The Laird’s Runaway Bride (Charmed by the Sassenachs #1)

Chapter 8

8

“My Laird!”

A man exclaimed delightedly when he saw Arran enter the crowded inn. Quarts of ale were being passed this way and that along the rows, people cheerfully grabbing for a share when they passed by. There had to be at least fifty people crowded into that small space; men, women, and even a handful of children, though most of them seemed intent on hiding behind their mother’s skirts rather than greeting their leader.

The man strode over to Arran, and extended his hand enthusiastically.

“Congratulations on yer marriage,” he remarked, and his eyes darted over to Amelia. “And this must be…?”

“My wife. Amelia.”

My wife. She would take a while to get used to being referred to like that, she was sure. Something about it sounded right to her ear, like pieces of a song fitting together as they were supposed to. She nodded to the man in greeting, and, before she could get out another word, a woman appeared at her elbow.

“You must be the new lady!” she exclaimed, and Amelia could tell at once that the woman was more than a little merry. A red hue flushed her cheeks, and she was clutching a small glass of whiskey in her hand.

“Aye, she is,” Arran replied, an arm snaking around Amelia’s waist protectively. She shivered; she could still remember how good his hands had felt against her, how easy it had been to just sink into the pleasure that he gave her. And that was barely even a start to what was to come on their wedding night…

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you!” the woman remarked. “And you look so bonny, too. Here, let me introduce you to some of the other women.”

She grabbed Amelia’s hand, and, before Amelia could get out the barest protest, began to drag her towards a large group of women sitting at the far end of one of the long tables. Amelia could feel their scrutinous gaze on her already, and her heart skipped a beat. What would they think of her, marrying a man like Arran so soon after meeting him? Perhaps some of them had had designs on him, and would be angry that she had managed to become his bride before they did.

But, much to her relief, the woman—who just about remembered to introduce herself as Eileen—seemed to be reflective of the enthusiasm of the rest of the women, too. She was interrogated with questions, about how she had met Arran, what she thought of the area, where she had come from, and how she had ended up in Scotland.

“My father, ah, had friends up here,” she lied quickly, wrapping her hand around the flagon of ale that had been planted down before her.

“So ye ken the place well, then?” one of the other women piped up. She shook her head.

“Not really,” she admitted. “I spent most of my life in England. All of this is new to me.”

“Whit was it like down there?” Eileen asked, leaning forward and raising her eyebrows. “I’ve no’ travelled much further than the end of my lane, I can’t imagine going all the way doon there…”

“It’s… nice,” she replied, through she had to force the word out. It seemed nigh on impossible to even consider what she had lived like before she had come here, given how her father had basically sold her to the highest bidder as soon as he had gotten the chance. The idyllic days that seemed to stretch on for an eternity, when she and her sisters would play down by the river until their knees were muddy and their nanny was calling for them to come in for dinner, were long gone now.

“Just nice?”

“Just nice.”

“Well, ye’ll like this place far better, then,” another woman cut in. “We’re much better than nice here.”

“Most of us,” Eileen replied, with a pointed chuckle. The rest of the women burst out laughing, and Amelia found herself joining in, beginning to relax, some of the weight of everything she had been through starting to lift from her shoulders. Here, at least, she wasn’t chattel, being passed between men; she was a person, and these women seemed determined to make certain she knew that.

She kept watch on Arran as she drank with the women, knowing that how his people treated him would be the best indicator of what kind of life she could expect with him now she was his wife. Most of the people he spoke to seemed glad to see him, many of the men greeting him with warm slaps on the back and words of congratulations. He nodded, offering a smile here and there, but seemed to keep his cards close to his chest. As though he didn’t entirely want them to know what was on his mind. As though he intended to make them work to know what was going on beneath the surface.

As she stared at him, he glanced back over at her and, for a moment, she felt frozen beneath his gaze. She could tell from the way he was looking at her that he was thinking of the two of them together in that carriage, his hands on her body, his fingers sliding up beneath her dress. Even now, she could feel the heat of it, the strength of it, lighting something up within her like nothing else in the world mattered.

She forced her eyes away from him again. Not long, she told herself, until the two of them were going to be alone together. Anything she wanted from him, she would be able to get… or, rather, anything he desired from her, he would be able to take.

She pressed her thighs together beneath her dress, doing her best to stem her thoughts before they strayed any further down that path.

All too soon, they were back in the carriage, and her mind was alight with thoughts and questions. His hand rested on the seat between them, and some part of her longed for him to reach out and touch her, but there was another part of her, perhaps a more sensible part, that knew she didn’t have a clue what she was doing when it came to matters of the bedchamber. What if she made a fool of herself? What if she did something wrong, and he was disgusted by her? Thought her a fool? She could hardly stand the thought of it. And, with the way he seemed to keep to himself, it would be hard for her to read what he truly wanted from her, what craving rose from deep within him.

She nibbled her lip nervously, shooting glances at him out of the corner of her eye. Was he looking at her? Did he have doubts, too, or was it just her racing mind that contained such anxiety? She willed herself to speak to him, to take his hand, something, anything, but before long, they arrived back at the Keep, and they climbed out of the carriage together.

As they walked to his bedchamber—their bedchamber now, she presumed—the sound of their footsteps served as the only company in the quiet and the soft darkness. Candles flickered in their holders, and picked out the rugged features of his face; his strong jaw, the dark stubble that had begun to re-emerge on his chin. His hand brushed against hers for the barest second as they walked, and she sucked in a sharp breath, praying he hadn’t noticed how evident her reaction to him was.

All at once, he came to a halt, and she stilled beside him. She could feel her heart thudding against her ribs, as though it was trying to break its way out of her body entirely. She gazed at him, the candlelight casting a dark shadow over one side of his face. She wasn’t sure if he looked like something out of a fairy tale, or a feverish dream.

Her breath stuttered in her throat as he reached his hand for her cheek. His fingertips found her skin, and she drew back slightly. She didn’t intend to flinch, but every inch of her body was so sensitive, she couldn’t help but react to the way he touched her.

He dropped his hand back by his side at once. She parted her lips, intending to apologize for her insolence, but before she could, he spoke.

“I’ve no intention of taking an unwilling lass to bed,” he murmured to her. “Let me walk you to yer chambers. You need to rest. It’s been a long day…”

She widened her eyes, but didn’t protest. She was so terrified of finding some way to make a mess of their first night together, she’d hardly push for more if he seemed unwilling to see this through.

She rushed to follow him, her skin still tingling from where he had touched her. She wasn’t sure if he had given her a reprieve, or denied her of that which she had been craving since the moment he had kissed her in that carriage.