Chapter 4 #2
As she moved to prepare herself to take her seat, Ryan grabbed hold of the polished oak chair and pulled it back from the table. Her eyes shifted between his unfairly handsome face and the seat she was being offered. Then, after a beat, she smoothed out her skirt below her and settled in.
Looking out over the great hall, Margaret realized that everyone had stopped eating. Some had their forks halfway to their mouths. There weren’t any more poorly concealed whispers about her. Instead, they were all wide-eyed, focused on Margaret and Ryan. All of them seemed shocked.
Perhaps this is more than strange to them. They look as if they’ve seen a phantom. Or perhaps I’ve broken some kind of rule that I’m not privy to. I don’t know how they operate here in the Highlands.
“Thank you,” Margaret whispered as Ryan took the seat to her right. She thought that he sat a little closer than strictly necessary.
“Ye’re to be me wife,” he replied without looking at her, spreading a napkin over his kilted lap. “Ye daenae need to thank me.”
The low rasp of his voice settled over her.
It warmed her in a curious way. The strangeness found its home in her stomach.
She shifted in her seat in an attempt to dispel the sensation she didn’t understand, but it didn’t go away.
This feeling wasn’t uncomfortable, and she knew it was intrinsically tied to the Highlander sitting next to her.
When she began to pick it apart in her mind, her cheeks warmed. With all the attention turned this way, she didn’t want to be caught blushing. Clearing her throat slightly, she focused on the people. Any time she met a gaze, they’d avert it as though embarrassed to be caught looking.
All the people she saw didn’t look much different from the Englishmen she saw back home.
Their clothing wasn’t the same, but there was nothing that set them apart from the people down south.
Well… when she looked over at Ryan, she had to admit that there was something that Highland men had that the English didn’t.
He was watching the rest of the great hall as well. His features were set hard. There was a hawk-like quality to the way he scanned the room. Margaret felt almost as if she were disturbing him when she leaned over to speak.
“They seem surprised to see me,” she said, her voice shaking with anxiety she didn’t know was coursing through her.
Ryan turned toward her, and his gaze made the jitters subside a bit. Then he said, “Aye, but I think they like ye. When they daenae like somethin’, they arenae afraid to say it. I’m nae, either.”
Those words pushed the nerves away. He could have been lying, but he didn’t have a reason to spare her feelings. She was nothing but a stranger to him. He had nothing to gain from lying, and that consoled her.
“Well, I hope they don’t change their minds about me,” she murmured.
“They willnae,” he assured her, gaze sweeping back out to the great hall. “Ye seem like a good lass. They can sense it.”
She knew it was dangerous to feel comfortable with Ryan.
She had barely learned his first name, and she had a sinking suspicion that had she not stopped him before he left the study the night before, she wouldn’t have even gotten that.
This man, her husband-to-be, was a stranger. She didn’t know him.
This was a deal made out of desperation. If Margaret had had any other choice, she’d never have set foot in this castle. Yet, she was here now, and Ryan hadn’t done anything that made her question her decision. At least not yet.
When a maid set a plate in front of her a few moments later, the food was unfamiliar but smelled savory and made her mouth water. She picked up her fork and dug in. It was surprisingly delicious, and she took another bite, perhaps a little too enthusiastically for a lady.
Her attempt to clear her mind by filling her belly didn’t work for long.
Beside her, Ryan grunted and said something she didn’t quite catch in that accent of his, and her worries returned.
This time, though, she wasn’t concerned about the way the people perceived her but about where she was and who she was to be wed to.
Ever since she was a small girl, her aunt warned her about Scottish men. She’d never heard of them as anything but cruel, vicious beasts. In every story she’d been told, the Highland men barely held back around women. They’d use them before they threw them away.
She remembered her aunt saying, “Highlanders don’t care about what you want, Margaret. They’ll take what they want before they leave you to deal with the aftermath.”
Margaret shuddered, keeping her head down. The words echoed in her mind. They took root there like a stubborn weed that refused to go away, no matter how many times she pulled it.
Had she been told a story that contradicted that, even one, she wouldn’t be so fearful. Because she had nothing else, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t seeing the entire picture of him. He’d been kind so far, but his demeanor could switch at any moment.
Chewing demurely on a mouthful of savory pudding, Margaret glanced at Ryan.
His gaze was on the tables before them again, and it seemed as though he was watching for something.
Those around him held him in high regard…
or, Margaret was fairly certain they did, even if they seemed surprised to see him with her.
Well, in any case, this is still much better than being with Duke Cunningham; I’m sure of that.