Chapter 2
The knock came again, louder.
Talia frowned, wondering who it could be. The morning was already full of too many unpleasant surprises, and she would not be surprised if it was an even more unpleasant conversation she did not have the stomach for.
For all she knew, it could be Derrick coming to ask for her hand again, heady on the courage his father had no doubt given him. But she was in no mood to entertain or play coy.
Her energy had been drained by the sword that now hung over her head.
Marry or find other accommodations.
Could her day get any worse?
She made to move away from the door, but the knock came more insistently, and she was forced to answer.
“Come back tomorrow,” she called out.
“Me business cannae wait until the morrow, Miss Collins,” the stranger declared. “It is imperative that I speak with ye.”
“I am in nay mood for conversation.”
“Please, Miss Collins,” the stranger begged. “I have to speak with ye.”
Devils!
She turned to the door.
What is it now?
She unlocked the door and opened it, taking a step back to admit whoever it was. Once he stepped inside, she backed away from the door, not looking at him.
Albert appeared at her elbow.
“Daenae worry, Albert,” she told him. “I will see to our guest.”
He nodded, but gave the man behind her a disapproving look and left them alone. She had no doubt he would head to the main kitchen to gossip with the cook and the housekeeper.
Exhaustion weighed her shoulders at the turn of the day’s events. Mr. McCain’s final words hung in the air like a cobweb just out of reach, and all she wanted to do was rid herself of it.
If the new stranger wanted to speak, she would let him. That did not mean she had to listen to anything he had to say.
She vaguely heard the stranger speaking behind her, but for the life of her, she could not make out anything, which was exactly how she had wanted it to go. When he realized it, he would give up and leave her to her grief.
She moved to the small kitchen beside her workroom to make herself some tea. She could always think better when she had had something sweet.
She did not think too much of his presence. If he wanted to hurt her, he would have by now. And she did not offer him tea because she did not think he would stay long, and she did not want him to stay long.
She needed to be alone to begin writing recommendation letters for the servants, as well as begin sorting her belongings. It was a task that filled her with nostalgia as she looked around the familiar space.
She moved to take a seat on one of the sofas in her workroom and took a long sip of her tea. Chamomile was a good choice to rid her of the anxiety that had begun to build since Mr. McCain’s visit.
“Miss Collins?” the stranger called, pulling her out of her thoughts.
She looked up at him, surprised at the irritation in his voice, and realized he had indeed been speaking to her all this while. She quirked an eyebrow at him in question.
“I asked ye a question,” he huffed.
“Indeed?” she drawled.
She saw a muscle tick in his jaw and found his irritation amusing. What right did he have to be irritated at her? Who was he, even?
“Have ye heard anything I said?” he asked sharply.
Talia took another long sip of her tea, swallowed, and then cocked her head. “Nay,” she answered.
He took a deep breath and shook his head.
The sight of his frustration brought a smile to her face. Now that she was looking at him, she noted all the things she had not before.
He was a large man, more than a head taller than her and broad in a way that scared her. Had she noticed that earlier, she may not have let him into her home so easily. He had the bearing of a soldier or someone of import. Even his clothes, made of such fine fabric, betrayed his status.
Perhaps her uncle had known him. But she had met most of her uncle’s friends, and they were much older than the man standing in front of her.
He looked only a few years older than her if his dark hair and chiseled face were anything to go by.
He was handsome in a way that had her feeling self-conscious in her simple gray dress, which she usually wore to work.
It was odd, considering she had never met a man handsome enough to make her worry about her appearance.
Now, she worried that her wild red hair had escaped its bun, making her look unkempt, and that he thought her untidy because of the mess on her worktable. She hated how he made her feel the need to try to impress him.
What was wrong with her? She was supposed to be annoyed by his presence. Why did she suddenly care if he thought her untidy?
His eyes sought hers again, and their vivid green made her freeze. Her eyes were green as well, but softer. They were not as arresting as his.
His gaze made her feel as though he was reading into the depths of her soul and discovering all the secrets she had kept locked away inside her, and she found she liked looking into his eyes.
Devils!
She shook her head.
Handsome as he was, he had used such an exasperated tone with her, and that annoyed her.
“How may I help ye?” she asked. “I daenae ken who ye are, and ye havenae introduced yerself since ye came here.”
“Me name is Darragh,” he started. “I am Laird McGhee.”
He was the Laird of their clan?
He is rather young.
Perhaps he had only come into the lairdship. It was no wonder he had such atrocious manners.
Nonetheless, he must be grieving. Perhaps like her, his manners were atrocious because of pain.
She eyed him again. It was no wonder he held himself so rigidly. Even his tone was pompous.
He was the type she disliked. Still, what did he want from her?
“It’s a pleasure to meet ye,” she told him, pouring herself another cup of tea before looking at him. “How may I help ye?”
That was the second time she had asked, and he had yet to answer her question.
He looked at her in surprise. He must have expected some form of deference, but for the life of her, she could not summon it. Even the King himself would not be able to coax a curtsy from her, bone weary as she felt.
“I daenae ken who ye are and what ye want from me,” she said, irritation lacing her tone, “but I am a busy woman. If ye daenae need treatment, then ye may leave me house at once.”
“Ye are a rather terrible host,” he scoffed. “And I’ll have ye ken that half of this house is mine.”
Shock rippled through her faster than lightning, pulling her to her feet as she realized who stood before her.
“What did ye say?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.
“I believe ye heard me perfectly, Miss Collins,” he answered smugly.
It could not be. How had he come here so quickly? She had only heard the news that morning.
“Ye’re Jonathan’s cousin,” she concluded.
“Aye, I am,” he confirmed. “I believe ye also ken why I’m here.”
Indeed, she knew.
The cousin that had stayed away for as long as she had Jonathan was finally here, and it was clear that he had come for one purpose only.
Talia stepped away from the sofa, hoping she hid her panic well, but it was evident in the way she started pacing.
How had he come so quickly? Why had he come so quickly? Wasn’t she supposed to be given some time to decide what she wanted to do next?
“Why have ye come?” she asked, turning to him. “If it’s because of the will, I already told Mr. McCain I wanted nothin'. Ye can have it all if ye want.”
“This isnae how it works, Miss Collins,” he answered. “Ye have to be wed, or ye and I forfeit the inheritance. And as yer guardian, I have been tasked with finding ye a husband.”
“I daenae want to be wed,” she declared. “I have nay desire to. Ye have come all this way for naught, I’m sorry.”
“Ye’re nae young anymore, but ‘tis nay matter,” he said, as though he had not heard her. “I ken me cousin, and I believe he has given ye the best education. It might be some work, but with yer dowry, ye would be a prime catch. There will be many suitors lining up for yer hand in—”
“I already told ye I willnae be wed!” she snapped, hands planted on her hips. “I have lived me life free, and I intend to continue doin' the same.”
“Ye believe ye will lose yer freedom when ye marry, but that cannae be further from the truth,” he assured.
“‘Tis a beautiful institution, and I assure ye that I will find ye the best husband.
He will be handsome, with a good sense of humor, and he wouldnae hit ye.
We will begin by relocatin' ye to the castle, where it will be easier for ye to meet as many suitors as possible. Of course, I will supervise yer choice as yer only remaining relative, but ye will get to make the final decision. That is one privilege I can afford ye. Unfortunately, ye will have a short courtship, but ye will get to ken each other for the rest of yer lives.”
When he was done with his tirade, Talia shot him a deadpan look that she was sure would convey her message clearly. He was determined, she would give him that, but he could not just come and yank her out of the only life she had ever known.
“Try as ye might, Laird McGhee, ye cannae convince me otherwise,” she said firmly. “I have nay intention of gettin' married.”
He would have to drag her kicking and screaming out of the house and down the altar before she would ever be wed.