Chapter 7
“Mad Highlander,” Margaret said to herself as soon as she was alone. Her empty room didn’t respond.
She took everything in as she tried to calm herself. All the furniture was nicer than what she had in her room back home though she supposed that this was her home now.
Sliding her finger along the wooden bedframe, she wondered what kind of tree had sacrificed itself to make this piece. There were intricate vine patterns carved along the top. It was beautiful, and she found it hard to believe that it belonged to her.
Stepping away, she glanced at the rest of the room, her eyes catching on the window that overlooked the garden. A light breeze drifted in, and Margaret closed her eyes. She inhaled the crisp air before looking at her gown.
Her face still burned, but she felt as though she were regaining control of her senses. They came back slowly, though, as if Ryan had gummed up her brain. The biggest piece of evidence to support this theory was the fact that she missed his presence.
The way she felt about him was dangerous. And the fact that he seemed to enjoy teasing her was even more so. Things could get out of control quickly.
Oh, what have I gotten myself into? This wasn’t supposed to happen.
She changed as fast as she could, afraid that the Laird right outside her door might burst in at any moment. She didn’t put it past him. While he might have been joking around with her, she knew there was probably a bit of true desire in his refusal to leave her room.
Once she was decent, she slipped into her shoes. They were a little worn from her travels, and she thought that she should have them brought to a cobbler. She’d need a second pair, too, something more elegant for balls and special occasions.
She walked over to the vanity and dropped onto the cushion to ensure that she hadn’t mussed up her hair while she was getting changed. Her face stared back at her, and she could still see the ghost of her blush from Ryan’s proximity.
And now, I have to see him again. Lord, please give me strength.
After smoothing her hair and the fabric of her dress, she stepped out of the safety of her chambers. The Laird was standing next to her door, his eyes focused on the end of the corridor. His head turned at the sound of her feet against the stone.
Ryan smirked when he saw her, scanning her newly clothed figure. His eyes lingered on her waist then on her chest. It seemed as though he didn’t even care if she caught him looking. Or perhaps, he wanted her to catch him.
A shiver ran through Margaret at the weight of his gaze, coupled with the memory of how his bare chest felt beneath her palms. He was warm and strong. She could still imagine the way his muscles twitched against her hands.
It doesn’t help that I was barely dressed myself. What would someone looking in have thought about that?
“Ye were quick,” he said seconds before she began squirming under his observation. “Didnae even have the chance to wonder if I should come check on ye.”
“That’s precisely why I changed so quickly,” she huffed, leveling him with a glare of her own to cover how flustered she felt. “I didn’t trust you to stay out here.”
That only seemed to deepen his amusement. Frustration joined the other feelings swirling inside her. This man was infuriating, and she couldn’t figure him out for the life of her.
Without saying another word, Ryan started walking down the corridor, not bothering to see if she was following. Margaret jogged to catch up with him, making note of the landmarks she passed on her way. She figured it was to her advantage to know the way out of the castle from her chambers.
“Could you slow down?” she huffed, picking up her dress so the hem wouldn’t trip her. “My legs aren’t as long as yours.”
“Ye can keep up,” he said, looking over his shoulder to fix her with that blasted smirk again. “Look, ye’re keepin’ up now.”
“I shouldn’t have to run to walk next to you,” she argued, bringing her foot down hard. “Is this any way to treat the lady that’s to be your wife?”
That made Ryan stop. He turned, tilting his head to examine her. His stare was hard, and Margaret prepared herself for another argument. Instead, he nodded and let her catch up with him.
“Ach, I suppose yer right,” he said, looking down at her as they fell into step next to one another. “Forgive me, lassie. I’m nae used to havin’ someone so short walkin’ at me side.”
“You’re just trying to rile me up,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest and jerking her head away from him. “I won’t rise to your teasing.”
“Ye already have, Sassenach,” Ryan said, and Margaret didn’t even have to look at him to know that he was smirking. “And ye’ll continue to do so. Ye take everythin’ too seriously, ye ken?”
“Well, I can’t help my upbringing,” she said, smiling despite herself.
“And I cannae help mine,” he shot back.
“Then it seems that we’ll have to learn to get along,” Margaret quipped. “And you’ll need to learn to behave.”
“Careful there, Me Lady,” Ryan said. “I make the rules in this castle. I’ll behave how I please. Ye’re just going to have to learn to live with it.”
“Mm,” Margaret hummed. “We’ll see about that.”
“Aye. I suppose we will.”
The rest of their walk went by in comfortable silence. Ryan’s steps slowed enough that she was able to keep up with him without jogging. She did admit that this pace was a bit too brisk for her, but it was better than it was at first.
When the two of them reached the stables, she couldn’t help but admire the craftsmanship of the building. It may have only been a place to keep the working animals, but it might as well have been a guest house. The wood framing was artfully done, and the stones seemed to be laid with great care.
“Everything here is so beautiful,” she said as they approached a young man standing next to a black steed.
“Aye, it is.”
Ryan stepped forward, accepting the reins of the horse from the stable hand. He looked at Margaret, waiting for her to come over. Her brow furrowed as she glanced behind him.
“Where’s my horse?” she asked, sure that she must be missing something. “I can ride.”
“Just get on me horse,” he said. “There’s nae a horse ready for ye.”
“My Laird, I’d prefer to ride my own horse,” she insisted, fighting every urge to cross her arms over her chest like a child. “Will it really take that long to get another horse ready for me?”
“Then ye can ride yer own later,” he said, a hint of annoyance leaking through. “Just get on.”
Margaret didn’t get a chance to argue. Ryan took hold of her waist and hoisted her into the saddle. It was all she could do to keep from yelping in surprise. Then, before she was able to adjust to her new vantage point, Ryan joined her.
His hands came around on either side of her, and the warmth of his chest seeped in through the layers of fabric between them.
She felt his breath against her neck, the firmness of his body pressed against her own.
The sensations in her stomach came back in full force, and as Ryan dug his heels into the beast’s sides, she was pushed even closer.
As they rode out of the castle grounds, she had no choice but to memorize the shape of him. He nearly dwarfed her, all hard muscle and hot flesh. She swallowed hard, telling herself to calm down. There was nothing about this that should have her body reacting the way it was.
Margaret was hyperaware of every movement Ryan made. His body was sure and powerful. The horse beneath them obeyed his every move, seeming to anticipate what Ryan wanted it to do before being instructed.
She tried to watch the scenery passing them by, but he was distracting her behind her. His hips rolled against her backside as he guided the horse. She could feel each breath he drew.
It felt like she’d had too many glasses of wine. Her head spun, and there was a pleasant warmth that inhabited her limbs. Even though he was the source of her unsteadiness, she was glad to have him there. Without his support, she was sure she’d fall off.
By the time they arrived at the seamstress’ shop, Margaret was certain that she was going to burst from the tension that had built between them. It didn’t help that Ryan had pressed himself closer as they approached the village.
She could still feel him against her backside when he dismounted. There was a blush permanently on her cheeks. She didn’t think it would ever go away.
“Down ye go,” Ryan said, grabbing onto her waist after his boots hit the ground.
This time, when she was lifted into the air, Margaret was prepared. She put her hands on his shoulders and let herself be placed gracefully onto the cobblestone street. Then, she stood by, eyes focused on anything but Ryan as he tied the horse to the post.
The village was still just as quaint as when she had first arrived. The people who inhabited the homes were milling about. It seemed most of them hadn’t noticed their Laird riding into town with a woman in front of him on his saddle.
When Ryan turned back to her, her heart had stopped beating so hard though her face still felt warm. He got in front of her with two quick steps and opened the door. As soon as Margaret stepped through, a familiar voice rang out, wrapping around her like a blanket.
“Ye’re back already, are ye?” it said, bright as a bell.
Agnes, loaded with bolts of fine fabric, grinned at Margaret. Then, she caught sight of the Laird. Immediately, she emptied her arms onto the counter and gave Ryan a curtsy.
“Me Laird,” she said, her respect for the man obvious. It bowled Margaret over. She’d been so flippant in her interactions with him. “I wasnae expectin’ ye. Had I kent ye were comin’, I’d have cleaned up.”
“Ye daenae have to curtsey like that, Agnes,” Ryan said, not unkindly. When she stood straight, he gestured to Margaret. “Me Lady needs a complete wardrobe. And a weddin’ dress, too.”