Wedded to the Twisted Highlander (Taming the Kilmartins #3)

Chapter 19

19

T homas stood on the balcony. The cool Highland air kissed his skin, mingling with the warmth radiating from Astrid.

The moon hung like a sliver of a fingernail in the sky. Its silvery glow shimmered over the rugged landscape, but it was the sight of Astrid’s glistening cheeks that made his heart clench.

A single tear traced a path down her face, and he felt a pang of guilt that twisted in his gut. After all, was it not he who had brought this storm upon her by tempting her beyond her means?

“What is this? I’m the only one here and ye cannae face me? Since when do ye let fear rule ye? Or am I nae talkin’ wit’ the same lass who climbed out of a window on the third floor?” Thomas asked.

But he wasn’t so sure he wanted the answer to his question.

“Nay, Me Laird, ‘tis nae ye,” she reassured him as she twisted a strand of her hair around her finger.

“I was beginnin’ to wonder if me eyes were playin’ tricks on me,” he said, hoping to find some way to ease the tension.

He’d gone for far too long with barely any contact with Astrid, and now that he had it, he couldn’t let her go. Despite the gravity of the situation, there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be than right there with her.

At his words, something flickered in her eyes—a hint of courage that flickered like a flame in a tempest. It was a spark he had seen in his men before they charged into battle, a fierce determination that came from deep within.

It was at that moment that Thomas realized the war Astrid had been fighting for so long. A war not fought with swords and shields, but one that raged in the shadows of her heart and soul.

She leaned into him, her head resting against his shoulder, her presence warming him from within. Yet, she shook her head, a clear refusal to speak of whatever haunted her.

A heavy silence hung between them, the kind that felt both intimate and insurmountable.

“Give me a name, Astrid,” Thomas urged, his voice gentle yet firm. “And I swear to ye, he’ll nae walk this earth for much longer.”

Astrid shook her head again, her lips pressed together as if to seal away her fears. “Please, Me Laird.”

Thomas tried to draw her gaze to his, but she was looking at everything but him. He rolled back his shoulders as he tilted his head. “Look at me.”

Again, she shook her head in absolute refusal and closed her eyes. She might as well have slammed the door in his face. Pain lanced through his chest as if he’d been hit by a spear.

“Please, Thomas,” she whimpered.

The tremor in her voice was enough to break his heart, but the sound of his name on her lips rattled him more than any cannon fire. She looked up at him with her tear-filled eyes.

But the stubbornness in him wouldn’t let it go. He was like a terrier with a bone.

“I’ll nae ask again.”

He needed a target to take his ire out on. After all, the man who had robbed him of his future with his wife was going to pay.

Another whimper escaped her lips, and she pulled away, putting some distance between them that felt like a chasm.

“Good night,” she mumbled, her voice barely above a breath as she turned away.

But as she made to leave, Thomas hissed out, “Chalium.” The sound was raw and venomous.

Astrid froze at the door. The world around them fell silent, and even the breeze stilled as if the earth itself awaited her response.

Thomas stepped toward her, his heart pounding violently in his chest. “Tell me what Chalium did to ye.”

“Why so ye can look at me like I’m broken? I’ll nae be pitied.”

“Ye think I have such a thin’ to give?” he snapped back. “I’m tired of this back and forth. Ye want me there one minute and push me away the next. How am I to ken what will be safe for me to dae, and what will set ye off. Because I’m at my wits end, Astrid. Ye’ve got to give me somethin’ to hold on to here. I feel like I’m drownin’ wit’ ye.”

“It was his fingers that slipped under my skirts first,” Astrid whispered as she played with the tips of her fingers. “But he dinnae stop there. By the time he situated himself between my legs, I ken I had to make a choice. I reached up and grabbed the wrought iron poker from the hearth and rammed it into his side. He tried to penetrate me, but it was I who would end up goin’ the deepest. I swore I’d never let another touch me like that again.”

The words spilled from Astrid’s lips as the tears trailed down her cheeks. Thomas hated himself for prying the story from her, but with a clear map as to what he could do, he felt it was some progress despite the pain it caused.

“I’m sorry ye went through all that,” he whispered as he reached a hand for hers. She recoiled as her face turned sour.

“I dinnae want yer pity, did I nae tell ye that?” she grumbled.

At that moment, Thomas felt a fierce determination rise within him. This vulnerable woman, this warrior with the heart of a lioness, needed him. He could not stand by and watch her suffer. He moved toward her swiftly, wrapping his arms around her, and pulled her into a protective embrace.

“I swear to ye, Astrid,” he vowed, his voice low and fierce, “I will make Chalium pay for the darkness he has brought into yer life. He hasnae just harmed ye, but he’s come for me as well.”

“Please, there’s nothing ye can do. He’s too powerful. Ye’ll just get yerself killed if ye pick a fight wit’ him.”

“Powerful? What is that? An ox can be powerful and so can a steady stream of water over the same rock.”

“Me Laird… Thomas, please,” Astrid pleaded.

It was as if she had a secret weapon to use against him. Hearing her say his name was like listening to angels singing in the heavens.

Thomas held her close on the balcony, the chill of the night air wrapping them in a tender embrace. He wished with all his heart that he could do something—anything—to ease the sadness that hung over her. As he looked down, he noticed her fingers fiddling nervously with a wayward strand of hair, one that was significantly shorter than the rest.

His curiosity piqued, he gently took the errant lock and pinched it between his fingers. Astrid’s body tensed as her hand flew to his.

“What happened to yer hair?” he asked, his voice low but firm, stopping her in her tracks.

Her eyes rose to his. Her expression was a blend of defiance and vulnerability.

“I cut it,” she replied far more sharply than he had expected.

Thomas frowned as he examined the uneven strands. “It looks as if it were ripped apart like rope or burned,” he noted, his heart aching for what she must have endured.

“It doesnae matter now,” she said, turning away again, her tone dismissive. “What matters is the hour, and ye have a busy day ahead, do ye nae? I’m sure there are loads of things to occupy yer time wit’. Perhaps ye could spend time wit’ yer faither?”

Thomas grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her back to him. He didn’t say a word as he held her, nor did he allow more carnal thoughts to intrude. Right now, he needed his wife to know that she was safe and well cared for.

“It matters because it’s something that happened to ye.”

“It’s all in the past. Can we nae just leave it there?”

“Aye, we could, if ye wouldnae flinch when I reach for ye. Or turn away from me when I can clearly see ye’re hurtin’. I dinnae want ye to hurt in any way.”

“Then let it go,” Astrid begged.

“I will, when ye do. But ye havenae. I dinnae think ye’ve ever stopped and just breathed. Have ye?” Thomas asked as he leaned back enough to see her face. Even with her red-rimmed, puffy eyes, she was stunning.

“Have ye ?” she asked back. “Because I dinnae think ye have either.”

Thomas couldn’t hide his smirk. “Aye, the moment ye came to me was like a breath of fresh air, I just didnae ken it yet.”

“Still, the hour is late,” she said as she stepped back.

Thomas didn’t want to let her go, but he couldn’t keep her against her will either.

“Aye,” he relented. “And ye need yer rest.”

“Och?” Astrid asked as she arched an eyebrow. Thomas wiped the tears from her cheeks and flashed her a crooked grin. “Any reason why?”

“I’ve decided to throw a cèilidh in yer honor,” he confessed. “It was supposed to be a surprise, but I think ye need a respite from the troubles ye’ve faced.”

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. “Ye dinnae have to do that.”

He took a step closer, his resolve unwavering. He could see the pain tainting her beauty, and he wanted it to go away. But there were things that he couldn’t wish away.

“There are rumors swirling around the castle that need to be quelled,” he pressed. “Half the castle thinks ye’re avoidin’ me, while the other believes ye’re already wit’ child. I cannae have discord in the castle. The party will bring everyone together, and we’ll present a united front.”

Astrid sighed as he reached for her hand and intertwined his fingers with hers, grounding them in the moment. “I’ll keep the guest list small if it’s the crowd that ye wish to avoid.”

“Our marriage was meant to be one of convenience,” she reminded him, her voice barely above a whisper yet laced with an undeniable strength.

“Convenient for us both,” he added. “And we need to focus on the things we can change. Gossip cannae be left unchecked—it leads to nothing but problems down the road.”

After a long pause, he saw a flicker of hope—or maybe it was realization?—in her eyes. A party was a grand idea, and he knew it. How else were they to calm the rumor mill and show their clan that they were a united front? It was perfect even if Thomas had to admit that it was his brother’s idea.

“Fine,” she relented, her voice tinged with resignation as she moved to the balcony doors. “But make sure that the guest list is small.”

Thomas stood there, watching as she slipped into her room.

As the doors closed softly behind her, a wave of concern washed over him. He had felt the tremor in her voice, the unspoken fears that shadowed her every step. How could he make her feel safe in a place that should have been her sanctuary?

The question and challenge gnawed at him like a relentless ache in his chest.

With a clarity that struck him like a bolt of thunder, Thomas realized that if she didn’t feel secure, what she needed was an escort—someone steadfast and strong to guard and protect her. He did not trust himself with the task, for she was far too intoxicating. Just being in the same room as her made his head foggy.

No, if what she needed was strength and a show of power, then that was what he would do.

With a sense of urgency, he strode into his chamber and dressed swiftly. Once he was ready, he charged out the door, his mind whirling with plans and intentions.

“Duncan!” he called, his voice echoing through the darkened hallways of the castle.

As if summoned by the very sound of his name, his loyal man-at-arms appeared, ready and alert.

“What’s all this commotion? Are ye tryin’ to wake up the entire castle?” Eileen complained, her words laced with playful reproach as she rounded the corner and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“I need a guard outside Astrid and Melody’s room,” Thomas ordered Duncan urgently.

Eileen’s expression shifted from playful to serious. “What for? What’s goin’ on? Are we under attack?”

“The castle isnae in danger. Go back to sleep before ye cause a ruckus.”

“Then why the need for a guard?” Eileen pressed.

“Because I want me wife to feel safe. Where’s the harm in that?” he countered, the conviction in his voice unwavering.

“Well, that is certainly one way to overreact,” Eileen said as she pinched the bridge of her nose. There was no hiding the irritation and bemusement in her tone.

“Who’s overreactin’?” Thomas asked.

“Why do ye want to put a guard at yer wife’s door? Ye think she may be cozyin’ up to someone else? Or maybe because ye’ve finally lost that marble that was keepin’ ye sane all these years.”

“Astrid doesnae feel safe,” Thomas answered as he looked to Duncan for help.

“So, ye want to make her feel like a prisoner?” Eileen scoffed, confusion etched on her face as she looped her arm through his and led him down the hallway. “What is it that ye’re aimin’ for?”

Thomas opened his mouth to defend his intentions but then paused, searching for a better answer. “What can I do then to make her comfortable here?” he asked, his frustration flaring.

Eileen bobbed her head as she pushed through the study doors. “Well, what did Faither do for Maither? What made her feel secure after he took her away?”

“Astrid wasnae betrothed to me. Our arrangement—” Thomas broke off and clenched his jaw. “If I tell the men to be discreet…”

Eileen shook her head. But before she could respond, Duncan stepped up next to Thomas, eager for orders.

“Say the word, and I’ll have every entrance covered,” he said, his voice steady and even.

Thomas turned to Eileen. The answer was there in her eyes, He could see it, but it didn’t make any sense to him and went against every one of his beliefs.

“I have Reid plannin’ a cèilidh in Astrid’s honor,” he said through gritted teeth.

He wanted to cancel it, to keep Astrid and Melody out of sight. But what sort of life would that be?

“I need ye to ensure that the security will be handled for the event. I cannae have just anyone waltzin’ into the castle. Astrid has stated that she wants to keep it small.”

Eileen smirked, shaking her head. “Dinnae go from one extreme to the other, Thomas. Ye’ll give the lass whiplash.”

“Laird McFair,” a manservant called, barreling down the hallway. Before Thomas could answer, the servant skidded to a halt in the doorway, beads of sweat dripping down his brow. “A messenger has come for ye.”

“At this hour?” Eileen asked, furrowing her brow.

“He’s come wit’ a message from Laird Chalium,” the servant added.

Thomas straightened up like the formidable force he was. “Bring him here,” he ordered as he glanced at his sister.

She didn’t say a word but quickly took her leave, all her unspoken questions dangling off the tip of her tongue. Duncan took his place at the corner of the room, his hand resting on the hilt of his dirk.

Thomas moved around to the fireplace and stared at the flames that consumed the logs. He could feel the tension mounting with each echo of the servant’s steps.

“Me Laird,” the servant called in a shaky voice as he came back with the messenger.

Thomas’s eyes narrowed as the strange thin man walked into the room.

“Why have ye come at such an hour?” he demanded before any pleasantries could be exchanged. He didn’t like the fact that his wife’s enemy dared to send another messenger. “Yer presence disturbs me castle.”

“Forgive me, Laird McFair, but me master has requested the return of Astrid Fulton.”

“Ye mean Lady McFair .”

“Laird Chalium doesnae care that she has a husband. Nor does he care about the bairn she ran off wit’. Just hand her over, and me master will spare yer life and those of yer clansfolk.”

A tense silence filled the room, heavy as a storm cloud. Thomas spotted Duncan drawing closer, his blade catching the light of the fire. His heart thundered in his chest as he debated which course of action he should take.

“Astrid willnae be goin’ anywhere,” he declared, each word a vow as his fingers reached for the familiar leather sheath of his dirk.

The fact that the messenger had the audacity to challenge him ignited an ire that he couldn’t quell.

“She is mine, and I will decide her fate.”

The messenger’s smirk faltered, replaced by a cold sneer. “Laird Chalium cares nae for yer marital vows. He will come for her, and he will take her. This meetin’ was merely a formality—a chance for ye to do the right thing.”

Thomas’s fury ignited like wildfire. He glanced at Duncan, who had already drawn his dirk and was waiting for his command.

“If ye or yer Laird set foot on me grounds, I will have yer heads on a spike,” he warned, his voice a deadly whisper. “And ye can be sure I make good on me promises.”

With a swift motion, he drew his dirk, the blade gleaming wickedly in the rusty orange glow of the fire.

The messenger’s bravado wavered as Thomas pressed the cold steel against his cheek.

“What do ye think, Duncan? What is the price for comin’ in here and threatenin’ me family?”

“Death,” Duncan hissed.

The messenger’s eyes widened with fear, and he swallowed thickly. “Ye cannae kill the messenger,” she spluttered.

“But wouldnae that send the right message?” Thomas replied as he nodded his head to Duncan.

Duncan reached for the mantelpiece and picked up a bottle.

“What… what is that? What are ye doin’?” the messenger asked, his voice high-pitched with terror as Thomas grabbed the bottle from Duncan.

Popping the top, Thomas proceeded to pour the liquid on the messenger’s boots.

“Now, tell me,” he said, his voice low and menacing, “how quickly do ye think ye can reach yer Laird before yer feet burn?”

“Please, dinnae be rash!” the messenger pleaded, almost squealing.

Thomas struck his dirk against the iron hearth and watched the sparks fly. All it would take was a single spark to ignite the fire. It was so easy to see the flames erupting around them. But then the damage it would do to the castle would be great.

As much as Thomas wanted to hurt the messenger, he refrained.

“What do ye think?” Duncan asked as he chuckled darkly. “Think the next spark will get him movin’?”

The messenger’s eyes widened as Thomas pointed his dirk to the hearth once more. He didn’t have to strike it for the messenger to get the hint.

Before Thomas’s hand came down, the messenger darted toward the door.

Duncan shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest, a bemused look on his rugged face. “Ye wasted some good rum.”

“Rum?” Thomas barked, incredulous. “There should have been oil for the lanterns in that bottle.”

“Ah, but sometimes, happy coincidences arise from such waste,” Duncan replied, a slight grin creeping onto his face.

Thomas glared at the bottle in his hand, his heart still drumming to the rhythm of war. “I dinnae believe in coincidences.”