Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
After taking only a few steps outside, Arran saw that a crowd had formed in the courtyard. It wasn’t hard to figure out why.
Grayson Blackwell’s tirade of curses, punctuated with threats against Clan MacArthur for kidnapping and holding his daughter, was heard by everyone in and out of the keep. But it stopped when he saw her.
Skye, in her wedding dress, stood directly before him. Arran and Ramsey stood on either side of her. Four more of Arran’s men flanked them, ready to attack.
“What! What is this?” Blackwell asked, gesturing dramatically in her direction.
“I can ask ye the same,” Skye replied coldly. “Why are ye here?”
“I think that is obvious, Daughter. Ye were taken against yer will, and—”
“Nay, I wasnae,” Skye interrupted. “I never wanted to come back. I never wanted to stay. I left because I wanted to.”
Blackwell became even more angry. “Ye are me daughter, and ye are comin’ back with me now.”
“Nay, Blackwell. She stays. With me.” Arran’s men advanced on Blackwell, their hands resting on the pommels of their swords.
Blackwell looked at the warriors surrounding him. He’d brought men of his own, but they were outnumbered.
“Ye cannae steal a laird’s daughter. The council will hear of this. Boyd, I demand an audience with the council now!”
“It doesnae matter, Grayson,” Skye declared, the hatred barely contained in her voice. Arran puffed out his chest with pride.
“What do ye mean, ye daft woman? Ye are mine to do what I want with.”
Skye held up their joined hands from beneath the folds of her dress, and Arran held up the papers. “Approved by the council. Ye have nae hold on her now.”
Blackwell was silent for a moment. Arran wondered if the man understood the implications of what he saw. And then he watched anger overtake him.
Blackwell raised a fist in the air, his teeth clenched and his face contorted with rage. “Nay!” he screamed. “Ye cannae do this. I willnae stand for it! I’ll see that ye lose everything, Laird MacArthur. Yer lands, yer keep, and yer wife!” He spat the last word.
Arran looked at Skye, but instead of being intimidated by Blackwell’s threats, she looked amused.
He squeezed her hand. “I can do it, and I have, old man. What’s done willnae be undone.”
“When I’ve taken all ye have, I’ll rip yer head clean off, ye bastard!”
“Watch yer words, Blackwell. Ye can start an unnecessary war if ye wish, but ye nay longer have power over Skye. She’s mine. Do ye understand?”
Blackwell seethed. Vile invectives spewed forth from his mouth.
Arran’s lips curled into a smirk. “And, that’s nay way to speak to yer new son-in-law.”
Laughter rang out in the courtyard.
Blackwell clamped his mouth shut and looked around. There was no support for him here.
“I’ll be back. This isnae over,” he warned.
He gave Skye a scathing look and then turned to leave.
Arran nodded toward one of his soldiers. The man knew his job was to follow Blackwell and make sure he didn’t come back.
Once Grayson and his men were out of sight, Arran turned to Skye, noting the relieved look on her face. “Do ye feel better now, wife?”
She looked up at him and smiled. “Aye, I do. But do ye think he will come back?”
“He will. I daenae think he will give up so easily.” Skye sighed, and he squeezed her hand once more. “I’ll handle him. For now, we have a wedding feast!”
Skye’s eyes went wide. “But Astrid wasnae supposed to—”
“Can I borrow yer bride for a moment, me Laird?” Nellie interrupted. “I’m sure ye need to talk to yer men, and I’ll help her freshen up before the celebration.”
Arran reluctantly nodded and let go of Skye’s hand, but not before he placed a hand on her waist and gently pulled her toward him. He planted a kiss on her lips, trying to breathe some reassurance into her.
He had her. He hoped he had proved it to her, and he would continue to do so as long as Blackwell continued to bother them.
“Come, me Lady, let me take ye inside,” Nellie said, nudging Skye along.
She followed Nellie up the main staircase and entered a large chamber at the front of the second-floor hall. This was Arran’s room. Or rather rooms.
His chamber spanned the length of three rooms. A large stone fireplace dominated the far wall, and beside it sat a four-poster bed covered with a thick, woolen blanket. An oak chest of drawers stood in one corner next to a window that looked out over the courtyard.
Adjacent to the bedchamber, the sitting area boasted a small bookcase, a simple desk, and two high-back chairs upholstered in MacArthur tartan. The room was comfortable but masculine.
“These will be yer chambers now, me Lady,” Nellie said.
“I’ve never lived anywhere so comfortable,” Skye murmured as she walked over to the bookshelf that held several volumes.
Arran had mentioned he liked to read under the big window. Now, in her mind’s eye, she pictured him sitting in front of the fireplace with one of the books. The image made her smile.
Nellie smiled. “Aye, as I said, we are prosperin’ here.” Her eyes flicked to the basin on the dresser, and she frowned at its emptiness. “The meal will be served shortly. Let me get some ale to revive ye.”
Skye, now alone, walked to one of the chairs. She sat for a moment, not sure exactly what to do. She assumed she would wear the wedding dress to the feast, as there was nothing for her to change into. Then she stood up and took a closer look at her new chamber.
She looked out the window and saw her husband was no longer at the gate. Then she went back to the bed and ran her hand over the blanket, before sitting down.
Tonight, I’ll sleep with him.
Her face flushed, and heat bloomed in her core at the thought. Suddenly feeling restless, she stood up and walked to the chest of drawers, atop which sat a small wooden horse.
She picked it up and ran her fingers over the smooth wood, feeling the ridges in the horse’s mane and tail. She smiled as she admired the craftsmanship, but then suddenly, a large masculine hand covered hers.
“Put that down, Skye.” Arran’s tone was firm as he took the horse from her hands.
Her heart pounded in her chest, and she remembered the violence of her stepfather when her mother overstepped his poorly defined bounds. She quickly stepped away from Arran.
“I’m… I’m sorry, Arran. Please forgive me,” she blurted out in a shaky voice. “It’s very beautiful… I just wanted to hold it.” She backed away until the back of her knees hit the mattress.
Arran’s face softened. “This horse was given to me by me faither. He said me maither treasured it. Her maither gave it to her, and Faither knew she would want me to have it.” He turned the horse over and over in his hands. “That’s all I have left of her.”
He paused, serious once more, and then said, “But we are one now, Skye. What is mine is yers.” He gave her the carved horse. “Ye can touch it any time ye wish.”
Skye walked back to him and accepted his precious gift. “Nay, Arran, nae mine. One day, ye will give it to yer bairns.”
Arran laughed. “Our bairns, ye mean? Have ye forgotten we are married?”
Skye laughed, but his words hit her hard.
Bairns.
She was dazed. She’d not thought much of what her life would be like after marrying Arran.
“Perhaps ye need a kiss to remind ye, then.”
He lifted her chin and cupped her face in his large hand. Something akin to a moan or a growl erupted from his throat, and then his mouth took hers.
His lips were warm and soft, and he used his tongue gently to open her mouth, which he immediately explored slowly and methodically. Skye, surprised at how pleasurable she found this way of kissing, responded with an exploration of her own.
She felt his hand leave her face and encircle her waist, and his other hand traveled down her back and cupped her buttocks. He continued to plunder her mouth as his hand gently squeezed her buttocks at first, and then with more urgency.
“Oh!” Skye squeaked.
But as the pressure increased, she purred, and the sound emboldened Arran. He broke their kiss, and she panted, trying to catch her breath. His lips trailed down her neck and across her collarbone, where he pulled down the sleeve to expose her shoulder.
“Skye, ye taste of the sweetest nectar, and I cannae… I cannae stop,” Arran whispered.
Skye threw her head back, welcoming his touch, his kisses, and moaned in ecstasy. She wanted more.
“I daenae want ye to… Arran… I want…”
A primitive need had taken over her body and mind, and the world outside that chamber ceased to exist. Arran grabbed her thigh and lifted her leg to his waist, and she instinctively wrapped it around him tightly. He lifted her in his arms effortlessly, and they fell on the bed.
He reached down with both hands and pulled her dress up to her waist as she pulled his shirt over his head. He leaned down to kiss her again when a knock sounded at the door.
“Laird MacArthur, Lady MacArthur, the feast has begun!”
Arran dropped his head to the mattress and muttered a week’s worth of curses. He started to tell whoever was at the door to leave them alone, but he knew his clan was waiting for him to officially present Lady MacArthur.
His mood soured, but only for a moment.
“Ye look beautiful, Skye,” he murmured.
Her hair was fanned out on the pillow, the band of flowers now gone. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, begging for more. He watched her breasts rise and fall, not quite free from her corset, but the ample, soft curve and the hint of a pink nipple peeked through.
He fought the urge to lower his head and indulge in a feast of a different kind. “We must go,” he sighed. “The clan wants to meet ye, Lady MacArthur.”
He rolled off her and was surprised that his legs were weak.
What power does she have over me?
He offered her his hand to help her stand, and he was proud to see that she too was unsteady on her feet.
Arran squeezed her hand and moved to open the door, but she suddenly squeaked. “Arran! I cannae go out like this!”
He stopped, turned, and looked her up and down slowly. “Like what?” he asked seductively.
She swatted him on the shoulder and gave him a warning look. “Look at me! Me breasts are almost hanging out, and me hair is a mess! I cannae face yer clan like this.”
Arran started to tell her that she never looked better, but she was right.
Skye righted her dress and fastened the front, then she ran her finger through her hair and nervously smoothed down her skirts. “Do I look all right now?”
Arran smiled. “Aye, ye do, wife.”
But he didn’t tell her she still looked as if she’d been kissed and kissed well.
He took her hand and opened the door, leading her out of his chamber. When he reached the landing that overlooked the Great Hall, a loud cheer went up.
“Clan MacArthur!” Arran boomed, and the room quieted. He raised their clasped hands and announced, “I present to ye Skye Gilroy, Lady MacArthur!”
The hall erupted in cheers and well wishes. Skye smiled, and Arran’s chest swelled.
Together they walked down into the Great Hall and took their seats at the head table. Magnus and Fionn sat to Arran’s left, and Elsie sat to Skye’s right.
Almost immediately, the sound of fiddles and bagpipes echoed through the hall, and the floor filled with dancing men, women, and children. Skye watched and clapped her hands, but a look of concern flashed across her face.
“What is the matter, Skye?” Arran asked.
“The food, Arran.”
Arran looked down at the table. Platters of roast duck with potatoes, parsnips, and carrots had been placed in front of each of them.
Another platter of oatcakes with jars of honey to drizzle on laid in the center of the table.
A large bowl of peas and another of cabbage, both seasoned with butter and spices, and a wheel of yellow cheese and dried apples sat on the side.
“There willnae be enough for the guests, Arran,” Skye explained. “Astrid could have never cooked enough for this many.”
“Ye are right, Skye,” Arran agreed. “But watch.”
Skye looked at the door that led to the courtyard and saw three long wooden tables being hauled into the Great Hall. As soon as they were lined up, a procession of women filed in, and plate after plate and too many bowls to count were placed on the tables.
Some brought leftover bread from breakfast. Others brought cheese or fruit. There were several platters of fish, hard-boiled eggs, and porridge. Stews and a few baked chickens were added to the lot.
Skye’s mouth watered at the delicious aromas. She’d not expected a feast!
“Arran, they have brought so much food!”
“I wanted me clan to celebrate with us. Dinnae worry, Skye. Each family was happy to contribute, and I made sure they were compensated.”
Skye’s face softened, and several emotions flashed across her face. “Ye care for yer clan very much, Arran.”
“Our clan. Ours,” he corrected. “Aye, that I do.”