Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
“What is this absolute shite?” Marissa groaned as she reached forward, tugging a patch of ruined herbs from the ground.
Her sister, Abigail, scoffed from where she sat beside her.
“Marissa!” she exclaimed, casting a pointed look in Marissa’s direction. “Watch yer language. Ye dinnae want anyone to overhear ye speakin’ like that.”
Marissa rolled her eyes. “And who will be the one to tattle on me? The weeds?”
She waved her arms wide, indicating the empty space around them. It was true that there was no other person around them, no one that could run and titter about the lady of the castle’s foul-mouthed sister.
But Marissa knew better than most that even when there was no one to be seen, it did not necessarily mean that there was no one who could hear. And servants had many ways of making themselves invisible.
Abigail’s glance said as much, and Marissa shrugged her shoulders, giving in to defeat.
“Look at them!” she exclaimed, pointing at the extremely dry sage leaves before her. “They’re ruined. Can ye blame me for bein’ mad about it?”
“I dinnae blame ye for bein’ mad,” Abigail continued, shaking her head slightly at her sister’s complaint. “But I do think it is unbecomin’ of ye to talk like a brute.”
Marissa snorted but didn’t argue back. Instead, she turned her attention back to the task at hand.
She leaned over once more, her back screaming in protest as she ripped up another batch of ruined herbs, muttering under her breath so that Abigail wouldn’t hear and chastise her further.
Marissa and her sister had been out in this garden every day for the last week. They’d been tending to it tirelessly, growing things for the cook to spice their food, or for the healers to make remedies for the ill. She had no idea how the health of the plants had turned so quickly.
Huffing and puffing, she kept tending to the plants. She was thankful for the light spring breeze that caressed her skin. Otherwise, she’d be sweating like a hog.
“Lady Marissa.”
The sound of her name startled her, and Marissa let out a yip of surprise as she sat up. Blinking in the direct beam of the sun, it took a moment for the maid’s silhouette to clear and her young face to come into view.
“Esther,” Marissa said after a few moments, her heart rate finally returning to normal. “What might I help ye with?”
Abigail, who had been working only a few rows down, sat up to watch the exchange.
“A visitor is here to see ye. He says it is rather important,” Esther explained.
Marissa cocked her head, casting a glance at her sister. Abigail shrugged.
I wasnae expectin’ visitors today.
“Who is it that’s come callin’?” she asked, not looking at Esther as she pushed herself up off the ground.
“I dinnae ken, Me Lady,” Esther replied as Marissa fell into step beside her and they began the trek back toward the castle. “He said he’d received letters from ye and wished to see ye. He wouldnae give more details than that.”
“Letters?” Marissa mused.
She pondered this as they walked into the castle and through the winding halls that led to the drawing room where they received their guests.
I havenae sent out letters. Mayhap he’s here by mistake.
“Did he ask for me by name?” she asked.
But the maid did not have time to answer, as they’d finally arrived at the door to the drawing room.
Stepping inside, Marissa spotted a tall, rugged-looking man standing by the far wall. She had only a moment to take in his appearance before he turned toward her and she had to greet him.
It was enough to take in the black hair that reached his shoulders and his pale grey eyes. His rugged, unkempt beard obscured most of the rest of his face, but as Marissa stepped forward, she thought she caught a flash of large, full lips as they parted to speak.
“Lady Marissa,” the man greeted, his voice deep and rumbling as he bowed his head in acknowledgment.
“Ye seem to have caught me by surprise,” she began.
Marissa didn’t know why, but her voice shook with nerves.
The man had a large, imposing presence that seemed to fill the room, setting her nerves on edge. She pressed on anyway.
“The maid mentioned somethin’ about letters, but she must have been mistaken. Because I havenae sent letters, and I dinnae ken who ye are.”
She stared at the man, waiting expectantly for him to explain. But the only response she got was the corner of his mouth ticking up just a hair.
Certainly, if I wait, he’ll tell me who he is.
But as the seconds ticked on, the silence in the room was filled with nothing but the twittering of the birds outside the window. It began to grate on her.
Who did this man think he was, coming to her castle, asking for her, and causing what Marissa was sure was a stir amongst the staff, only for him not to tell her who he was?
Eventually, she could take it no more.
“Who are ye?”
The words came out much more forceful than she had intended, but she did not back down. Something darkened in the depths of his grey-eyed gaze, and it made her want to squirm.
“Careful, lass,” the man said, his voice low and thick as honey. “Ye dinnae want to find out what demands do to me.”
Heat rose to her cheeks at the implications of his words, but she refused to react in any other manner.
The twinkle in his eyes told her all too clearly that it was exactly what he wanted, and while she was not able to control the flush in her cheeks, she would fight like hell to control everything else.
“I dinnae care what it does to ye,” she said, happy when her voice did not waver. “I still would like to ken who ye are, because I’m certain ye’ve come to the wrong place.”
The man’s eyebrow arched in intrigue, and finally, he pushed off the wall against which he’d been leaning as he gazed out at the lawn.
“Ye think I’m mistaken?” he asked, his voice barely above a growl. The sound of it danced over her skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
“I do,” she insisted, working to keep her voice steady as she held his gaze. “Because I havenae written anyone any letters.”
“Is that so?”
His eyes never left hers as his hand moved, reaching across his body to the leather satchel at his side. With sure, deft fingers, he undid the clasp and tugged the flap open, carefully extracting a stack of folded parchment.
He extended them to her.
“If I’ve come to the wrong place,” he said, each word laced with smug satisfaction, “and if ye’ve nae written any letters, then do ye mind explainin’ what these are? Or did I mistake them, too?”
Marissa reached out, careful not to let her hand shake as she plucked the piece of parchment atop the stack. It didn’t take her long to identify the broken wax seal she used on all her correspondence.
How did this brute get somethin’ with me seal on it?
She unfolded it, her eyes raking over the words written within. Almost immediately, her mouth went dry.
My beloved,
I hate that the only way we can correspond is by writing on this page. How I yearn to hear your voice and see the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. It is my sincerest wish…
She could not read any more. Refolding the parchment, she glared at him.
“How did ye get these?” she demanded, all pretense and decorum falling to the wayside.
These letters were not intended for him. They were not intended for anyone. The Laird to whom she’d addressed those letters did not exist.
“Is it nae clear?” the man asked, cocking his head to the side. “I’m yer future husband.”
Marissa snorted a laugh. “Ye are nay more me future husband than I am a bird.”
His eyes lit up with something that she couldn’t quite identify.
“I would be careful with speakin’ to me like that,” he warned, the challenge in his voice clear as day. “Ye dinnae ken what it does to a man.”
Marissa ignored his implications just as she ignored the way her cheeks flushed all over again.
“How did ye get these letters?” she demanded again. “They werenae meant for ye, so how come ye have them?”
Now it was the man’s turn to scoff. “If ye didnae want me to receive them,” he challenged, “then why did ye address them to me?”
Marissa shook her head. “The Laird I addressed them to doesnae exist!”
“Laird A. Reid?” he asked.
Almost as if on reflex, Marissa began to nod. But then she stopped. The man was staring at her expectantly, as if he’d given her all the information she needed and he was just waiting for her to put it all together.
I addressed those letters to Laird A. Reid. But the A could have been for any name. He’s sayin’ it was addressed to him. And that must mean…
Her eyes widened in recognition. “What is yer name?”
Marissa’s words were less of a demand this time. In fact, they’d fallen from her lips before she’d given much thought to speaking them.
“Me name…” the man said, taking a step forward so they were separated by only about a foot of distance.
His presence, which had been large when she’d first entered the room, was now almost oppressive. His grey eyes, which regarded her with all the passion of a tempest, sparked with amusement.
“Me name is Arthur Barkley, Laird Reid.”
Marissa’s stomach bottomed out at his words. She began speaking, but her brain was having difficulty forming entire sentences.
“They werenae… Ye cannae… Ye werenae supposed to be real…” Her sentences started and stopped with no real direction to them. Even she was having trouble making out what she was trying to say.
“Breathe, lass,” Laird Reid urged. “It will do nay one any good if ye pass out here on this rug.”
Marissa nodded. Her heart felt like it was beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings, and her breath was coming in short, shallow gasps.
Her hand fluttered to her chest, and she worked to control her breathing as she made her way to one of the high-back chairs in the center of the room.
Plopping down into it, she forced herself to draw in deep, measured breaths as she tried to get her heart rate to return to normal.
When she felt slightly more settled, Marissa turned her gaze back to the Laird.
“Those letters,” she began. “I thought Laird A. Reid didnae exist; the stories about him were too extravagant to be real. I thought he was just a cautionary tale. It’s the only reason I wrote the letters and sent them. I never imagined they would actually be delivered to someone.”
“Well, they were,” Arthur said matter of factly.
He crossed to the chair across from her in a few, quick steps before easing himself into it. The edges of his kilt rode up, exposing hairy, muscular thighs that Marissa had to tear her gaze away from as she focused on his face once more.
“And yer letters got me council in quite a state,” he explained.
“I didnae intend for that to happen,” she continued in a rush. “I can take it all back. I will meet them and explain that it was a mistake, that they were intended for another Laird Reid, that ye were caught in me mistake. I will…”
He began shaking his head, cutting her words off as she stumbled over them.
“That willnae be necessary,” he grumbled. “Because the solution is quite simple.”
Marissa’s mouth snapped shut. There was something in his tone that she didn’t like.
“And what solution is that?” she asked hesitantly.
“Ye have to marry me.”
Five simple words. That was all it took.
Marissa felt like she might vomit her breakfast right on Laird Reid’s feet.