Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
“Are ye goin’ to be all right?” Arthur asked.
He’d had fun toying with the beautiful woman who’d walked into the room. But as he’d said that he intended to marry her just as her letters had implied, she’d looked as if she were about to faint.
Or perhaps she’s about to lose the contents of her stomach.
“I cannae breathe,” she gasped.
Arthur could hear the truth in her words.
“Slow breaths,” he commanded, “just like this.”
He opened his mouth, forcing it into an ‘O’ and drawing in a long, exaggerated breath. He held it for a moment before blowing it out slowly. He did this a few times, giving her a pointed look until she began to do the same.
“Aye,” he said as she imitated him. “I’ve seen many a lad almost lose their kippers on the battlefield. The steady breathin’ helps.”
Marissa nodded, still pulling in measured breaths. Slowly, the color returned to her face, and she looked less at risk of passing out.
“Ye were at war?” she asked finally. His face must have conveyed his confusion because she quickly elaborated, “Ye mentioned the battlefield.”
Arthur nodded. “Aye. Been at war for the last five years. It’s why I am just now findin’ out about me betrothed.”
He leveled her with an intense look, and color rushed to her cheeks once more.
Finally, he asked the question that had been plaguing him since she had begun speaking.
“Why did ye do it? If ye didnae think Laird A. Reid existed, why did ye send letters to him? To me?”
Marissa’s spine straightened, her brown eyes locking onto him. All her anxiety seemed to vanish in a flash.
“That is none of yer business,” she said, sticking her nose in the air.
“It wouldnae be,” Arthur countered, “if ye hadnae made it me business by sendin’ those letters and stirrin’ up me council.”
Her eyes narrowed on him, but Arthur could be patient when he needed to be. He stared back, willing to wait her out.
It seemed his bride-to-be was much more impatient than he was, though, because it only took a few moments before she heaved a sigh and began to speak.
“I needed a fake betrothal to deal with a personal issue,” she explained, her tone clipped and curt.
“And what was that personal issue?” Arthur prompted.
Marissa shot him a pointed look. “It’s personal.”
They stared at each other. Arthur wanted to see if she would cave. He didn’t like poking and prodding people to get his way, but it seemed like Marissa would require a bit more work than usual.
“A betrothal is also personal,” he argued. “And yet ye were throwin’ that around like it didnae mean a thing to ye. So, clearly, ye have nay problem with things of that nature.”
Marissa blinked at him. “Ye’re makin’ me regret even tryin’ to save meself. I should have just made up another lie. Made up another name. Why did I nae just write to Laird B. McDougal.”
Ah. So, whatever made her lie was puttin’ her in danger. She thought she had to do it to save herself. Mayhap I can use that.
He filed that information away before speaking again.
“Laird B. McDougal is a wizened old man who farts every three seconds. Smells like death. But if savin’ yerself is what ye were interested in, the man does command a vast army. So, mayhap he was a better choice.”
Marissa pressed her lips into a thin line, and he got the feeling that she was trying very hard not to laugh. But the urge won out, as a chuckle rose low in her throat.
Shaking her head, she looked down at her hands.
“I dinnae want to talk about it,” she murmured.
The reluctance in her voice was almost enough to dampen Arthur’s curiosity.
Almost.
“Whether ye want to talk about it or nae,” he said, working to keep his voice even and placating, “it’s somethin’ I need to ken.”
She opened her mouth, and for the briefest of moments, Arthur thought he had won. He thought that was going to be the moment when Marissa told him exactly why she had fabricated the lie.
But then her expression shifted. It went from one of defeat to one of challenge… and he knew. Marissa was not planning on answering his questions. Instead, she looked like she was poised to argue some more.
“Ye may as well tell me,” he interjected, not even giving her the opportunity to argue. “It’s yer fault that I’m in this mess, and ye lyin’ about this is the reason why I now have to deal with me council after returnin’ from the war. So, the least ye could do is give me an explanation.”
Her mouth closed, her jaw working as she considered his words.
He paused once more, settling into that quiet, stubborn patience that simmered within him. But, thankfully, it did not take Marissa long to consider his words.
“Three years ago…” she began.
He sat forward, placing his elbows on his thighs as he listened intently.
“Three years ago, there was a man. I was at a market, buyin’ ribbons and considerin’ flowers for me sisters, Freya and Abigail. He spotted me there. Claimed he fell in love with me, and that it was me responsibility to marry him, since it was me fault that he was besotted.”
“So ye decided to lie,” Arthur supplied.
It was not a question, but Marissa nodded anyway. Her short, auburn hair glinted in the sunlight that streamed through the window a few feet from where they sat. Curly wisps burned in the sunrays like golden flecks of fire as they framed her face.
“I did,” she continued. “He was so insistent that I marry him. He followed me home. He wouldnae leave, nay matter how much I protested. Freya offered to have me braither-in-law step in, and it occurred to me that he might respect another man’s claim to me more than he would respect me wishes. So I made up a laird.”
“Only, I’m real.”
Marissa rolled her eyes, prompting him to scowl. “Aye, we’ve well established that ye’re real,” she scoffed.
Arthur didn’t rise to the challenge like he normally would. Biting his tongue, he kept his gaze fixed on her face, waiting for her to continue. It didn’t take long before she did.
“I kenned I had to do somethin’,” she explained, “and I was right. It was the only thing that made him leave me be.”
“And so ye sent the letters to some anonymous laird, thinkin’ that was the only way to keep yer lies goin’.”
Marissa nodded, averting her gaze.
But it didn’t fully make sense. A thousand more questions popped into Arthur’s mind, each one fighting to spill past his lips.
“Did ye plan to pretend forever?” he asked. “Just writin’ letters that ye thought would never be delivered until the day they lay ye in the ground? Did ye nae think that, eventually, when ye remained unwed after so many years, the man might return and call yer farce?”
She considered this for only a moment before shrugging. “It’s worked for three years. I figured he would tire of it all, eventually.”
Silence fell between them. The birds outside the window tittered merrily, the sound of their joy at odds with the awkwardness that permeated the drawing room.
“I understand why ye did it,” Arthur said finally. “But now, because of ye, me council thinks I have been courtin’ ye, and I have to answer for those lies.”
Her soft brown eyes went wide. “I’ll tell them everythin’,” she blurted. “I’ll tell them that the letters were meant for another laird. Or I’ll tell them the truth. I will…”
Arthur shook his head, and she trailed off.
“Ye could tell them until yer very last breath,” he advised, “and they wouldnae believe ye. There is only one choice now, and that is for us to marry.”
She stood up, stubborn lines forming between her eyebrows as she stared him down. “I made up this lie so I could get out of marryin’ someone,” she protested with a hand on her hip. “And now ye’re sayin’ it’s what’s goin’ to make me marry ye? How is that fair?”
“It isnae,” Arthur answered honestly. “It isnae fair. But it doesnae make it any less true.”
“It’s cruel!”
He chuckled darkly, gesturing to his gruff demeanor.
“Do I look like someone who cares if somethin’ is cruel?
” He didn’t give her time to consider the question before he continued to speak.
“We are in this predicament because of ye. If it was so important to ye nae to marry, ye should have made sure the laird ye were claimin’ as yer future husband truly didnae exist.”
“I thought I’d made sure,” Marissa protested.
“Clearly, ye didnae make sure enough.” His words were filled with ice, his eyes flashing as he regarded her.
Marissa puffed up her chest at the challenge. “I willnae be forced to marry anyone!” she declared.
She glared down at him, her brown eyes—which just seconds ago had been soft and worried—blazing.
“I made up this whole thing so I wouldnae have to marry anyone,” she continued, her voice rising. “I told ye I would make it right. I told ye I’d talk to yer council and make them understand. But I willnae be forced to marry some brute I dinnae ken!”
Arthur huffed a small, patronizing laugh. Placing a hand on each of the armrests of his chair, he pushed himself to his feet with one fluid, assured motion.
They were only a foot or two apart, but that didn’t stop Marissa from staring him down.
“Careful,” he warned, his voice barely above a low growl. “Ye sound like ye want to run. And if ye do that, ye may just find out how much I love to chase.”
“What did ye just say to me?” Marissa blinked at the man, his words echoing in her mind as she tried to make sense of what he’d just said.
“Ye heard me.”
The words washed over her, eliciting a wave of fear. His pupils dilated, filling his light grey eyes like a wolf preparing for a hunt.
A long sigh escaped her lips, and almost without giving it a moment’s thought, she sank back into her chair.
Marissa did not look at him again as she dropped her head into her hands. She ran her fingers through her short, auburn curls as she considered her options.
Is it true? That his council wouldnae believe me if I told them the truth?
The man before her seemed to believe that was the case. He believed it enough to threaten her. However, based on his brutish nature and appearance, she got the feeling that threats might be a tool he utilized often.
I have to take responsibility for this. He is right—I’m the one who caused this mess, and I will be the one who fixes it.
Scenario after scenario played out in her mind, each one more unfavorable than the last. She did not know how long she sat like that, with her head in her hands as the different ways she could handle this raced through her mind. But, eventually, she felt the tension in the air ease.
The chair across from her groaned as the Laird sank down into it, and she could feel the weight of those keen eyes on her. But still, she did not look up.
There has to be a way to solve this. A way to appease his council and solve me problems. There just has to be.
Suddenly, an idea popped into her head. Her heart sped up.
Slowly, Marissa lifted her gaze. Just as she’d suspected, the Laird was sitting across from her. His grey eyes had softened, and he was regarding her with unconcealed curiosity.
“I’ll take responsibility for me actions,” she began.
A flicker of doubt crossed the Laird’s rugged face. But before he could interject, she raised her voice to drown him out and continued speaking.
“Ye dinnae have to resort to threats,” she said, and his mouth snapped shut. “Nor do ye need to remind me that yer council willnae care if I tell them everythin’.”
His eyebrows, which had just seconds ago been knitted together into a firm line, shot up in interest. She’d gotten his attention.
“Mayhap there’s a way we can both have our needs met if we can come to an agreement.”
Marissa waited for a moment, giving him a second to weigh her words.
Finally, he spoke, his tone filled with intrigue. “What did ye have in mind?”
Marissa began to explain, imbuing each word with confidence. She did not want this man to sense any kind of hesitation in her. It was a good deal that she was about to propose. The more it took shape in her mind, the more she thought it made sense.
But she didn’t want him to get a big head, as men so often did, and refuse it outright simply because the idea was not his.
“First,” she began, “ye will need to become allies with Michael’s clan.”
Arthur cocked an eyebrow. “Who is Michael?”
“Me braither-in-law. Michael Hughes, Laird of Clan McEwan. They’re a strong clan and would make good allies. And it would make sense for me future husband to enter into an agreement with them.”
The Laird chewed on his lips, considering her demand. Finally, after what felt like too long of a pause, he nodded.
“Alright,” he agreed.
Marissa had to fight to hide the smile of triumph that wanted to tug up the corners of her mouth.
“Ye have a point. It would make sense for our clans to be allied, especially if we’re to wed. And I’ve heard of Clan McEwan. I think we would serve each other well.”
“Second,” Marissa continued, not wanting to leave too much time between her demands. “Before the weddin’, I would like for us to go on outings. I dinnae ken anythin’ about ye. And I dinnae want to marry a man I dinnae ken. I dinnae want to marry a stranger.”
A small, dark chuckle of amusement rumbled in the Laird’s chest, but he didn’t say anything as he considered her words once more. It didn’t take as long as the first time before he nodded.
“That’s easy enough to accomplish.”
She couldn’t help it. Relief washed over her, and with it came a long sigh.
Somehow, Marissa had done it. Even though she was going to have to marry the man sitting across from her, she had still managed to secure an alliance that would help keep her sister and the people she loved safe.
And who knew? Maybe once they were wed and she’d carved out some space for herself, she would be left alone to pursue her interests.
It could be the best scenario for everyone if I’m being honest.
“It’s settled then?” Arthur asked, drawing her out of her spiraling thoughts. “We will be wed after five outings?”
Her lips curled into a grin. “Are ye nae worried I willnae want to marry ye after spendin’ time with ye?”
He made a sound that she could only describe as a chuckle, but it was low and menacing. She had no trouble imagining it turning his enemies’ knees to mush if he laughed at a foe in that manner.
“I have nay worries, lass,” he said, his voice laced with dark, cold amusement. “Ye’ll nae be goin’ anywhere. Before our fifth night is over, I’ll have ye beggin’ for us to wed as soon as possible.”