Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Arran rose before the sun. The significance of the day weighed heavily on his mind. Today he would be married. And today Blackwell would arrive.
He considered for a moment the fact that he would gain a wife, but a bloody feud could ensue.
He didn’t know what he feared more, a battle with Clan MacKeith or marriage.
The thought of Skye being an innocent pawn in his battle with Blackwell made his blood boil, but this was his best chance to get back his lands and gain the respect of his clan.
The image of her flushed with passion lingered in his mind, and his thoughts drifted back to their kiss the previous afternoon. He remembered the way her body felt beneath his on the floor of Magnus’s carriage.
He grew hot, and this time it wasn’t from anger.
Arran grabbed a drying cloth and a bar of soap, and then left his chamber quickly, passing a few servants on the way. Each greeted him with friendly smiles, but he did not linger to exchange pleasantries. He walked out of the keep and into the courtyard.
Ramsey, who’d been on watch all night, looked down as Arran approached.
“A fine mornin’, me Laird,” he greeted.
“Is it, Ramsey? Tell me, any word of Blackwell?”
“Nay, but word could come at any time. Anyway, we are ready. I have men posted around the castle grounds and within the keep.”
“Good,” Arran replied. Ramsey was grinning more than usual, he noted. “Anything else, Ramsey?”
“Ye seem a little nervous. Maybe ye need some advice for yer wedding night? I am a trove of information and advice,” Ramsey offered, laughing.
Arran looked at him with an unamused expression. “I think I can handle it, lad,” he said flatly.
Ramsey laughed some more and clapped him on the back. “Well, I’m here if ye find yerself lacking.” He then cleared his throat, dropping the playful smile. “I’ll keep ye and yer lady safe today. Blackwell willnae interfere.”
Arran knew his friend would never let him down. He was grateful, and he hoped he would be capable of dealing with whatever was to come.
Skye woke up after only a few hours of sleep. The morning sun barely crept over the horizon as she leapt out of bed. She removed her curl rags, dressed, and gathered the leftover cheese and bread she’d hidden the night before.
She walked to her chamber door and pressed her ear to the wood. The hallway was quiet on the other side. Across the room, she opened the window shutter and looked outside.
Drat!
She leaned her head out the window, but she could barely see the courtyard and the main gate—and only the side wall at that. But then a small door opened at the corner where the courtyard wall and the main keep met, and Arran walked outside.
From her vantage point, she could see he was carrying a cloth, and she watched as he walked down a path that led into the forest. Her curiosity was piqued.
It doesnae matter where he’s goin’. I have to go now if I daenae wish to be his bride. Except that I would like to be his bride, but nae this way.
Skye took a chance and opened her chamber door. The hallway was clear. Instead of going down the main stairs, she went upstairs, back to that beautiful room. She paused for only a moment, remembering their kiss from the day before, but then continued on.
She’d assumed there was another stairwell on this top level of the keep, and indeed there was!
Down she went, and she found herself at the back of the castle, with a door leading to her freedom just down the hall.
She wasted no time in quietly opening the door and running toward the cover of the trees.
She looked in front of her. There were several paths, and she took the first one that led away from the keep.
The path led down a slight hill and went deeper into the woods, and soon she couldn’t see the stone walls of the castle.
She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, constantly looking over her shoulder despite the steep trail to see if anyone was following her.
But then her luck ran out, as the path ended at a small loch.
The water was clear at the edge and turned dark the farther she looked. White mist framed the opposite shore, and wisps of the fog drifted over the water as small ripples indicated life under its depths.
And then a man, the most handsome man she had ever seen, broke the water’s surface and rose amid the mist like a methical creature that lived in the depths of the loch. But she knew this creature. It was Arran.
She ducked into a grove of trees and bushes before he turned around.
Skye knew she should cover her eyes, but her gaze was drawn to his perfect masculine form as he walked toward the shore. Her cheeks burned, but she allowed her eyes to lazily run over the man who was to be her husband in a few short hours.
He’s mine… if I daenae run. Runnin’ is foolish. Where in all the world would I find such a bonny man?
His sleek, wet ebony hair clung to his temples and neck.
Water trickled down the tufts of black hair covering his broad chest, drawing a dark path to his chiseled abdomen.
Her eyes traced the outlines of his muscles down to his waist, where dark smallclothes drew a line of modesty she found herself wishing she could see beneath.
She couldn’t avert her gaze. She could look at him forever.
Arran threw his hair back and rubbed the water from his eyes. Just as he started to walk out of the water, a young voice interrupted Skye’s reverie.
“There ye are, me Laird!” The shout was punctuated with a loud splash.
Arran laughed as young Fionn jumped into the water curled into a ball, splashing him profusely.
He immediately retaliated by dunking the boy as soon as his head bobbed out of the water.
There was more splashing, the boy climbed out only to jump in again, and then finally, Arran did what he came to do—he began to bathe.
The time Fionn spent washing was much less than the time he spent playing, and soon the man and child left the water and dried themselves. Skye’s view was hindered by the bush in front of her, but it was what she heard from the Laird and Fionn that astonished her.
“Are ye taking a bath for the wedding?” Fionn asked.
“Aye, I am, Fionn. Ye will find out when ye are older that women prefer men that daenae stink like ye do most of the time,” Arran joked.
Fionn, now dry, grabbed his kilt and started to dress, looking deep in thought. “And ye care what Lady Skye thinks of ye?” he asked seriously.
“I do. And ye should too when ye find a lass ye want to marry.”
“Does she want to marry ye, me Laird? She didnae seem too sure yesterday.”
Arran nodded. “Nay, she didnae. But she will be in danger if she doesnae.”
From her hiding place, Skye poked her neck around the tree to hear more.
“And ye can keep her safe?”
“I can. Once we are wed, she is mine. And I willnae allow anyone to harm what belongs to me,” Arran replied confidently. “I would give me life to keep her safe. As her husband, that is me promise to her.”
“Do ye have to love a woman to marry her, me Laird?” Fionn asked.
“What’s up with all the serious questions, laddie?” Arran responded. When Fionn didn’t answer, he said, “No, ye daenae have to love a woman to marry her, Fionn. But what I said before is true, whether there is love or nae.”
Skye’s heart nearly burst, and tears welled up in her eyes. She believed him.
“I like Lady Skye. I daenae want to see her hurt.” Fionn smiled. “I hope ye are safe too—when Blackwell comes and all.” he added as an afterthought.
Arran ruffled the boy’s hair. “Daenae worry, Fionn. I plan to keep us all safe.”
They gathered their things and then left.
Skye sat down on the ground, her mind racing once more. She thought Arran brash, even selfish, for putting the pursuit of his lands before her, but watching him with Fionn showed her another side to him.
He said he would die for her. He barely knew her, but he would die to keep her safe. That was his duty, and he was honor-bound to keep that vow. Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind.
“Find yerself a good man, Skye. One who values ye more than gold and power.”
Skye stood up and glanced around the tree. When she didn’t spot anyone else in the loch, she took a tentative step out and then walked back the way she’d come. It wasn’t long before the trail split in two, one that led back to the castle and one that led to the surrounding lands.
She stood there for what seemed like forever, looking left and right. She wished more than anything that her mother was there.
Arran may nae value me, nae in the way Faither valued Maither, but I believe he is honorable.
Finally, she moved.
By the time Skye stepped into the back of the castle just over an hour later, she’d already fabricated a story to explain her absence. If anyone asked, she’d say that she got nervous about getting married and needed some fresh air.
It wasn’t a complete lie.
She muttered a quick prayer of thanks when she made it to her chamber without running into Nellie or any of the other maids. But her relief was short-lived. There was a breakfast tray on her table, so at least one person knew she’d left her room.
There’s nothing I can do about that now.
She grabbed a piece of bread and took a small bite, before placing it back on the tray.
A knock sounded at the door, but before Skye could answer, Nellie entered, carrying the wedding dress in her arms and smiling at her.
“Ye’ve hardly eaten a bite!” Nellie exclaimed when she saw the barely touched tray. “That willnae do. I willnae have ye faintin’ at the altar,” she added in a tone that brooked no argument.
She grabbed Skye’s hand, sat her in the chair by the fireplace, and then brought her the tray. Skye obediently picked the bread back up as well as a small slice of cheese.
“After ye eat, ye can wash, and then we’ll start with yer hair. The curls look wonderful, me Lady. Maude and Rhona will help ye style it any way ye like. Maude can work magic on anyone’s hair. She’ll enjoy working on yers.”
Skye tried to smile but could only nod.
“Ye are very quiet,” Nellie noted. “Are ye havin’ regrets?”
Skye swallowed the mouthful of food. “Nay, nae regrets. But I feel nervous, and I cannae sit still. I met Arran three days ago when he kidnapped me, and now I’m marryin’ him. It’s like being on a seesaw.”
Nellie nodded her head. “It is a bit unusual, I’ll give ye that.
But our Laird, he is strong. The MacArthur lands arenae vast, but our clan is well-fed, and we’re prosperin’.
He can take care of ye, and ye’ll never want for anythin’.
” She grinned mischievously. “And he’s nae hard to look at either. ”
Skye didn’t disagree, but before she could reply, Nellie continued.
“Ye will come to ken him better. And I will tell ye this…” Nellie paused, reaching for Skye’s hand.
“I have lived here all me life, and nay woman has ever had to live in fear of her husband, faither, or any other man. Not even on his worst days did Arran’s father lay hand on any woman.
Arran understood his faither’s teachings.
Foolish James might have been in his grief, but he taught Arran well. ”
“Arran said somethin’ about how much his faither loved his maither,” Skye said tentatively.
“Och, that he did. Nay man cared for a woman more than did James Gilroy for his Elspeth. Mark me words, given time, Arran will love ye in the same way. Even should love nae come right away, he’ll never raise hand to ye. Ye willnae be abused here, me Lady.”
Skye looked into Nellie’s sincere and caring face, and squeezed her hand. Her words provided comfort, but she was still unsettled.
She wished she could be as optimistic.
“And what do ye ken of the marriage bed, lass?” Nellie asked.
Skye, glad she hadn’t taken another bite of cheese, sputtered out a reply. “Well, I… I… aye… I know what happens… I think.”
She had helped Ava, her healer friend from Braewall, deliver babies, and she knew how they were made.
Her cheeks flushed red, and she said a silent prayer of thanks when Maude and Rhona walked in at that moment. This was not a conversation she wanted to have right now.
Me maither should be here.
“Ye’ll be all right,” Nellie continued. “I’ve kenned Arran most of his life, and I’d wager he’s a skilled lover. Do ye nae think, girls?”
Skye wanted to crawl under her bed.
Both servant girls burst into laughter. What followed was a prediction of a night of unrivaled passion with a strong, well-endowed man who possessed great stamina.
“Wait, wait,” Skye interjected. “How… Stamina? How long does the, uh, the… ye ken. How long does it take?”
“Depends,” Nellie replied. “Thirty seconds or thirty minutes. Every man is different.”
Skye processed that information. She’d seen many a boy and man naked, but her curiosity led her to ask, “Some men are larger than others. I ken that. But does the first time always hurt?”
“It hurts,” Rhona said somberly.
Skye’s face paled.
“But in the most delicious way!” Rhona clarified, laughing.
Skye looked aghast. Nothing about thirty minutes of bedding that hurt sounded delicious in any way.
“Maude! Rhona! I’m shocked!” Nellie exclaimed in a voice that revealed she wasn’t shocked at all. “We have a wedding in less than two hours. Ye better get to it, now,” she scolded, before shooting Rhona a warning look. “Daenae listen to her, me Lady. Yer Arran will ken what to do.”
Skye was washed from head to toe, and once dry, Nellie slipped a fine linen shift over her head, followed by the wedding dress.
Maude beckoned Skye to the vanity chair. Once seated, her hands gathered Skye’s long curls, and after trying a few styles, they all decided that leaving her hair down was best. She then pulled a little hair back from Skye’s face and secured it with a floral band.
“It’s glorious!” Maude proclaimed.
Nellie looked at Rhona, then at Maude, then at Skye. “What do ye think, lass?”
Skye peered into the looking glass, barely recognizing the woman looking back at her. She smiled.
“Ye’ll knock him right out of his kilt, ye will,” Nellie said with pride.
“That is the idea, ye ken.” Rhona giggled.
Nellie rolled her eyes.
“I’m ready,” Skye declared with conviction. “Let’s go.”