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

Chapter 11

11

Amelia steadied her breathing as she looked back into his eyes, not breaking his gaze for a moment. Effie had encouraged her to come to speak to the Laird about her desire to see her family, but she had been reticent. It wasn’t as though she had given him much she could bargain with, but Effie insisted.

“He’s not as hard a man as you might imagine,” she’d told her. And it was with that in mind that Amelia had come to the hall to see him. Truth be told, when she had seen the glint of the sword in his hand, her heart had skipped several beats, but she’d held her sisters at the front of her mind, and forced herself to say what she needed to say.

And now, he was holding her, so tight it was as though he never wanted to let her go. It reminded her of the way he had touched her in the carriage on the day of their wedding, that rough, intense grip that spoke to the depths of his desire for her.

Only now, as he stared at her, she got the feeling it wasn’t desire that he felt, no. It was anger. Anger that she would have dared try to do something like this, that she would have dared ask for a small sliver of her freedom. But it had been a long time since she had seen her sisters, and she needed to make certain that her father wasn’t doing anything to them, that they weren’t lined up to marry some ancient landowner to pay off whatever debts he had done his best to hide till now.

The grip on her wrist was almost painful, but something about his touch soothed that edge of discomfort. Finally, as though realizing how roughly he was handling her, he let go of her, taking a step back, and shook his head.

“Ye’ll be staying here from now on. This is yer home.”

“And what of my sisters?”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“What of them?”

“If you had taken the time to learn anything about me,” she shot back, her voice a little sharper than she had intended, “then you’d know how important my sisters are to me. I’m the oldest, they look to me to protect them, and I don’t know what my father might have planned for them now that he’s got me out of the picture.”

A shadow crossed his face.

“You care for yer kin, aye?”

“I care for my sisters, yes,” she replied. He was standing so close to her that she could smell the scent of him again, that scent that had been there from the first moment they’d laid eyes on each other. Something deep and dark and masculine, something that coursed through her veins and led down to the very darkest parts of her soul.

“Which you would know if you’d bothered to talk to me at all since we got married,” she continued, pulling back from him slightly, doing whatever she could to break the spell. She couldn’t let her attraction to him—if that was what this was—get the better of her. She had to control herself, to think of her sisters, of Mary and Lily, and how worried they must have been about her since she had been wed.

“Ye’ve hardly given me the chance to get to know you,” he replied, his voice dropping slightly. She could not read his tone, whether it was meant as a warning, an insult, or some kind of invitation.

“You were the one who took me to my bedchamber alone on our wedding night,” she blurted out. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she felt her cheeks heating. What was she thinking? That hadn’t been the kind of knowledge she’d been talking about, but it was the first place her mind went when she thought of all they had left to learn about one another.

The corner of his mouth quirked up into a smile, a smile that sent a shiver running down the length of her spine. She could feel a prickling at the base of her neck, as though his very fingertips were resting against her where she stood.

“Aye, and would ye like me to ken you that way?” he asked her softly. They were standing so close together now, she could feel his breath mingling with hers, warm against the cool air. The soles of her feet tingled, his gaze enough to light up every inch of her body at once.

“I… I…”

Before she could reply, he leaned in and planted a kiss on her lips. It wasn’t the lustful embrace that they had shared back in the carriage, no, this was something softer, more gentle, but still just as much of a promise as that had been.

Her body arched towards his, as though on instinct. No matter what she tried to tell herself, there was something between them, a desire she couldn’t hide from, that she didn’t want to, either. She laid her hand on his chest, feeling the strength of him once more, a reminder that, if he wanted to, he could have taken her right then and there, and there would have been little she could do to stop him.

This time, instead of frightening her, the thought sent that warmth pooling down between her legs once more.

He pulled back. She caught her breath, gasping for air, still able to feel the roughness of his stubble against her cheek.

With one last look at her, he turned on his heel and left the room. She reached up, her fingertips trembling, and brushed them across her lips. Did that really just happen? It seemed like some kind of dream, but she knew, even in her wildest fantasies, that she’d never have been able to come up with something so vivid or passionate.

But she had still moved no further forward in her attempts to leave the keep. Chewing her lip, she considered pursuing him to ask again, but she sensed that, for the time being, the best thing for her was to gather herself.

Because if she strode out there after him, she feared she would not be able to contain herself from what longed to come next.

“Are ye sure ye’re alright, hen?” Effie asked, furrowing her brow at Amelia as she handed her a warm cup of tea, freshly brewed from the dandelion and burdock roots pulled from outside. Amelia nodded, wrapping her fingers gratefully around the cup.

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“Aye, ye did, but I’ve yet to see anything to make me believe it,” Effie shot back. Amelia managed a small smile. She appreciated that her new friend seemed so perceptive, but at the same time, then and there, she longed for some space to clear her mind.

After that kiss with the Laird, she had been thrown into another mess of self-doubt and questioning. She knew not how to handle the rush of feelings and emotions that seemed to get the better of her when he was around. Was he using that against her, making it so she had no choice but to go along with his demands and expectations? Was he skilled in making his women wait so that they found themselves lost to a desirous rush that got in the way of any sensible thought?

Suddenly, a knock sounded on her chamber door. Effie rose to her feet to answer it, and there, standing on the other side, was one of the young groomsmen who tended to the horses.

“Good afternoon, my lady,” he greeted her, dipping his head down in an expression of deference. “The Laird wishes to see you, in the courtyard.”

“What for?” she demanded defensively. Everything Arran did, she felt as though he was playing a game with her, testing her and teasing her, and she did not much like the feeling of being treated in such a fashion.

“To give you yer wedding gift.”

She frowned. She had heard no talk of being gifted anything, and she could hardly believe that he would suddenly have begun treating her with such kindness. Was this an attempt to bribe her, in order to get her to forget about her demands to see her family? Perhaps. Either way, she knew she had little recourse to deny him what he asked for, and with a sigh, she rose to her feet, planted her tea on the small table beside her bed, and followed the man out into the corridor and to the courtyard beyond.

It was an unseasonably warm day, and, when she stepped outside, she found that the air didn’t bite with the same harsh coldness that it once had. Glancing around, she searched for the sight of her husband. At least there would be other people around them for this meeting, so she would not have to fear her desire getting the better of her.

And, sure enough, after a few moments, she spotted him. He was sitting astride a large, chestnut-brown horse, with a dark mane that ruffled slightly in the mild wind. Beside him stood another man who tended to the horses, and in his hands, he held the reins to a mare that Amelia had never seen before, large, and nearly a pure white, her gray mane shimmering with silver streaks in the pale sunshine.

“What’s this?” she demanded, as she made her way towards them.

“Yer wedding gift,” Arran replied evenly. She scanned his face for any hint of what had happened earlier. Did it truly mean so little to him, that kiss? If that wasn’t the case, he was certainly doing a fine job pretending he would treat her as a gentleman might.

“It’s days after the wedding?—”

“Aye, she took a while to arrive,” the groomsman cut in. “But she’s a fine horse. And she’ll serve ye well, my lady, if I may say so.”

She wasn’t used to being spoken to with such deference. She supposed she would have to get used to it, now that she was married to the man who ruled this place, but she found it difficult to believe that she would ever see it as natural. Just a few weeks ago, she had been nothing more than Amelia, and now, she was a lady, at the side of her Laird.

“Come,” Arran ordered. “We’ll ride together.”

Her heart dropped. Of course, that’s what he would have wanted. It seemed obvious to her now, but, in the shock of everything that had been happening, the thought had slipped her mind. She gritted her teeth before she responded, hating to have to admit to any kind of weakness.

“I can’t ride.”

“Ye what?” Arran asked, frowning.

“I said, I can’t ride,” she replied, speaking a little more clearly now. A silence seemed to fall over the courtyard, and Arran stared back at her for a moment, as though he could scarcely make sense of what she was saying.

“I thought all noble lasses could ride.”

Her heart skipped a beat in her chest. He couldn’t know that she wasn’t noble. She was fearful of what he might do if he found out that the woman he had married was nothing more than a minor landowner’s daughter. Hardly the kind of girl he would have wanted to take for a wife, she was sure of that.

“I never learned.”

“Then ye will,” he replied simply, as though it should have been obvious. “Lachlan, help her onto the horse.”

She shook her head, her palms beginning to sweat.

“I—I don’t know how. I’m afraid I’ll get hurt.”

“You’ll be fine,” Lachlan told her, as he led the mare towards her. The horse dipped its head slightly, and she reached out to lay a hand on its neck. Her coat was smooth and silky, and her eyes were framed with long lashes that reminded her of her sister. She took a deep breath. She supposed, if she was going to stay here, she’d need to adapt to the skills expected of a lady.

“What do I do?” she asked nervously.

“Take the reins,” Arran instructed her, as he guided his steed with ease around to stand next to them. “Lachlan, help her up.”

The young man offered her a boost onto the horse, and she managed to scramble on, throwing her leg with a degree of inelegance over its back. She felt the leather of the reins digging into her hands, holding them so tightly that it felt as though they might pierce into her skin. She could not risk letting them slip through her fingers, or else, she feared, she would be thrown from the horse’s back before she could think twice.

“Ye dinnae need to hold them so tight,” Arran told her, as he reached over to ease her fingers back slightly. His touch, though gentle, had a firmness to it that left her with no choice but to do as he asked.

“She’s well-trained, you just have to hold on,” Lachlan remarked, and she stared down at him with panic in her eyes.

“What happens if I don’t? Will she throw me off?”

“Probably not,” Arran cut in. She parted her lips, ready to protest and beg for a chance to just go back to her bedchamber and sip on her tea and leave her wedding gift where she had found it, but, before she could, Lachlan landed a sharp slap on the rump of the horse, and she jerked forward beneath her.

“Oh!” Amelia cried out, fear pulsing through her with a shock of discomfort. Arran laughed. She realized, all of a sudden, that it was the first time she had heard him laugh in such a way, and she began to relax slightly. Perhaps, he was not quite as staid as she had once thought.

The horse settled into a steady pace, walking slowly beneath her, as Arran led the way on his steed to the large stone arch that led out onto the hills beyond. The horse seemed to know what she was doing, and Amelia did her best to keep her balance, finding a rock back and forth in time with the slow movement of the creature beneath her.

“She knows what to do,” Arran called over to her, as the wind began to pick up a little. “Just hold on tight, ye ken?”

With that, he picked up into a trot. Her horse swiftly did the same, and she let out a yelp of surprise, her newfound confidence flying away with the breeze that picked up her hair. But, despite herself, she realized that she was smiling, a grin curling up her face before she could stop it. As much as this scared her, the freedom she felt with the wind in her hair and the land laid out before her was a welcome relief from the confines of her bedchamber—or, for that matter, the weight of expectation her father had placed upon her shoulders.

As she glanced at Arran out of the corner of her eye, she wondered if he could be the freedom she had been searching for all this time, wrapped up in the guise of a man whom she would never have expected to come to her rescue.

Or if he was really her damnation, and she just didn’t know it yet.