Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Arran’s gut twisted when he heard Skye’s distress and fear pour out of the depths of her soul. He wanted to pummel Grayson into the dirt, and he didn’t care about the consequences. His mind raced to find a solution to both their problems.
Skye needed freedom and safety for herself and her mother. He needed the deeds. And then it hit him.
“Brilliant!” He clapped his hands together. “That’s it.”
“What, Arran? What is it?” Skye asked again, looking confused.
“Skye, think. What is one way that we can each get what we want? Or at least have the best chance at getting the lands and ensuring that ye and yer maither can live in safety?”
Skye thought for a moment, and he could see that she was once again going over all the possibilities in her mind. But then her mouth dropped open.
“Do ye mean… Ye cannae possibly think… Are ye thinking of…?”
She fell back in her chair, her eyes wide.
Arran wondered for a moment if she was dazed, but then her eyes narrowed into slits.
“Ye’re right. If we are married, Blackwell will nay longer be able to threaten me or Maither. And as me husband, ye will be able to force Blackwell to transfer the lands back to Clan MacArthur,” Skye mused, but her voice was devoid of emotion.
“We both win, Skye. It’s a good plan,” he stated.
She shook her head. The side-to-side motion was barely discernible at first, but then it was too obvious to miss.
“Nay!” she exclaimed as she stood up and stepped back from the table.
She looked frantically around the room and then darted out the doors she entered through minutes ago.
Arran and his two men looked at each other in confusion. Elsie picked up a flask from the table, poured herself a large measure of whiskey, and lifted her glass in the air.
“A toast for the new bride and groom!”
Arran looked at her and then reached across the table. He poured himself a dram, downed it in one gulp, and then rose from his chair to follow after Skye.
Skye fled. She didn’t know where she was going, but when she got to the main hall, she rushed up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. Up and up she went until there were no more steps to take and at the top, a hallway stretched left and right.
She turned right and searched for a quiet place.
I want to disappear.
And she felt ashamed. She learned early in life that lying down and giving up never solved anything. But at this moment, she didn’t have the energy or the will.
Out of breath from the dash up the stairs, she walked down the hall, drawn by a wide swath of natural light at the end. She stepped into the sunny rays and was surprised to see a large, stone-framed window.
What an odd place for a glass window.
Glass was valuable and hard to acquire, especially a piece this large—and way up here, at the top of the castle. Usually, windows were in the chambers of lairds or ladies. Sometimes castles had solars where the sunlight could be enjoyed by all.
She looked around. There was room for chairs and such, but the space was empty. She walked to the grand window and understood why it was placed there. The view was incredible!
This side of the castle rested on the edge of a cliff face. From her spot several stories up, she could see for miles! The valley below was green and lush, and, in the distance, she noticed several crofts and a few small cottages.
To the north, craggy mountains rose from the earth and watched over the fields dotted with sheep and cattle. She sighed, and some of the tension left her body. She took some deep breaths and was finally able to assess her situation.
Being on the run and hiding her mother had occupied all of her time and drained all of her energy for the past three years. She did not want to marry, least of all to Laird MacArthur, the man who had forced her to return to her father.
He is terribly handsome.
She thought back to the first time she saw him, when his imposing profile and commanding presence excited her and made her uneasy. And despite kidnapping her, he’d been gentle with her, and he’d kept her safe whenever he was by her side.
And then she remembered his touch when he held her hand and covered her body with his in the carriage. Her stomach fluttered, and warmth bloomed in her core—she’d never felt this aroused before.
Ye’re nae a trollop, Skye!
She inwardly chastised herself, but then decided not to torture herself. The man was a fine specimen.
He’s also a fiend.
After all, he was going to hand her over to Blackwell for a piece of land. And then she felt guilty. The man had his reasons, and they were valid.
Her mind raced, and she went back and forth and back again, never coming to any sound conclusion about what she should do.
“Skye,” she suddenly heard his voice say softly.
Not wanting to face him after bolting out of the dining room, she asked, “What do ye want, Arran?”
He walked over to her and turned her gently toward him. “I wanted to make sure ye were all right.”
His large hand reached up, and his fingers traced the line a tear had left on her cheek. And for just a second, she leaned into his touch.
Ach! I cannae think when he is near!
Not allowing the tender moment to continue, Skye turned her face away. “I’m fine,” she replied, her voice flat and emotionless.
Aaron looked worried, his face tight with concern. He took a step back, giving her room. “Do ye like the view from the window?”
“It takes me breath away,” she said truthfully.
“This is one of me favorite places in the castle. When I was younger, I used to read up here. Ye should see the colors in the fall. It’s even more glorious in the snow and ice of winter.”
Skye tried to imagine the boy, not the man standing before her, in this special place. She nodded. “I am sure it is. But this is an odd place for a window. This space is small. Only a few can enjoy it at once.”
“And that’s because this space wasnae made for many. This space was created for just one.”
“And who was that?”
“Me faither, James Gilroy, placed the window there when he married me maither. He told me that originally, there was a small, shuttered opening up here. Me maither used to walk all the halls of the keep when she was restless, and one day she opened the shutters and looked outside. The view took her breath away too.”
“Tell me about yer maither?”
“I daenae have much to tell. She died giving birth to me.”
Skye felt the pain of his words. She had been so fortunate to have her mother with her all her life, but the world was unfair. Many women died bringing their sweet babes into the world, and as a healer, she’d experienced first-hand the devastation that loss left behind.
“Arran, that’s terrible. I am so sorry.”
“But me faither told me about her. He said she had hair as black as night and eyes that were like the rolling waves in the ocean, changing colors with her moods.”
“He loved her, then?” Skye asked.
Aaron looked at her with a tenderness in his eyes she hadn’t seen before. “Very much. Me kin told me when I was older that he was devastated after her death. He stayed drunk more often than sober.”
“Did he stay that way? Pished and all?”
“Nay, he didnae, thankfully. After he gambled away the land by the kirk, he seemed to see the error of his ways. He eventually came round and was a good faither to me. But many thought a new Laird should have been named back then. And after he was unable to get the lands back, the number of people who opposed him grew even more.” He sighed.
“But enough of sad stories.” He shook his head. “This spot here was a happy place for me maither and faither. He told me once that if she was ever cross with him, he would find her here, and he could always coax a kiss out of her.”
“He must have been quite charming, then.” Skye found herself smiling, despite her fears and worries.
Arran stepped closer once more, and he gently caressed her cheek. “What about me, Skye? Do ye find me charming?”
“I find ye to be a brute.” she replied.
But she didn’t sound convincing even to her own ears.
Arran looked surprised and possibly a bit hurt. “Why do ye find me so appalling, Skye? The marriage plan is sensible. It could work for both of us.”
This man kens nothing.
She sighed, trying to keep her temper. “Do ye nae see, Arran? Ye ripped me away from the home me maither and I lived in safety for two years. We thought we had finally found somewhere he wouldnae come lookin’.
And while I’m grateful to ye that me maither is safe and nae back with Blackwell, I dinnae ken if I’ll ever see her again. ”
Arran started to speak, but she held up her hand.
“I’m nae finished. Then ye brin’ me here, and Blackwell is practically right behind us, threatenin’ to start a feud to get me back, and now ye’re puttin’ a huge amount of pressure on me to marry ye to keep yer people safe, and to get back some piece of land so that ye can keep yer place as laird.
What does that say about yer feelings for me? I feel like a piece on a chessboard.”
By the time she finished, her voice rose to a pitch that bordered on hysterical, and she was shaking with anger and hurt.
Arran looked at her sympathetically, but he did not try to touch her. “Och, Skye, if I had the time I’d court ye with all the gifts any maid could wish. But Blackwell isnae leavin’ us any choice. If he marries ye off to the highest bidder, I’ll nae have any chance at all.”
“Would it matter to ye?” Skye choked out.
“Aye, it would matter,” Arran said. “Even though we only just met, it seems to me I’ve been lookin’ for ye for years. I daenae need to spend a year and a day courtin’ ye to know that.”
“But I scarcely know ye at all, Arran Gilroy. For all I know, once ye v yer precious deeds, ye’ll treat me as shamefully as Blackwell treated me maither.”
“Oh, Skye, nay. I’d do nay such thing, nae to any woman; but especially nae to ye. This is why I wanted more time. But yer stepfather has taken that chance from us. Please . . . what can I say that will make ye believe that I will be honorable toward ye no matter what?”
Skye turned her face to the wall, and sobbed. “Ye dinnae understand.”
“Nay, I dinnae,” Arran agreed. “Nay man can understand the travails of a woman. But for yer sake, I would try. Truly, I would. Och, Skye, what can I say to make it better? If I tell ye I love ye, it would be a lie and ye would know it as such. But I respect ye, and honor ye. I would do me best by ye, and mayhap in time, love would come to us both.”
She turned back to look at him. Her face felt wet and sticky with tears, and her nose was running. She looked about herself, but the gown had narrow sleeves, and she did not want to ruin it by using the sleeves to wipe her face.
“Here,” Arran said, producing a large handkerchief from his sporran.
“Thank ye,” Skye said, accepting the large, white square of fabric. She mopped her face with it, then blew her nose in a hearty, unladylike fashion. Then she looked at the handkerchief. “I’m afraid I might have ruined it.”
Arran laughed, took the crumpled cloth from her, and wrapped the unsoiled part around it. “Castle MacArthur has a full complement of washer women who are only employed to wash clothin’,” he said. “Never will any of them serve ye as did those she-brutes at yer stepfaither’s castle.”
Skye blinked up at him. He’d noticed. And he understood the kind of betrayal that had been.
“Skye, ye are so beautiful.”
“Even with me face in need of scrubbin’ and me nose red as a cherry?” She asked, looking up into his face.
He gently place one finger under her chin, tipping it up a little more. “Especially now, with yer cheeks flushed and yer eyes bright with passion. Do ye nae see, though I’d court ye gentle and slow, this is the only way we’ll get a chance to see if love will grow.”
“And if it does nae?” Skye asked, a little hitch in her voice.
“Then we will feed it with kisses until it cannae help but happen,” he said.
Arran leaned down, his eyes never leaving hers. She met him halfway, her breath catching in her throat as their lips touched.
His kiss was gentle at first, and he tenderly explored her mouth and nipped her lower lip a few times. But Skye pressed closer to him, her hands trailing over the rough fabric of his tunic. She tasted his mouth with sweet touches of her tongue and lips.
Encouraged, Arran deepened the kiss. His hand cupped the back of her neck, and he threaded his fingers through her hair and angled her head, breaking the kiss. His lips then trailed down her neck, past the hollow of her throat, down to the valley between her breasts, licking and tasting.
Skye sighed, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. “Ye drive me mad, Arran.”
Breathless, she reached up and grabbed his head, pulled him away from her heaving bosom. Her lips once again found his, and her hands worked their way into his tunic and found his own heaving chest. His arousal and excitement emboldened her.
She tasted whiskey, and heat, and desire, and she wondered if she’d finally found her place, her destiny in this world. She knew she needed to stop but wasn’t sure she could.
Arran grabbed her hands and slowly broke their kiss. He rested his forehead against hers, both breathing heavily.
“Aye, I will marry ye, Arran.”