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

Chapter 16

16

Amelia stirred in bed, to the sense that something was off. She reached over to the side where Arran usually slept, and found it empty. Lifting her head from the pillow, she frowned as she looked around, trying to place him.

“I’m here.”

She turned to face him, and smiled when she saw her husband, already half-dressed, preparing for a hunt. In the few weeks since they had been sharing a bed, she had grown used to this; him having to rise early in the morning, or stay out late some nights, to make certain that his people were fed, and his larder was stocked. She reached out for him lazily, brushing her fingertips against his, and he reached out to grip her hand tightly for a moment.

“When will you be back?”

“I’m no’ sure,” he admitted, crouching down beside the bed to plant a kiss against her hand. “But I’ll be back here as soon as I can.”

She smiled at him, a little sleepily, and watched as he continued to get ready for the hunt. It was still dark outside. The darkness in these days seemed to stretch out further and further with every passing week, but she didn’t mind. It meant more time for her to stay curled up in bed, beneath the warm covers, the scent of him clinging to her at every turn. She was hardly going to protest that.

She listened as his footsteps picked their way out of the chamber, and she closed her eyes again, ready for the warm embrace of sleep to take her once more.

This place had become comfortable for her in a way she never could have imagined, not when she had first come to the Keep. After she and Arran had finally consummated their marriage in his study that fateful night, it felt as though she had truly found her home. Not just in this place, but in him, in the curve of his back as he slept beside her, in the strength of his arms, wrapped around her. She craved nothing more than his touch, his kiss, his caress. Though she was still new to the world of marital closeness, she had found herself craving more and more, each and every day. Luckily for her, her Laird seemed more than able to keep up with her demands, and willing to satisfy every urge that took hold of her.

She turned over, tucking her hands beneath her head as she listened to the wind nagging at the outside of the window. She knew Arran would have wrapped up warm to ward off the cold, but still, she could not help but worry that he might catch a chill. Though he was utterly capable of taking care of himself, she still found herself worrying about him. Was that normal? To care about someone as deeply as she cared about Arran? She supposed it was.

And he took care of her in much the same way that she tried to do for him. He would make sure she had clean clothes ready to slip into every morning, and made sure to save a seat for her at the dinner table beside him, his hand resting on her knee beneath the table, like he was making certain she knew she belonged to him.

And that he belonged to her.

She tossed and turned a little beneath the covers, but found that she was too restless to go back to sleep. She threw back the covers and moved from the bed, pulling on a dress and a heavy robe to ward off the early morning chill. She liked the Keep when it was early. There were only a few people awake, and it was almost as though the whole place existed just for her.

She padded through the corridors, the cold bite of the stone on her feet enough to wipe any traces of tiredness from her system once and for all. As she passed Arran’s study, she slowed for a moment in front of the portrait that had caught his attention before. She had not yet asked him who it was, though she might have made a good guess. It had to be his mother, didn’t it? She could almost see a small piece of him in her eyes. Whoever had painted the picture of her had captured something of her spirit, and it was enough to still her feet every time she walked past it.

She ducked inside the study, and began to look through the books that she had yet to read. There was still so much she had to work through, so much she had to take in. She wanted to read all of these stories, of the youth that he had lived, the stories he had grown up with. The stories, she supposed, that he would expect her to pass down to their children one day.

Their children. A shiver ran down her spine at the notion, but a smile curled her lips in the same instant. She supposed she would have to grow accustomed to that thought, given the way things had been going between them. After all, as Effie had said, there would soon be an heir in this Keep, an heir whom she would raise under her loving guidance. She only wished that her sisters could have been there to see them, too. She could only imagine how wonderful Mary and Lily would have been as aunts.

But, before her mind could stray too much further down that saddening path, a knock sounded at the door. She glanced around, half-hoping it would be Arran, having returned from his hunt early.

Instead, she found herself looking at Effie. The girl wore a light smile on her face, but there seemed to be something else to her expression, something Amelia couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“Is everything alright?” she asked Effie, turning from the bookcase. Effie nodded.

“Aye, it’s fine,” she replied. “I just received word from the Laird that you’re to ride out and meet him.”

Amelia frowned. Something about it didn’t sound quite right to her. Arran would normally leave her to rest for as long as she needed, before he would return, fresh from the hunt, and the two of them would tumble into bed together once more.

“Are you sure?”

Effie nodded. Her eyes slid to the side. She could not quite look Amelia in the face, and something about her reticence made Amelia’s hair stand on end.

“Aye, Colin is preparing your horse for you now,” she replied. “You should ride out soon. The Laird said to meet him at your special place.”

Amelia cocked her head to the side. The pond? It surely had to be, the place he had taken her when he had first been teaching her to ride. Of course, in the weeks since, she had developed something of an aptitude for it, though she still had a long way to go. At least now she could canter around without being thrown from Fern’s back, even if she did have to cling to the reins with all her might.

But still, it didn’t sound quite right to her. Her instincts nudged at her, warning her that there was something amiss. The way Effie looked at her, though, softened something in her. This girl had been so kind to her, treated her with so much sweetness and care in the time since she had been in this place. She would never do anything to cause her harm, she was sure of it.

“I’ll be out in a moment,” she replied. Effie perked up at once.

“Let me lay out some riding clothes for you.”

She headed to the bedchambers, and, sure enough, when Amelia got there, clothes fit for a morning ride had been laid out on the bed. She slipped them on, a heavy burgundy cloak that settled around her shoulders like a strong embrace, and headed outside to greet Fern.

The air was cold, biting at her skin, but she ignored it. Colin, as Effie had suggested, was already waiting for her. Fern pawed at the ground and let out a slight snort in greeting as Amelia planted a hand on her neck, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath her fingers.

“I can take it from here,” she told Colin, once he had helped her onto the horse. And, just like that, she was off.

She had to admit, there was a freedom to feeling the wind in her hair like this, the throb of excitement that coursed through her when she was on horseback. It was more than just the action of it, the feel of the hooves thundering across the ground and taking her wherever she wanted to go; it was knowing that Arran was the one who had gifted her such freedom, by showing her how to ride. He didn’t want to control or contain her. He wanted her to feel the wind in her hair like this.

She guided Fern towards the forest, marking out the path as best she could remember to the pond where they had ridden on their first outing together. She could still remember how it had felt then, how she had doubted him, even still. It hadn’t been until that evening, when he had taken her into his arms for the first time and shown her a pleasure that she had never imagined possible, that she had truly understood how deep her need for him went.

As she slowed Fern, her ears pricked up. There was little sound in the forest, only the wind rustling through the trees, but that was almost it. No animals moving, no twigs snapping, nothing. Had Arran and Gregory made such quick work of the prey here already? Or…?

Once she reached the pond, she leapt from Fern’s back, planting a hand against her haunch to still her. The horse let out a long sigh, her hooves stilling at last.

“Arran?”

Amelia called out into the quiet, then held her breath, waiting for a response. None came. She frowned. Where was he? If he were here, why would he have made her wait? She could not make sense of it. How would he have even passed on a message to Effie to tell her to follow after him, now that she thought of it?

A cold shiver rushed down her spine. Something was wrong, something was very, very wrong.

“Arran!”

She called out again, praying she would hear his warm tones reaching out through the quiet to find her, but there was nothing. Nothing but that stillness, that seemed to cling to every inch of her in that moment, as she longed to hear his voice. She took a deep breath and let it out again, a long, slow movement intended to calm her pulsing nerves.

Nothing came back. She resolved to leave. She would not stand around and wait out here for too long. She could only imagine the kind of animals who could have pounced on her, when she was vulnerable like this, how easy it would have been for her to get hurt.

Just as she turned to reach for the reins once more, she heard something. A footstep—a growl. She tried to turn, but before she could, she felt hands gripping her shoulders, and then, a rough blackness covering her face before everything vanished into panic.

Amelia came to with a sharp breath, snapping upright on the bed she had been brought to. She glanced around, trying her best to remember where she was and what had happened. Please, let it all have been a bad dream…

But then, she saw the two men standing over her, and whatever hope she’d been clinging to that this was just a misunderstanding fell apart entirely. Her breath caught in her throat, sickness twisting her stomach.

Donald MacAllan stood next to his advisor, a stern expression on his face as he gazed down at her. She went to leap up, but he lifted a hand, stopping her in her tracks.

“Stay, lass,” he murmured, and a furrow knitted his brow. “Ye’ll be safer here than with that brute, Aitken.”

“Let me go!” she demanded, mustering up every inch of strength she had in her, trying, as hard as she could, to control her breathing and manage her panic. She knew that letting the fear get the better of her would sentence her to whatever fate they had already chosen for her, and she couldn’t allow that to happen. Whatever it was, she wanted no part of it.

The two men exchanged a look. The advisor dropped his tone and spoke to his Laird.

“She could be… hypnotized by him, in some way,” he explained quietly. “Who knows what he’s subjected her to, in order to make sure she stays as his wife.”

“Please, just let me out of here,” Amelia begged. She couldn’t stand the thought of them talking about Arran like that; as though he were nothing more than some kind of monster. He was her husband. More than that, he had cared for her, shown her a grace and gentleness that she would never have imagined him capable of.

Donald reached for her face, cupping her cheek with a gentleness that made her stomach turn. She tore herself away from him. What did they think they were doing? Why were they treating her this way? He frowned when she drew herself away from him, like he had been expecting her to simply fall into his arms at the barest touch.

“We can only apologize for the rough treatment, Amelia,” the advisor cut in. “But we could not wait any longer. With your virtue still intact, you’ll be able to become Lady MacAllan, as you should have all those months ago.”

She could feel the sting of bile in her throat, the mere thought sending shivers down her spine. No. There was no way he could mean this. No way he could really intend to see it through; she was a married woman. Arran had paid her father for her hand in marriage, was that not enough?

“I don’t want to be your wife,” she protested, mustering up all the certainty she could. “I’m spoken for. I have a husband, and I’d like to get back to him before you?—”

“And you’ll see your sisters again,” The advisor cut in. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? That’s what you told her?”

She froze. Her? Who was he talking about? She racked her brain, casting her mind back. Shock rocked through her when she remembered who she had shared that with. Effie. Effie, the same woman who had told her to ride out into the woods, where they had been waiting for her…

Of everything that had happened, that stung her the most deeply. Effie was the first person who had truly made her feel at home in the Keep, a person she had allowed into her chamber, a person who had braided her hair and helped her dress and spoken with her about the most intimate of subjects. And to know now that she had been using all of that to turn Amelia over to the people she couldn’t stand… it made her sick to her stomach.

“See, she can hardly speak, she’s so looking forward to seeing her kin again,” the advisor continued, spinning her silence into something positive, though it was anything but.

“Aye, lass, you’ll soon be back with them,” Donald remarked, lowering himself to sit on the edge of the bed. The frame creaked loudly beneath his weight, the bed of what looked to be an old inn barely holding up underneath him. She scrabbled her knees to her chest, putting as much distance between the two of them as possible.

“Once we have dealt with the… formalities,” the advisor remarked, gesturing between the two of them. Formalities? Donald reached for her knee, and his cold touch made her shudder. He meant to defile her! Effie must have told them that nothing had happened between her and Arran, and they believed that she was still pure. Still pure, and waiting for the touch of this ancient man…

“We’ll dispose of Aitken, and be done with it.”

She parted her lips, a cry of horror on her tongue, but she could not come out with it. Dispose of him? What did they mean by that?

“Are you going to kill him?” she whispered. Donald, who seemed to take her shock for relief, nodded.

“Aye. You’ll finally be free from that sham of a marriage.”

She sank back onto the bed, her eyes wide. Donald rose to his feet, at least giving her a little grace for the time being.

“We should let Amelia get some rest,” the advisor suggested, as he backed towards the door. “We have guards on the door to make sure nobody will get in, should the Aitken boy come looking for her.”

Donald glanced down at her one last time. There was such lust in his eyes, it nearly made her ill, right then and there. She had never known what it meant for a man to look at her the way he did in that moment, but now, she understood. It felt like a twisted parody of the way that Arran made her feel, the way he touched her, his hands caressing every inch of her body as though she were a gift from the heavens. But Donald? Donald intended no such kindness to her.

“Wait till we get her to the Keep, Laird,” his advisor told him firmly. “In your marital bed.”

Donald flicked his tongue over his teeth with a lascivious glance, and she closed her eyes, wishing herself somewhere, anywhere else.

With that, the two of them made their way out of the room, leaving her alone in that small space, wondering what on Earth was going to become of her.

She grabbed the blanket laid out on the bed, and pulled it over herself, wrapping it around her shoulders to try and ward off the shivers that coursed through her whole body. Though she knew all too well that it wasn’t the cold that had caused them, it was terror. Fear. Dread. How could this have happened? She should never have listened to Effie, she should have stayed at the Keep, she should have waited for Arran to return, and then none of this would have happened.

Would he come for her? She didn’t know. Perhaps he would think she had simply fled from the Keep and let her leave. Perhaps he thought that all the closeness the two of them had shared in the time since they had first come together had been nothing more than a game she’d played to wait out her time, until she could flee. And even if he did come looking for her, what were the chances he’d be able to find her? He was a fine hunter and a good tracker, but there were limits to what he’d be able to do, even if he did finally find her. With guards on the door, as they had spoken about, perhaps it would have been safer for him to keep his distance.

Numbness flooded her body as the shock began to set in. Whatever they’d had, it was over. It would never be the same as it had been before. Donald would claim her, defile her in all the ways she had tried to avoid for so long, and Arran would never be able to so much as look her in the eye again. The small taste of freedom, of happiness, she had gotten at the Aitken Keep was well and truly over.

And what waited for her on the other side, she was loath to find out.