Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Are ye lettin’ me win?”
Marissa glared at Arthur as she reached forward, snatching another winning set off the table as he glowered at her. His scowl deepened.
“I dinnae let anyone win,” he grumbled.
The absolute absurdity of it all forced Marissa to giggle.
“Ye’re pouty when ye lose,” she noted, moving her cards into a pile and placing them on the center of the table.
They’d played three rounds of Scots Whist, and she’d beaten him in all but one. A yawn bubbled up her throat, and she couldn’t push it back as it parted her lips.
Arthur cocked an eyebrow at her. “And ye’re finally tired.”
She nodded, feeling the truth of it settle over her.
Her eyes felt like they had sand in them, and she rubbed the backs of her hands over them.
Glancing around, she was once again reminded that there was no clock in their bedchambers.
So, she had no way of knowing how long they had sat playing their little games.
What Marissa did know, however, was that in the hours that had passed, she’d become comfortable. More comfortable than she ever expected to feel when in the company of a man who wasn’t her family.
The only time she’d ever felt like this was when she’d been around Michael or Cody. They’d always had a way of making her feel at ease.
Another yawn wrenched itself out of her, and she stretched.
“Alright then,” Arthur quipped, quickly swiping the cards from the table and binding them with twine. “Let’s get ye to bed.”
She smiled sleepily at him, a lazy uptick of her lips, and nodded before standing up. She didn’t walk to their bedroom, though. Not as she watched Arthur turn away from her and place the chessboard, and the deck of cards inside a chest.
“Ye can stop starin’ at me any time ye like, wee kitten,” Arthur murmured, not turning to look at her before he closed the lid of the chest and turned toward the fireplace.
Still, Marissa did not take her eyes off him.
“I’m nae starin’,” she argued.
He bent, grabbing a couple of logs from the basket by the hearth and tossing them onto the waning fire. His large hand wrapped around the iron fire poker, and a popping noise filled the room as he began prodding.
“Then what would ye call what ye’re doin’?” he asked.
She shrugged, even though she knew he couldn’t see her.
“Watchin’,” she answered simply.
She could have sworn she heard him huff out an amused chuckle, but by the time he finished tending to the fire and turned to face her, there was no hint of amusement on the lines of his face.
Mayhap I imagined it?
“Well, ye can watch yer way to our bed,” Arthur commanded, nodding his head toward the dark threshold that separated the sitting room from their bedchamber.
She nodded, feeling the call of the comfortable mattress and warm blankets in her bones. Turning to walk in that direction, she felt Arthur’s eyes on her the entire way.
A sigh of relief left her lips as she sank beneath the covers, tugging them up to her chin and letting the warmth surround her. She was silent as Arthur settled in beside her, the downy mattress shifting beneath his weight as he got comfortable.
“Does this count as one of our outings?” she asked, her voice soft in the silent night.
Arthur didn’t answer right away. And for a moment, she thought that maybe he had fallen asleep. But soon, his voice floated to her in the darkness.
“Do ye want it to?”
But Marissa didn’t know how to answer. A part of her did not want it to count. Didn’t want to speed up the process of getting to know him. Not after how much fun they’d had tonight.
Would all their outings be like this?
It was only when Arthur spoke that Marissa realized she’d taken too long to answer.
“Ye can decide later,” he grunted, sleep weighing heavy on his words. “Because I can barely keep me eyes open.”
Marissa nodded, feeling a new wave of exhaustion wash over her. She turned onto her side, staring at the wall next to her, just as she’d done when they’d first climbed into their bed.
She expected her mind to begin racing again, just as it had earlier. She expected that the combination of the dark in an unfamiliar place and the weight of a strange man sharing the bed with her would once again drive sleep out of her mind.
But those thoughts would quickly prove to be wrong because as she settled in, unconsciousness claimed her quickly. And it didn’t even take five full breaths before sleep had pulled her under.
“What is it?” Arthur called out in irritation, dropping his face into his hands with a groan.
It was the morning after his first night with Marissa, and he was sitting in his study. He’d retreated there first thing in the morning, hell-bent on getting a little bit of work done before he took her out on their next outing to the lake as he’d promised.
He’d been struggling to keep his eyes open since the moment he’d walked in, the few hours of sleep he’d managed to get after they’d played their games proving to not be anywhere near enough.
So, when a knock sounded at the door to his study just as he was finally getting into his ledgers, he couldn’t stop the annoyance that rushed forward.
A maid poked her head around the door, her golden hair glinting in the morning light spilling through the windows at his back. Her eyes were wide and worried as she glanced at him.
“I apologize, Me Laird,” she said, her voice shaking. “But yer guests have arrived.”
Arthur arched an eyebrow at her. Typically, he would not lose patience with his servants. Especially not a servant he did not know. The girl was clearly new, and even more clearly, she was nervous. But his exhaustion weighed on him.
He didn’t have the energy to consider the emotions of others. Not if he wanted to save that energy for his excursion with Marissa later, which he very much looked forward to.
“What guests?” he barked, sending a quick prayer for patience.
“It’s the—” she began, but was quickly cut off by a familiar male voice.
“Step aside, lass,” the voice barked.
The mild irritation that Arthur had felt a moment ago flared brighter. He was no longer annoyed. He was angry.
The maid seemed to tremble as she shrank back, moving so that his ‘guests’ could step into his study. Just as Arthur suspected, the councilmen walked into the room, staring at him expectantly.
Pushing back his chair, he stared at the men expectantly, reining in the ice-cold fury that was pumping through him.
“Where is she?” It was Councilman McKellen who spoke first, stepping forward and glaring at Arthur in what could only be considered defiance.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Arthur glared at the men. “Where is who?” he asked coolly.
He might be furious with the men before him, but he knew that it would not serve him well to lose his temper. They were deliberately trying to poke and prod him, there was no doubt about that.
They wanted to find any excuse they could to threaten his position as Laird. His father had seen to that. Had seen to the fact that any child that bore his face, or was burdened with his blood, would always be questioned.
When Arthur had ridden off to war, he thought for certain that he’d seen the last of it. He’d been sure that fighting for the prosperity of his clan and not returning with any bastards would earn their trust.
How wrong I was.
“Yer bride,” McKellen answered, his tone making it clear that Arthur should have known who they were talking about.
Which he did. He just wanted to be a thorn in their sides.
“Ye’ll meet her tomorrow,” he answered nonchalantly, fighting the urge to clench his fists. “There will be a cèilidh.”
The eyebrows of more than a few councilmen shot up.
“A cèilidh?” Councilman O’Donoghue echoed.
When Arthur nodded, McKellen jumped in. “Why are we hearin’ of the cèilidh only now?” he demanded.
McKellen had taken a step forward, advancing on Arthur. And it was that gesture that made the chord of control Arthur had been holding onto so tightly snap.
“Ye didnae ken about it,” Arthur hissed through clenched teeth, “because ye came to badger me instead of waitin’ for me messenger. If ye havenae been so insistent on bein’ a busybody, ye’d have the parchment in each one of yer grubby hands by now.”
McKellen opened his mouth to argue, but Arthur knew that he wouldn’t—and couldn’t—stand for it. He held up a hand, continuing to speak to head off the councilman on what was sure to be a long, arduous argument that would fracture every last ounce of willpower he had.
“I have been more than accommodatin’ of yer demands,” Arthur spat.
“I have arranged a celebration where nae just ye but the entire clan can meet the woman who will soon be their lady. And I have sent ye notice about it. It isnae me fault that ye are frothin’ like wolves for a reason to strip me of me title and ye rushed here to make demands that arenae yers to make. ”
“Me bride traveled all day yesterday to be here,” he continued, never once stopping to give the other men a chance to butt in.
“We were attacked by bandits, and she had quite a fright. So, I am givin’ her today to rest and to get to ken her new home.
But rest assured, she will be here tomorrow, as will ye and the rest of the clan.
And then, ye can all go back to sniffin’ each other’s arses to pass the time and get out of mine.
Now, I recommend that ye take yer leave and dinnae press me further, lest I have to remind ye who is the Laird here. ”
He narrowed his eyes at the men, flexing his biceps in a challenge.
He watched as more than a few of the councilmen balked at the threat. But not McKellen. No, McKellen just looked down his nose at him, seeming to consider his words an offer.
They both knew that they weren’t. Arthur had tried so hard to extend them grace and keep the peace, but he could not tolerate their insolence any longer.
He was their Laird. He had been for quite some time. Over the years, he had more than proven himself to be a good laird. His lands and his people were flourishing, despite five years at war.
That kind of prosperity through wartime was something that many clans could only dream of. But Arthur had made it happen. And he would not be made to feel less than, would not be punished for the sins of his father. Not anymore.
Councilman Shaw stepped forward, placing a hand on McKellen’s shoulder. “Niall,” he said, the use of McKellen’s first name bringing the man up short. “We can wait for one day.”
McKellen whirled, facing the other council members, all of whom were nodding.
Arthur’s eyes lit up with glee as he watched the man squirm, realizing that his fellow council members were not in agreement.
He may act as if he’s their leader, but they will bow to nay one.
And it was now that the other councilman decided to remind him of that fact. Their eyes were hard as they stared at him, willing him to stand down.
Eventually, he did.
With a sigh, McKellen turned back to Arthur, defeat written in the slump of his shoulders. “Ye better have her ready for the cèilidh,” he bit out, before turning on his heel and exiting the room.
Councilman Shaw shot Arthur an apologetic glance, but the other council members said nothing as they turned around and filed out of his study.
As soon as he was certain that they were out of earshot, Arthur let out a long sigh and leaned against his desk. A headache had begun to take form, pounding in the very center of his forehead behind his eyes.
Massaging his temples, he went back to his chair behind the desk. He still had a little bit of time to finish his work before he had to go meet with his siblings and his bride-to-be.
“Today is goin’ to be a long day,” he murmured, grabbing his ledger and pen and getting to work.