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

Chapter 12

12

Arran clicked his tongue against his teeth, calling for Fern, the horse upon which Amelia was riding, to follow him. Though she was still clearly unsure of herself, she was starting to grow more and more comfortable with his guidance, and the terrain was soft and easy to traverse; he was simply showing her around the estate. Given that she had asked to see her family, he had supposed he’d need to come up with something that would keep her distracted from her urges, and he hoped the swooping hills and dense forest surrounding them would give her reason enough to see the good in this place.

Fern turned, and Amelia let out a little squeak of surprise as the horse changed tack. As she drew up alongside him, he couldn’t help but notice the way the beams of sunshine filtering through the clouds above them caught in her pale hair, glittering like strands of gold thread.

“Where are we going?” she asked her. Her face was still slightly pale, but there was a small smile on her lips as she grew more and more used to the sensation of riding.

“I thought ye’d like to know a little more of the land,” he explained. “Here, follow me…”

“I don’t know how to follow you,” she protested. “I don’t know how to control this thing.”

He glanced over at her. He had supposed, at first, that her claims that she had never learned how to ride were nothing more than her attempt to avoid spending more time with him, but it was clear that she’d not been lying. She truly had no idea what she was doing on horseback, a surprise given her noble lineage.

He reached over and took the reins of her horse, guiding her along the dirt path that led into the forest. The ground was dappled with sunlight, and around them, he could hear rabbits and hares darting out of their path.

“This place is beautiful,” she sighed, glancing around, beginning to relax now that she knew he had control. “When I was growing up, my sisters and I went to a place like this a few times; they used to call it a fairy glade…”

She trailed off. He could tell that the thought of her sisters had cast a dark shadow over her mind, and he spoke swiftly, filling the silence before she could be too distracted by it.

“Aye, I used to come down here all the time as a wain,” he replied. “It was peaceful, ye ken? My mother and I?—”

He came to an abrupt halt before he could finish his thought. He could feel her staring at him out of the corner of her eye, as though sensing that there was more that should have been said. He cleared his throat, narrowing his eyes at the path ahead, as though struggling to make it out through the trees.

“My sisters and I used to play in the forest all the time, when we were little,” she remarked, her voice softening as the memory filled her mind. “Gosh, it feels so long ago now…”

She trailed off, sadness catching in her throat before she could go any further.

“I just hope they’re safe,” she added suddenly, as though the very words had caught her off-guard.

“I’m sure they are.”

“I don’t know. Not with my father,” she confessed, her head dropping slightly. “He… I fear he has more debts than he has been honest about. And that as his daughters, we’re going to have to be the ones to make gold from his hay.”

“His debts?”

She nodded, as Fern snorted slightly, nudging an errant branch out of the way.

“That’s the reason I was going to be married to that man,” she explained. “He… he was a merchant. Or tried to be, at least. But he was never any good at it. He tried to buy up great swathes of stock, and he would take out loans to do so, from Scotsmen, often, because he was sure that people would not look to them for the truth about how he was conducting his business. I doubt that he ever thought much about how he would pay them back when the time came, if at all, but…”

Her silence held a heaviness to it that even he couldn’t miss. Anger bristled through him. It was hard for him to believe that any man could look at his daughters, and see them as pieces he could use, goods he could sell to the highest bidder.

All at once, they reached the spot he had been leading them to; a small pond, that was dappled with soft light where it reached through the leaves. The air was colored with a slight green tinge, as though the earth itself was rising up to meet them. Her lips parted, her eyes lighting up, and she clasped a hand to her chest.

“Oh, this is beautiful!” she remarked, hopping off of Fern with a surprising ease, as though she’d all but forgotten she hardly knew what she was doing. She hitched her skirts up and dropped down to the water’s edge, her knees in the soft earth, gazing down into the glassy pond. A few mossy rocks peeped above the surface, and she smiled as she took them in.

“They almost look as though they’re covered in velvet, don’t you think?” she murmured, tracing her fingers above them, like she could almost feel them.

“Aye, I suppose they do.”

Arran brought the horses to a halt, glad to let her have this moment where she could forget about everything else. She had seemed so weighed-down by the enormity of all that had happened, and to see her almost girlish, free from that concern, her face lit up and reflected back at her in the water, made him certain of his choice to bring her here today.

Once he had secured the horses to a nearby tree, he moved to stand beside her. She traced her fingertips over the surface of the water, leaving slight ripples in her wake. He could remember doing much the same thing when he had been a child.

As he stood above her, he could see his face reflected in the water. It struck him, all at once, how hard and weathered he looked compared to her. Here she was, her skin as soft as the petals of a blooming flower, and then, beside her, her husband; a man who looked as though he had walked through hell and back, too harsh for her to ever truly understand.

She caught his eye in his reflection, and he swiftly drew his gaze away. He was distinctly aware of how alone they were together out here, and, though he’d never have done anything to take advantage of it, it was best that he not let his mind stray in such a direction.

“Do you come out here to hunt?”

Her question caught him off-guard. He paused for a moment, considering it, then shook his head.

“There’s naught out here to hunt. Not worth the trouble.”

“Not like the deer, then?”

“Nothing like that.”

She rose to her feet, the two of them standing just a yard or so apart. A chill rushed through the air, and she wrapped her arms around herself, her hair raising slightly from her neck. The soft curve of her throat beneath it reminded him of a doe, the velvety skin, the…

“Where did you learn how to fight?”

He forced himself back into the moment.

“What do ye mean?”

“I saw you back there, with Gregory,” she reminded him. “You know how to handle a sword. When did you learn?”

She sounded, to his surprise, almost envious. He cast his mind back. It had been so long since he had learned, he had almost let it slip from his mind.

“My father taught me, when I was a lad.”

She sighed, pushing a hand through her hair.

“You’re lucky. I wish I had learned to fight.”

He almost laughed when she said that. The thought of her holding a sword, her willowy frame trying to balance a weapon of some kind, seemed almost ridiculous. But he held it back, not wanting to insult her.

“Oh, aye?”

She nodded.

“My father said it wasn’t right for my sisters or me to learn,” she continued, kicking a small rock into the pool in front of her. “Said that it wouldn’t do much to help us find a husband, so we never learned. If I’d known that he was just going to marry us off to whomever he saw fit…”

She fell silent again. He reached for the dagger that was slipped beneath the leather belt around his waist, and drew it into his hand, testing the weight of it. It might not have been much, but if it made her feel more sure of herself, he could give her that.

“Give me yer hand.”

“What do you mean?”

He reached down to catch her hand, drawing it up, so her palm was facing him. He pressed the handle of the dagger against it, and she stared down at it for a moment, clearly not sure what to make of it.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m showin’ you how to fight fer yerself, lass,” he replied. His hand was still over hers, the blade pressed against his wrist. Though he knew she would not try to harm him, it felt oddly vulnerable to allow someone to bear arms when he would have none.

“You don’t have to—I mean, that wasn’t what I was getting at…”

Her words trailed off as she gazed up at him. He couldn’t help but notice the softness of her hand beneath his, a hand that hadn’t done a day of work in her life, but that she wanted to harden. She wanted to do more with it.

“Feel the weight of it in your hand,” he murmured, and she paused for a moment then did as she was told, weighing it in her palm.

“Aye, like that. Tell me, how does it feel?”

“Heavier than I thought it would,” she confessed, as she tested it in her grip.

“Strike out with it. Push it forward.”

She hesitated, as though some part of her resented the idea.

“Think of someone who’s hurt you,” he ordered her, and all at once, her eyes darkened. Though he didn’t know exactly who had come to her mind when he had ordered her to do that, he had a good guess. She drew the knife back, and plunged it forward into the air, slicing through the quiet around them with a surprising strength. The intensity of her motion nearly threw her off-balance, and he dived forward to catch her, arm around her waist, the blade she held just a few inches from him.

“There ye go,” he chuckled. “We’ll make a warrior of you yet, lass.”

She smiled, and let out a small, slightly shaky giggle. As she righted herself, glancing down once more at the blade gripped in her hand, a heavy raindrop fell from the sky above them, landing on the upturned blade, and then another, and another. He tilted his head back, and sure enough, the sky was beginning to darken overhead. He grimaced.

“We need to go. Come on.”

“So soon?” she asked, sounding disappointed.

“It’s dreich,” he replied. “And it’ll only get worse. If we’re trapped out here in the rain…”

He trailed off. He could suddenly only think of the way she had been when he had first seen her; naked, drenched in water, her hair clinging to her back.

“Come,” he commanded her, steering her towards their horses. “Ye’ll ride with me. I’ll bring yer horse back, but we can’t take this slowly.”

She didn’t protest, thankfully, seeming to trust that he had her best interests at heart. He took the knife from her and slid it back beneath his belt. The handle was still slightly warm from where it had rested in her hand.

He helped her up onto his horse, sliding her into the saddle before him as he grasped the reins that were draped around Fern’s neck and tied them to the tack on his saddle. He would not leave the creature out here to be drenched, he could never have done that to such a magnificent beast. He knew how quickly this rain could come on, and how dangerous it could be to stay out here in the forest, even if you were sheltered by a canopy of trees.

They rode back to the Keep as fast as they could, the thundering hooves carrying them with a focused determination back to where they had come from, but they did not escape the storm entirely. The clouds seemed to open above them, and heavy drops began to fall from the sky, creating a sheet of water that drenched them both.

She nestled herself back against him, retreating from the weather as best she could, but all Arran could think about was how she had looked under the river; the coolness of the water clinging to her naked body, how badly he wanted to see it again. He gritted his teeth and did all he could to keep his focus on what lay ahead of them, forcing himself onward, reminding himself that to get distracted under circumstances like this would be to condemn them both to death.

Finally, with the horse panting beneath him, he drew to a halt outside the Keep. Fern had done her best to keep up, and joined them a few seconds later, letting out an irritated whinny as the rain pummeled them.

One of the groomsmen was already waiting for them at the entrance to the keep, as though he had sensed that they would need his help. As he climbed off the horse and offered Amelia a hand down, the groomsman took the reins and guided the horses inside, out of the hammering rain above them.

Amelia stood before him, shivering, clearly not entirely sure what to do. Her hair was clinging to her neck, her dress soaked to her skin. She looked almost naked as she waited for him to make a move, and, for a moment, his mind was utterly consumed by the desire to pull her into his arms and find some way to warm her up from the inside out.

But, instead, he offered her a hand.

“Come,” he ordered her, and, without a moment’s hesitation, she allowed him to lead her inside the Keep, where the warm air circled around them and the heat that had been growing in Arran since they’d been alone together began to get the better of him.

Once and for all.