Trapped with the Devil of the Highlands (Falling for Highland Villains #3)

Chapter 3

It was still dark when they reached Dougal Castle. The looming presence of the mountain emerged into view first, followed by the flickers of torchlight at the base of Loch Madiann. Jack could make out the outline of the castle, but just barely. The moon had become a ghost, its light smothered by dense cloud cover, and the stars were nowhere to be seen.

Glancing over at Amelia, he could see the fatigue written all over her face, even in the dark. Her body swayed in an exhausted rhythm with each step the beast took. The trip had been more than she had expected, he was sure, but she had still somehow managed.

“We have arrived,” he told her, his voice cutting through the crisp air.

Slowly, she turned to look at him, his words registering as she gave an almost reluctant nod. Amelia turned her head towards the castle, her expression shifting, hardening with resolve as she saw it for the first time.

“‘Tis large,” was all she could say.

“Aye.” Jack nodded in agreement, before pressing forward.

Soon, she would be Lady Dougal, and this would be her home as well. Jack, despite himself, found that he worried that perhaps she would not like the tall battlements and the fortified walls.

Dougal Castle had once been a mighty fortress, its halls older than sin. His great-grandfather had claimed it after a merciless battle, or so he had been told. It was not a warm place, but it was his. And soon, it would be hers.

As they passed through the main gate, he was aware that most of his servants were likely asleep. It was in the wee hours of the morning, before the sun had even considered rising, and the castle was quiet. Still, a few stable boys emerged from the shadowed alcoves, ready to take their horses.

Jack dismounted with ease and then turned his sights to his bride-to-be. She was still in the saddle, staring up at the walls as torchlight danced across her features. He could see the fear reflected in her eyes, the uncertainty. After a moment, she began to slide down from her saddle, struggling, it seemed.

He moved to help her, his arms outstretched as his hands supported her. She was light, yet she seemed weighted down by exhaustion. Jack tried to ignore the thought of their closeness, tried to stop himself from breathing against her wild golden curls, but the scent filled his senses, and he almost sighed.

She smells good.

“Ye will be shown to yer chambers,” he told her, stepping back.

Amelia nodded, a flush rising to her cheeks. “Aye, thank ye.”

“Rest for a while, and I will call for ye,” he said, his voice stiff as he turned away from her.

His sight fell on the short, stout figure that rushed out the large wooden doors. Hiking up her skirts, Mrs. Nairn wasted no time coming to them, letting out a huff and a grumble with each step.

“‘Tis about time ye bothered to return,” the older woman growled.

Jack raised an eyebrow.

Mrs. Nairn, the housekeeper, placed her hands on her hips as she glowered up at him. She was short, half his height even, but she made up for it with her boldness and tenacity. Her large blue eyes shifted from Jack and fell on Amelia. Her brow furrowed.

“And who might this be?”

“Mrs. Nairn, this is Lady Amelia Black,” Jack stated in a flat tone.

“Is she now?” Mrs. Nairn huffed and skirted around him, as though he were a mere obstacle in her path, and moved to face Amelia. “Well, ‘tis late, and ye had best get a wink of sleep before mornin’ comes.”

“Show her to her chambers,” Jack told her.

“Aye, aye.” Mrs. Nairn waved her hand dismissively.

Amelia watched with a furrowed brow but remained quiet as a shadow. There was something flickering behind her eyes, something that he thought seemed like a subtle hint of amusement.

“Come, Me Lady. Follow me.” Mrs. Nairn ushered Amelia away.

Jack watched as she vanished inside the walls of Dougal Castle, a frown setting on his face, before he turned his sights to Hamish. His man-at-arms had since dismounted and had started for him, a look of disapproval plain on his face.

I will address it later.

“We will speak in the morning,” Jack said, his voice low but firm.

“Aye, there is much to speak of.” Hamish nodded, displeased.

Sleep eluded her, slipping through her fingers like wisps of smoke.

Amelia had not expected to sleep, not truly, but the nothingness of sleep would have been far more pleasant than the constant reminder of her current position. Tossing and turning in the large bed, she could not force her mind to settle.

Finally, with a frustrated sigh, she threw the covers off herself. For a moment she lay there, glaring up at the wooden beams that stretched across the ceiling above her. Slowly, she forced herself to sit up, glancing about the chambers—her chambers—with a deepening frown.

The room was grand, opulent even. It was clear that it had been designed for the Lady of the Castle.

For me.

The very thought seemed ridiculous, absurd. Amelia sighed, rubbing her temples. Was this perhaps a dream? Some vivid, lucid nightmare? Would she awaken back home ?

Sliding out of the bed, her bare feet padded across the cold, polished floor. The chill shot up through her body, as if to remind her that this was no dream—no nightmare, she was here. And she hated it, she hated it more than she could ever dare to express.

As she moved to the window, she could not yet see the subtle hints of dawn on the horizon, which made her wonder just how long she had truly been trying to sleep. Moments? Restlessness gnawed at her, an itch that was begging to be scratched until it bled.

If I am to stay here, if I am to live here, then I should ken it well.

A flicker of defiance sparked within her. Amelia shot a look at the door, her eyes narrowing as she turned towards it and approached it slowly. For a moment, she lingered there, her ear turned near the wood for any hint of sound beyond it.

Would he have stationed guards outside her chambers?

Biting her bottom lip, she reached for the handle and ever so gently turned it. The door groaned in protest as it cracked open, just enough for her to peer into the dimly lit hallway. There was no one there, no sight of another living soul, much to her relief.

Amelia released the breath she was holding as she stepped out into the hallway, glancing down the length. It was dark, save for the subtle glow of candles on wall scones. She watched for a moment as the flames closest to her flickered and danced, swaying against the draft that seemed to push her further away from her room.

It was cold, colder than she had expected, and a shiver ran down her spine. Something, perhaps the walls of the castle itself, told her she should not be out—that she should be tucked in the comfort of her warm, safe bed.

Glancing over her shoulder, she could see that her door was ajar still, and the warm glow of the flames in the fireplace spilled into the hallway, beckoning her to return. And yet, she pressed on.

Just as she turned her attention ahead, she immediately stopped. Her body collided with something large, hard, and undeniably masculine. Stumbling back, she gasped as she reached out to steady herself, her hands falling short as she fell backward to the floor.

Amelia closed her eyes, bracing herself for the impact, but it did not come. Instead, she was met by one hand grasping her forearm, and another digging its fingers into her mid-back. That strong grip was enough to steady her, but it did nothing for her racing heart.

Looking up at the shadowy figure, all she could think was, this was a mistake. A foolish, stupid mistake. I shouldnae have left me bed.

Panic continued to rise in her chest as she continued to stare up at the dark frame, the darkened and shadowed features. And then she realized just how much of a mistake it truly was.

“What are ye doing?” His voice was a low rumble that sent a tremor through her. The sound carried down the hall, a hushed echo that returned again and again.

Amelia hesitated, her mind scrambling for some clever lie, but there was nothing she could say that he would not see through.

“I couldnae sleep,” she told him honestly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Laird Dougal did not release her. In fact, she felt his fingertips dig just a bit deeper into her skin. It was not enough to hurt, not enough to even be considered unpleasant, but she could still feel the shift. Those eyes bored into her, piercing and relentless, searching for something.

Amelia had never felt so exposed, vulnerable, standing in the cold, dimly lit hallway in her nightgown, held by the man whose reputation was stained in various shades of red.

“Ye should be in yer room.” His voice was firm.

Amelia nodded slowly, agreeing.

Aye, aye, I really should.

“Ye will return to yer chambers.” His tone was a command, firm and unyielding. The way he looked at her, it was as if he had just barked an order.

It should not have bothered her, she should have done just that, but she did not.

Amelia shifted against his hold, her gaze meeting his as she drew in a sharp breath. “Ye dinnae command me.” Her voice was a warning, though it shook.

Laird Dougal looked at her, his face a mask of stoicism. “But I do, Amelia. As yer Laird, as yer husband.” There was a chill to his tone, enough to make her shiver. “Ye would do well to listen. To obey.”

His words hit her like a slap, and she could do little more than bite her lip to stop the retort from rolling off her tongue. He was suffocating, and it was relentless.

He needs to let me go. Why has he nae let me go?

“Go back to yer chambers. I willnae tell ye again.”

“And if I refuse?”

The moment the words left her mouth, she wished she could catch them, gather them in her palm, and devour them whole. Amelia’s heart thundered, her blood rose and rushed, and a heat was spreading like wildfire across her chest.

Laird Dougal’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Then I will pick ye up and carry ye there meself. The choice is yers, Amelia.”

And then, finally, he released his grip on her. Amelia was quick to catch herself. Otherwise, she was sure she would’ve crumbled to the floor at his feet. She stumbled to regain her footing, but moreso to regain some sense of her composure.

“Very well. Good night, my Laird .”

She turned and started back for her chambers, not waiting for his reply.

Damn him!