M’Laird,” Ceana muttered, knowing that the matter between them was still unresolved, but now was neither the time nor the place.

When he mentioned that he had a daughter she would have to raise, this was not how she had envisioned their first meeting to go.

“Of course,” the Laird said and nodded to her, effectively dismissing her.

She slowly made for the door.

“Fetch Abel,” the Laird ordered the maid. “He’ll fetch a horse to take Lady Ceana home.” He paused, looking at Ceana directly. “I wouldnae want me bride to get tired from the long walk.”

Was he mocking her? His tone, the way he dismissed her so abruptly, she had to presume that was his intention.

Just what had she gotten herself into?

The anxiety from running from her wedding didn’t start to fully set in until the village came into view. The archway that she was supposed to be wed under was still up, but now it looked oddly forlorn in the twilight.

She walked slowly to her cottage, for she knew that the conversation waiting for her wasn’t going to be pleasant at all. She didn’t want to see the disappointed look on her mother’s face or have to explain herself. Furthermore, she didn’t know how she was going to announce to her mother what she had just agreed to with the Laird.

It would either make things way better or way worse.

Only the candle in the living room was still burning, but no light came from her mother’s bedchamber. Perhaps she was lucky and her mother was asleep.

Ceana pushed open the door slowly, exhaling heavily. But of course, her mother wasn’t asleep. Ida sat at the table with a steaming cup of tea in her hands, and Ersie was sitting beside her. No doubt Peter and his cat had been sent up to bed hours ago.

They both looked up at her expectantly, waiting for some sort of explanation or comment that would make her sudden departure more sensical.

“We werenae sure ye would be back here tonight,” Ida started gently, pushing an empty teacup toward the place setting beside her and motioning for Ceana to have a seat.

Ceana complied, her bones feeling so heavy the moment she lowered herself into the chair. Ersie poured her tea and pushed a bit of sliced lemon toward her as well. Ceana accepted it and squeezed it into her tea before wrapping her hands around the cup to absorb its warmth. “Of course, I was comin’ home, Maither.”

“Well, ye ran away so quickly,” Ida noted, clear accusation in her tone. “What were we supposed to think? I had to make up excuses on yer behalf to those who lingered.”

If her mother was trying to make her feel guilty, it worked.

“I didnae mean to leave ye to explain…”

“Well, ye did. Perhaps now ye could tell us what really happened,” Ida urged softly.

Ceana stalled, running a finger over the rim of her teacup, trying to find a way to explain it all away. “I couldnae find Blaine at the castle.”

“Well, we kenned that much,” Ersie said flatly.

Ersie would likely be a lot less forgiving than her mother.

“I met with the Laird, and he made me a deal that I couldnae refuse,” Ceana continued, casting a sharp look in Ersie’s direction. “What was I supposed to do? He offered to marry me, and I accepted.”

Ida sat up straighter. Her eyes widened, and she fidgeted with her hands the way she always did when she was not sure what to do with herself. Any excitement that was too much for her to handle and the frenetic energy inside of her transformed into strange movements.

She rose from the table and quickly moved to the stairs.

“The Laird?!” she gasped, a bright smile on her face. “Me daughter, married to the Laird?”

“Where are ye goin’?” Ceana hissed as if the news was a secret.

“To tell yer braither!”

“He’s sleepin’!”

“He would want to ken!” Ida insisted as she hurried up the stairs. “If I wait till morning to tell him, he will never forgive me!” Then, she paused. “Thank ye, daughter,” she added softly.

When she stopped before Peter’s room, his cat, Myrtle, hissed at her—a warning not to open the door it had been sleeping in front of—and then yowled low when she entered the room regardless. However, almost all sound was cut off when she closed the door behind her.

And thus Ceana was left downstairs with Ersie and the judgmental look on her face.

“The villagers werenae kind with their gossip when ye ran away,” Ersie said softly.

“I didnae mean to leave her to shoulder it alone… I just…” Ceana huffed. “I saw red, I snapped. I couldnae believe that he would jilt me at the altar. He’s been me friend since we were bairns, and I…”

The hurt bubbled up. She had been angry this whole time for the humiliation she had suffered. Until this very moment, she had wanted to find Blaine so that she could wrap her hands around his thick neck. She had wanted to confront him and demand answers. She had been seeking closure, and then she had been so sidetracked that she hadn’t processed anything until now.

Blaine had stood her up. He had promised that he would marry her and then chose to leave her. He hadn’t cared about her reputation or the rumors that would follow her. And she couldn’t fathom a single reason why he had done that. He couldn’t be injured. He couldn’t be detained, or else the Laird would have told her. Blaine was far too skilled of a warrior to be injured in a way that would prevent him from attending his own wedding.

The only reason she kept circling back to was that he simply hadn’t wanted to marry her in the first place.

He had lied .

Ceana’s gaze dropped to her hands in her lap, fidgeting with her skirts and turning the gray fabric over her fingers and back again.

Ersie sighed heavily and pushed a folded piece of paper across the table toward her. The dried wax sealing it was jagged around the edges as if it was hastily embossed.

“It arrived two hours ago. I didnae open it—didnae ken when ye were comin’ back,” she explained. “I didnae show it to yer maither yet—I wasnae sure of its contents…”

“It’s…”

Ceana took the letter and opened it quickly, confirming from the handwriting alone that it was from Blaine. She read it once, twice, and then she crumpled it in her fist. The words bounced around in her head, and she couldn’t make them stop. Nothing made sense.

“Well?” Ersie prompted, finishing the rest of her tea.

Ceana almost didn’t want to tell her what it said. “In short, it says that he’s nae comin’ back.”

That was the only part of the letter that she was willing to share with her friend. The letter said that Blaine had still saved them both, in a way.

Her mind drifted back to the Laird because that was the only thing that made sense. But how was it possible?

If Blaine truly wasn’t coming back, then where had he gone? She hoped that he was all right.

All she could do was hope that it would all work out.

Peter’s happy giggles drifted through the closed door and down the stairs, so her mother must have told him the good news. It would be good because there was no price that Ceana wouldn’t pay to keep those two just as happy as they were at that moment.

“Are ye sure that ye ken what ye’re doin’, Ceana?” Ersie asked, looking up at her with a neutral expression.

Ceana knew, on some level, that she could back out of the deal whenever she wanted and ask for Ersie’s help. She also knew that she could sit back and look for another way out. But this was the fastest solution, and it would be the most effective one. There truly wasn’t a better future that she could have asked for than having the Laird himself ensure that her family and their distillery were properly looked after.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Ceana pushed her now empty teacup away from her. “I just dinnae like the idea of leavin’ them all alone, ye ken?”

Ersie nodded. “I’ll do whatever I can to help ease that burden, lass. Ye ken that I will. We’ve become friends, have we nae?”

Ceana reached over and grabbed Ersie’s hand. “I ken it. I just fear that they will be taken advantage of while Peter’s still so young…”

“I’ll handle Ferguson, dinnae worry about that. I give ye me word,” Ersie promised.

The look on her face made Ceana wonder if perhaps Ersie knew a bit more about their situation than she let on.

“I thank ye. Now, I’m goin’ to retire to bed…” Ceana squeezed Ersie’s hand and then headed upstairs, all the while smiling at the sounds of laughter coming from Peter’s room.

Yet, the moment she closed her door and collapsed onto her bed without bothering to undress, she couldn’t stop picturing the Laird’s face.