Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
“Miss Abigail works fast, does she nae?” Jinny asked, still fussing with the bustle of Amelia’s new gown as they made their way to the great hall. “Ye only went to the village a few days ago, and she’s already made ye this gorgeous thing.”
Amelia looked down, taking in the sky blue of the gown. The seamstress had gone on and on about how the color would make her eyes pop, and upon getting dressed, she found that the woman was absolutely correct.
“I feel quite blessed to have worked with her,” Amelia replied, the words sincere.
“And I heard ye have a few more gowns on the way,” Jinny said excitedly, opening the large door and ushering Amelia inside the hall.
The hall was mostly empty, save for a few servants dining at a table separate from Darragh. His eyes found her immediately. The weight of his gaze was heavy, a physical thing, as he took in her appearance. For reasons she couldn’t quite name, her entire body flushed.
“I dinnae want ye to be overwhelmed by the noise,” Darragh said as Jinny pulled out a chair across from him. “And Mrs. Rowan would have me head if ye fainted again.”
“That’s quite thoughtful of her,” Amelia replied, sitting up stiffly.
For a moment, they held each other’s eyes, and the thing that had shifted the previous day in her quarters deepened.
The minute stretched between them, seeming to go on for hours.
Then, quite abruptly, it ended. The openness in Darragh’s expression was replaced with cold formality.
It felt to Amelia as if she’d been plunged into a tub of ice water.
Instead of speaking, he gave her a nod. It wasn’t dismissive, it was restrained. It was the kind of gesture she imagined he’d make toward any other guest in his keep.
As their meal was served, his restraint stung her. As Jinny had dressed her, Amelia prepared herself for another interrogation about her past. She was sure that she’d be fielding questions and weathering his anger. This was completely unexpected, and it felt as if a wall had risen between them.
Between each bite she took, she tried to catch his eye. Dutifully, he kept his focus on his plate. It was the kind of respect she’d longed for just a few days ago. No pressing her for answers or persistently picking at subjects that she’d rather keep to herself.
I should be grateful for this.
When he did finally open his mouth more than halfway through the meal, she deflated a bit when all he said was, “Would ye pass the salt?”
She did as she was told, their fingers brushing together, making the knot of regret in her chest tighten further.
She’d pushed him too far. She’d literally pushed him right into a body of water, and the look on his face when he’d caught her was downright murderous.
His refusal to speak now made her feel as if he no longer cared about her or who she was.
I almost miss his demanding questions. The quiet is far more unbearable than the fights I thought he was pickin’.
As she looked away from her plate again, taking in the precise way he fed himself, she realized she felt as though she were sitting across from a stranger. She took a slow bite, swallowing around a lump in her throat. Still, he didn’t glance at her even once.
I think I might miss him.
Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, she finished her meal without looking at him again, though that did nothing to calm her racing thoughts. He was still there, calmly and efficiently finishing his own meal like she wasn’t even there.
When he placed his utensils on the table, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin, he finally met her gaze. Her heart hammered in her chest as she waited for him to say something, anything. Instead, he simply gave her a curt nod and stood.
As he walked away, the guilt and anxiety she’d been carrying became unbearable. She rose from her seat quickly, the legs scraping against the stone floor and echoing through the now-empty hall. With the same desperation as she had once run from him, she hurried to catch up to his retreating form.
He stopped, but he didn’t turn around. It felt like a dismissal, but she couldn’t let him leave. Not now. If she didn’t say something, give him some sort of explanation, she was sure he’d be lost to her forever.
And a very loud, impossible-to-ignore part of her brain couldn’t allow that.
“I am of noble blood,” she said quietly, looking down at the floor, “but I cannae tell ye me family’s name.”
He turned around then, the movement careful and measured. When she lifted her gaze, he was looking at her with something akin to wonder. His voice gruff, he said one word, “Why?”
Her fingers tightened in the fabric of her skirt, an angry voice that sounded a lot like her father’s telling her everything that would go wrong if she did.
Finally, she settled on murmuring, “If I tell ye and ye daenae send me back…” She swallowed hard, blinking away the mistiness that had begun to gather along her lash line.
“… then it is ye who will be in danger.”
Me father’s become so underhanded to ensure his legacy carries on. I cannae predict what he’ll do.
Darragh said nothing but simply looked at her. He was waiting for an explanation, but she couldn’t give it. Not like this, at least. She turned her back on him, wrapping her arms around her middle.
“Cannae ye see?” she asked, her voice thick with more emotions than she could possibly name. “There is nae answer I can give ye that doesnae ruin someone.”
* * *
The words hit like a well-aimed punch. Amelia stared at the opposite wall, her fear slipping through, no longer tempered by anger. Her behavior, the constant attempts at escape, was her way of protecting not only herself but everyone around her.
Slowly, he took one measured step toward her. Then another. She stayed where she was, still standing her ground despite the way her fists trembled at her side. Her shoulders stiffened, but she showed no other signs of resistance.
Two strides later, he was standing directly behind her. An inch closer, and his chest would be pressed against her back the same way it was every time he rode with her. He leaned in, keeping a careful distance between the two of them.
“Amelia,” he said, his voice low. When she didn’t respond, he leaned in even closer, his lips nearly touching her neck. “Amelia.”
A long, shuddering breath slipped past her lips. Her head turned ever so slightly, almost as if she was presenting the milky expanse of skin to him. He didn’t think she even realized what she was doing.
“Ye’re nae a prisoner in me keep, Amelia,” he said, his words making a slight shudder run through her. Still, she didn’t pull away. “And I swear nae one will harm ye under me roof.”
She hesitated for a beat, then, her voice even softer than before, she said, “I overheard ye speakin’ with yer man-at-arms at the seamstress.” She drew in another deep, fortifying breath. “Ye said ye would send me back to where I came from.”
Darragh stilled, remembering the open door, the woman going in and out of the shop. He softened as he said, “Then ye only heard the last of it. I said I would find where ye belonged, so I could see ye safe. Not so I could hand ye back to someone who would harm ye.”
He turned her around, following her when she took a step back toward the table. When she didn’t pull away further, he reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek. His hand came to a rest on her shoulder, his thumb resting against her rapidly beating pulse.
“I willnae give ye to anyone who doesnae deserve ye,” he said, his careful touch drifting down the line of her neck.
Possessed by feelings he’d been trying to ignore since he saw her in the light at the seamstress’s shop, he grabbed her hand. Slowly, his eyes locked on her face, he brought her wrist to his lips. He pressed a reverent kiss there. At her sharp intake of breath, he placed another on her palm.
Amelia’s body relaxed with her next exhale, the tension she’d been carrying since he met her melting away. He leaned in, his face near her neck. When she tilted her head to the side, he kissed her there, too.
“Darragh,” she murmured breathlessly.
The sound of his name on her lips, whispered like a prayer, snapped something in him. He put his hands on her hips, guiding her back toward the table. His face was still buried in her neck when he picked her up, settling her on the edge.
He shifted quickly, moving away from the warmth and her lavender scent. His mouth came down on hers with desperate hunger. She kissed him back, and his hands drifted up higher, his arms coming around her torso.
The sharp, pained gasp she let out snapped him from the spell. He let go of her, stepping away as if she’d burned him. There was nothing he could do to hide the shock on his face.
“Gods… I hurt ye,” he muttered, horrified that he’d lost control of himself for even a single minute.
“No—” she said quickly, her breath uneven. She barely hid the wince that came each time she pulled air into her lungs.
He took another step back, forcing his composure back in place. “It willnae happen again.”
The last thing he saw before he turned around and left the room was Amelia reaching out toward him, a look of wonder on her face.
That dangerously tempting expression followed him even after the doors of the great hall shut behind him.
She didn’t look like she wanted to run, and that made the thoughts in his head even more complicated.
I swore that I would protect her, that I wouldnae let her be hurt under me watch. That includes pain from me, too.