A Highland Bride Jilted (Scottish Daddies #4)

Chapter 1

“Stop whispering and simply say it to me face.”

Ariella stepped fully into the solar as she spoke, skirts swishing about her ankles, chin tipped high. Her mother and older brother broke apart like guilty children caught at mischief.

Caitlin Milligan flinched first. “Ariella, love, ye should have knocked.”

“If ye did nae wish me to hear,” Ariella replied, shutting the door firmly behind her, “ye should nae have used me name.”

Her heart beat too quickly. The room smelled of peat smoke and lavender, familiar and safe, yet the air felt sharp, strained, as if the walls themselves were listening.

Her mother wrung her hands, twisting her kerchief so tightly the linen creaked. Frederick only watched Ariella with that guarded look he wore when he thought she might break.

“As it happens,” he said at last, “we were about to send for ye.”

“I am here now,” she answered. “So tell it to me plain.”

Frederick cleared his throat. He looked every inch the laird, tall and broad, dark hair tied back, plaid settled over his shoulder, yet there was something boyish in the way his gaze flicked to their mother, as though seeking permission.

Caitlin stepped toward Ariella, smoothing her already neat sleeve. “Yer betrothed is near, mo chridhe,” she said softly. “He will arrive before nightfall.”

The word struck like a stone. Betrothed.

Ariella kept her expression carefully composed, though her fingers curled into her skirts. “So it is settled, then. I am to be married without so much as a proper conversation. How efficient of ye both.”

Her mother’s mouth trembled. “We spoke of it, lass. When ye were ill, Frederick and I, we agreed that if a good match came, we would consider it.”

“When I was feverish and half senseless,” Ariella said, heat rising in her chest. “That was the time ye chose to discuss me future. Very considerate.”

Her mother reached for her hand. “We only wanted to protect ye. Ye ken how fragile ye were, all those years, and then last winter, when ye took sick again. We feared losing ye.”

“I did nae die,” Ariella said, voice low. “And I am growing quite tired of being treated as though I might at any moment, though.”

Frederick stepped forward, placing himself between the women, as if he could shield them from each other’s hurt. “Ariella, listen to me. This is a strong alliance. With it, we secure our people’s safety.”

Silence fell. Her pulse roared in her ears, yet her voice emerged cool. “So I am the coin ye paid.”

“Ariella,” Frederick said quietly, “our father left more debt than we expected. We need this.”

“Then why will ye nae even tell me his name,” she demanded. “Why will ye nae tell me what manner of man he is, this stranger who will be me husband?”

Her mother made a faint sound. “We did nae wish to frighten ye.”

“Frighten me, maither?” Ariella’s eyebrows lifted with a newfound horror.

Frederick scrubbed a hand over his face. “We should have told ye sooner. His is Hunter Murdoch. Younger brother to the Laird of McNeill. He is said to be clever, light of manner, quick with words. I met him when we sealed the agreement. He did nae seem ill disposed.”

Her jaw hit the floor. “The Brute of McNeill’s younger braither? Ye must be in jest. Ye can nae be serious.”

“Ariella,” her mother chided, but the edge had gone out of her voice, replaced by weariness.

“Sister, do see reason. It is our duty to secure our clan in any way we can.”

Duty.

Ariella held her inhale for a moment longer than normal before she let out a shaky exhale, her hands fisting at her sides.

“If ye wish me to do me duty, nay… If I am to marry for the good of McIntosh, then tell me clearly why we need this.”

Frederick studied her then, more carefully than any laird studying a map. For a moment, something in his gaze softened, pride and sorrow threading together.

He drew in a slow breath, shoulders squaring. “Very well —”

A knock cut across his words. The door opened before any of them could answer.

A servant bowed low. “Laird, me lady, yer guest has arrived.”

Ariella’s heart gave a strange, hard thump.

Her betrothed.

Frederick glanced at her once, apology and resolve written plain on his face, then turned toward the door.

“Come,” he said. “Let us meet the man who would be yer husband.”

Ariella lifted her chin, smoothed trembling hands down her gown, and followed.

Hunter Murdoch did not look like a man who could anchor two clans together.

He swung down from his horse with easy grace, plaid shifting, dark hair gleaming where the weak sun caught it. His smile broke quickly and bright across his face as he looked up at them. It was as though this entire situation were a pleasant visit and not the weighing out of a woman’s life.

“Laird McIntosh,” he called, voice warm. “Ye honor me with such a welcome. I feared I might arrive to naught but a grudging stable boy and a cold wind.”

“There are always cold winds in McIntosh lands, Murdoch,” Frederick replied, descending the steps beside Ariella. “The grudging stable boy depends upon how ye treat him.”

Hunter laughed, a clear, ringing sound that drew a few answering grins from the men near the gate. He turned his attention then, and Ariella felt the full force of his gaze land on her.

“And surely,” he said, hand pressing to his heart in exaggerated awe, “I have ridden into a faerie tale. None of ye told me that me betrothed was a goddess in mortal flesh.”

Ariella’s cheeks heated despite herself.

It was not that she had never heard flattery before.

Men had called her pretty, had spoken of her eyes, her hair, the curve of her mouth.

Hunter’s words were almost laughably extravagant, yet there was a smoothness to them, a polish, as if he had practiced lines like this before any number of women.

She dropped into a curtsy because it was expected, not because his gallantry moved her. “Ye flatter me.”

“A sin I am often accused of,” he replied, eyes crinkling. “Ye will forgive me, I hope. One can hardly help it in such company.”

Frederick shot her a brief sideways look, checking, perhaps, whether she had swooned. She did no such thing.

“Come inside,” her brother said. “The ride from McNeill is nae a short one. Ye must be in need of food and warmth.”

Hunter laid a hand across his heart and bowed to Caitlin. “Me lady. Allow me to say, ye look far too young to be the maither of a laird and woman grown. Ye shame the rest of us.”

Caitlin flushed and fluttered, clearly torn between disapproval and pleasure. Ariella bit back a sigh.

He is handsome, she admitted silently, watching the way he moved, the easy charm, the way he met every gaze as if it were an old friend. His features were regular and pleasing, his smile quick. There was no shadow in him, no stillness. And yet the very smoothness of him set her teeth on edge.

They went to the solar again, this time with wine and bread and cheese laid out.

Hunter spoke almost without pause, carrying the conversation with tales of his journey, the ridiculous stubbornness of his horse, the foolishness of a groom who had saddled him with the wrong saddle.

He made jest after jest at his own expense, scattering them like crumbs.

Ariella watched, and something in her chest cooled.

His compliments to her were constant, yet they slid over her skin and failed to sink in. He praised the house, the view from the window, her gown, her hair, the way she poured the wine, all with the same tone. None of it felt like it was truly seen.

At last, when her mother left to see to something in the kitchens and Frederick went to consult with the steward about guest chambers, Ariella found herself alone with him.

Hunter unfolded himself from the chair by the hearth and sauntered to the window, looking out over the courtyard.

“So,” he said lightly, profile outlined against the pale light, “we are to be wed.”

“So I am told,” she answered.

He glanced back, grin crooked. “Ye daenae sound thrilled, me lady.”

“Are ye?” she countered.

He considered that for a heartbeat, then laughed. “I suppose nae.”

Her brows rose. “Honesty. That is unexpected.”

“Oh, I can be honest, when it suits me,” he said, coming nearer. “And since ye daenae swoon at me compliments, I think we may as well drop the act.”

“I was unaware we had agreed upon a play,” Ariella said dryly.

“Ye must ken how these things go,” Hunter went on, as if she had nae spoken. “Ye are the pretty sister of a laird with need of coin and protection. I am the younger brother of a laird who has both. Ye and I are names on a parchment, pretty ink flourishes, nothin’ more.”

Ariella answered with a lifted eyebrow at the thought of Hunter’s older brother. Maxwell Murdoch… The Brute of McNeill… That’s why maither said she did nae wish to frighten me…

Hunter shook himself, the brief seriousness gone. “In any case, ye need nae look so stricken, me lady. I am nae a monster. If we must wed, I will do me best nae to make yer life unbearable.”

Her mouth twitched despite herself. “Such generosity.”

He spread his hands. “It is the least I can offer.”

“Do ye nae wish to marry at all?” she asked, genuinely curious.

He considered the question. “I wish to live,” he said finally. “To see more than council chambers and ledgers and fields. To ride where I please, to drink too much, to lose coin at dice and win it back at cards, to kiss whoever I like and nae answer for it.”

“Ye wish to be free,” Ariella said.

Hunter studied her, his expression, for once, serious. “Aye, and I can see that ye ken me trouble already.”

For a moment, they understood one another. Two pieces in a game neither had chosen.

He leaned in then, expression turning mischievous again. “Tell me plain, me lady. Do ye wish to marry me, then?”

Ariella met his eyes, thought of the debt, the threats, her brother’s strained face. “If it keeps me clan safe, I will do me duty. Wishin’ has got nothin’ to do with it.”

“That is nae what I asked,” he said softly.