Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
The music surged and dipped as the dancers spun across the great hall, and Ian’s gaze cut through the crowd like a blade.
He saw Arianna laughing, her hand resting in that of another man as they danced, her skirts flaring as she turned.
Something dark and violent flared in his chest, hot enough to steal his breath.
Before sense could temper him, he was already moving.
He reached them quickly, his presence forcing space between them.
“That’s enough,” Ian growled, his voice cutting through the music. He fixed the man with a hard stare. “Release her.” Before the fellow could so much as open his mouth, Ian took Arianna by the waist and pulled her free, turning her sharply into his arms.
“Och, what are ye doin’?” Arianna demanded as he drew her into the dance without pause.
Her brows knit as she looked up at him, startled and indignant.
Ian’s grip was firm, his jaw clenched. “Ye shouldnae be dancin’ with other men,” he said lowly.
She blinked at him in disbelief. “Other men?” she repeated. “Ian, that was me brother, Marcus.” Her mouth fell open slightly. “Have ye truly lost yer senses?”
The words struck him, cold and sharp, and his step faltered for half a beat.
“Yer… brother?” he said, the rage cracking just enough to let reason in.
Why does jealousy enter me thoughts at all? I daenae ken her well.
A muscle jumped in his cheek. “Then it was me own folly.” His tone hardened again almost at once. “But it doesnae change what I mean to say.”
Arianna stiffened in his arms as they continued to move with the music.
“And what is that?” she asked coolly.
Ian leaned closer, his voice rough. “Ye’re mine now.” His hold tightened. “And I’ll nae have ye dancin’ with any man but me.”
Her eyes flashed. “That’s nae how marriage works,” she snapped. “I’m nae a thing ye own.” She pushed lightly against his chest, though she did not break away. “Ye cannae keep me from me own family.”
Ian exhaled sharply through his nose. “I ken that now,” he said, grudgingly.
“And I ken I was wrong.” His gaze dropped to her mouth before lifting again.
“But there’s truth in it all the same.” His voice lowered.
“Ye are me wife, and what’s mine, I protect.
Perhaps if ye had asked me permission first if ye could dance with yer brother, I could have avoided this. ”
She scoffed, though her breath had gone a touch uneven. “Ask ye for permission? Protection? That doesnae mean chains,” she said. “Nor does it give ye the right to command me. Must yer eyes always be on me?”
Ian looked at her trembling lips and watched as she became aware of his gaze. The blush rose to her cheeks. The heat between them was undeniable, their bodies moving in close, familiar rhythm despite the argument.
As they danced, Ian became painfully aware of every place they touched.
The press of her against him stirred something dangerous; her warmth seeping through layers of cloth.
Her hand rested against his shoulder, light but steady, and the sway of her body matched his with unsettling ease.
His blood rushed, thick and insistent, and he felt his manhood harden.
He clenched his teeth, forcing his gaze away from her mouth.
The faint scent of flowers clung to her hair, maddeningly sweet.
Each turn brought her closer, the brush of her hip against his hardened staff, sending sparks along his nerves.
He had faced steel and fire without flinching, yet this threatened to undo him.
Ian tightened his hold just enough to feel her there, solid and real. Lust coiled low and fierce, urging him to claim what was already bound to him by vow. He fought it with the same discipline he used on the battlefield, slow breath by slow breath.
“Daenae think me weak,” he murmured. “It takes strength to hold back.”
Arianna looked up at him then, her blue eyes wide and searching. For a moment, the fight drained from her face, replaced by something wary and curious.
“Hold back? I daenae understand yer meanin',” she said.
He pulled her closer and growled low in her ear. “Ye will soon enough, lass.”
He moved back from her ear and stared at her blue eyes as they went wide.
“Ye agreed to wait until I am ready,” she said.
“Aye, and I am a man of honor and will keep to me word, but ye tempt me something fierce.”
“Then prove this strength ye speak of that garners yer restraint,” she said softly.
“I daenae need to prove it, lass. In time ye will see that I am made of hard mettle with yer own eyes,” he said.
The music swelled, and they turned together, locked in a dance that felt far more dangerous than any duel.
The song ended in a flourish of strings and stamping feet, and Ian felt the tension snap like a pulled cord.
Arianna tore herself from his grasp, her skirts swirling as she turned away.
He watched her cross the hall with sharp strides, her back straight and proud, until she reached her mother’s side.
Only then did he force himself to look away.
Ian returned to his seat at the high table, his mood dark as thunder.
He reached for his drink, though it did little to cool the heat still coursing through him.
The laughter and music pressed in around him, hollow and distant.
He had barely settled when a familiar presence slid into the seat beside him.
“Saints preserve us,” Flynn said cheerfully, lifting his cup. “If looks could kill, half the hall would be dead." He glanced toward Arianna and grinned. “Ye sure ken how to get along with yer lady.”
Ian shot him a glare sharp enough to draw blood. “Careful, Flynn,” he growled. “Ye’re testin’ how fond I am of ye.”
Flynn laughed, utterly unbothered. “Aye, aye, threaten me later,” he said lightly. “But ye should listen to me.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice in mock seriousness. “I managed to charm Melissa, did I nae?”
Ian snorted despite himself. “I daenae ken how,” he muttered. “Women are stubborn creatures, every last one.”
“Aye, they are,” Flynn agreed readily. “That’s half the joy.” He took a long drink. “But ye arenae meant to wrestle them like an enemy.”
Ian’s mouth twisted. “Feels simpler that way,” he said darkly.
Flynn eyed him, amusement softening into something more thoughtful.
Ian stared into his cup, his thoughts turning inward despite himself. Flynn did not bear his scars, nor the weight of that missing eye beneath leather and cloth. Women did not flinch from Flynn, nor lower their gaze in fear. Ian had seen it too often to deny; fear first, then obedience.
He clenched his jaw, unwilling to voice the truth even to his closest man.
Nae woman could truly love a beast marked like me, no matter the title I bear. Arianna might stand tall and defiant now, but fear would come soon enough.
He swallowed the thought like bitter ale.
Flynn nudged his shoulder. “Still broodin’, are ye?” he asked. “It’s yer weddin’ night, nae a funeral.”
Ian shot him a sideways look. “Feels closer to a siege,” he replied.
Flynn laughed outright. “Aye, and ye’ve survived plenty of those.”
“Most folk daenae tease me,” Ian said flatly. “Most folk ken better.”
Flynn raised his brows. “Most folk are nae me,” he said. “And most folk didnae bleed beside ye on the field.”
Ian said nothing, but he did not tell him to stop. There was no man that he trusted more than his man-at-arms.
Flynn leaned back, studying the hall. “She’s a fiery one,” he said. “Reminds me of Melissa when she’s cross.”
Ian grunted. “God help ye,” he muttered. “I married mine without ever courtin' her. She's afraid of me.”
Flynn shrugged. “Fear makes folk honest.”
Ian scoffed softly. “Fear makes folk obedient,” he said.
I ken that from me own father. He ruled with a beastly iron fist with no love for anyone, nae even his own kin.
Flynn shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “It only does that for a time.” He glanced back at Arianna. “Yer wife has too much fire to stay cowed.”
Ian’s fingers tightened around his cup. “Then she’ll learn,” he said.
Flynn met his gaze steadily. “Or ye will,” he countered, still smiling. For a long moment, Ian said nothing.
At last, Ian exhaled slowly. “If anyone else spoke to me like that,” he warned, “I’d have them flogged.”
Flynn smirked and lifted his cup.
Ian shook his head faintly, a grim shadow of a smile tugging at his mouth. The music swelled again, and for the first time that night, the hall felt almost bearable.
The feast had begun to wind down, the great hall’s laughter dimming and the last of the fiddlers’ notes fading into the rafters. Ian noticed Arianna sitting beside him, her hands folded neatly in her lap, the tension in her shoulders unmistakable.
He leaned close, his voice low, and whispered, “Follow me. It’s time we retire to our chambers.”
She blinked, startled, and nodded, rising stiffly from her seat.
As they moved through the hall, Ian could feel her stiffness in step beside him.
“Daenae fash yerself, lass,” he murmured, noting her hesitation. “I’ll no push ye tonight. The only thing we’ll do is sleep.”
Arianna’s lips pressed together in a faint frown.
“Why cannae we sleep in separate rooms?” she asked, her voice almost timid, but firm enough to strike a chord of wounded pride in him.
Ian’s brow furrowed. “Even if we daenae do aught, the castle must believe we did,” he said quietly. “Else they’ll think the marriage unfulfilled until it’s consummated.”
Ian reached for her hand and lifted it high, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. The crowd, still lingering, let out a cheer, catching the ritual in motion. He led her forward, their hands entwined, a procession of watching clanfolk following behind in respect and tradition as they cheered them on.
As they walked, Ian’s mind churned with unease.
Her stiffness at the mention of consummation struck him deeper than he cared to admit.
She finds me repulsive. Me scars and me wounded eye make me repellent in her sight.
It was a sharp reminder that desire and fear often walked hand in hand.
They reached the bedchamber door at last, the torchlight flickering across its carved wood. Ian paused and raised his voice, boisterous and commanding, the words meant for all to hear.
“By this union, the McDonald and McGuire clans stand united! May our houses grow strong and our bloodlines prosper!” He bent slightly, picked Arianna up, and carried her over the threshold.
The door closed behind them with a solid thud, shutting out the murmur of the procession in the hall.
Outside, the clamor of clanfolk resumed, as they returned to the great hall once more.
Inside, the weight of the night pressed upon them, quiet and tense, as the reality of their union settled in the shadowed chamber.
Ian set Arianna down gently, his mind still spinning from the spectacle and the fire of her restrained defiance.
He watched her, heart tight in his chest, and saw her there like a frightened rabbit caught in a cage. Every glance, every small movement, was wary and tense. Her hands trembled slightly at her sides, and her wide blue eyes darted to him and away again.
“Ye neednae look at me with fear,” he said quietly, voice low but firm. “I’ll keep me word. I’ll nae touch ye tonight.”
Arianna’s chest rose and fell rapidly, her lips parting slightly as she swallowed. “I want… I want to believe ye’re trustworthy,” she murmured, her voice trembling almost as much as her hands.
Ian exhaled slowly, letting some of the tension ease from his shoulders. He knelt near the fireplace, rolling out a small bedroll, the flicker of flames casting long shadows across his scarred face. “Ye should get ready for bed,” he said, without meeting her eyes, forcing his voice steady.
Arianna hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor.
“I… I cannot do that alone,” she admitted softly.
Ian’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. Her hands lifted slowly, pointing behind her to the laces down the back of her gown. Ian inhaled sharply, the firelight reflecting in his one good eye as his pulse quickened.
“Ye’ve no idea what ye’re askin’,” he muttered, voice husky, stepping closer.
Carefully, he reached for the laces, his fingers brushing her spine. The touch made his body tense with desire, yet he forced himself to breathe and restrain every urge to press closer, to taste the warmth of her skin. To kiss her milky neck.
“Ye make me play with fire,” he whispered against her neck.
Arianna’s breath hitched, and Ian felt the heat in his chest surge, but he did not yield.
“I could call the maid,” she said.
“Nay,” he said abruptly. I will do me duty, as yer husband, if it simply to undress ye and nothing more.
Inch by inch, he loosened the gown, sliding it from her shoulders, all the while keeping his gaze averted, focusing on his hands.
He guided the gown down over her arms and past her waist, setting it aside, leaving her standing before him in the thin, pale chemise beneath. The faint scent of flowers clinging to her. He swallowed, jaw tight, forcing his pulse to steady.
“Ye… ye need to get under the covers,” he said finally, voice low, almost strangled with restraint. “Or I may go back on me word.”
Arianna met his gaze, startled, then nodded, shivering slightly as she moved toward the bed.
Ian lowered himself onto the floor laying on the bedroll, letting frustration and desire battle in silence.
He could hear her soft sigh as she slipped beneath the covers, and fought every instinct to draw her into his arms. His hands rested at his sides, fingers curled against the rough wool of the bedroll, as he stared at the ceiling, muscles taut.
Desire roared through him, unrelieved, restless, and frustrated, consumed by the need he dared not act upon.
Arianna’s voice came softly from beneath the covers, tentative and unsure. “Ian… what will we tell them in the mornin’?” she asked, her blue eyes wide in the firelight.
Ian lifted his head slightly, one brow arched, his expression dark yet controlled. “We’ll lie,” he said bluntly, his tone flat but firm.
Her mouth parted slightly. “Lie?” she echoed, a faint flush creeping up her cheeks.
Ian’s gaze met hers, steady and unwavering. “Aye. We’ll say we consummated the marriage, as is expected. ’Tis what they’ll want to hear.”
He leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And ye swear to me, nae a word to anyone. Nae a soul.”
Arianna nodded, biting her lip. “I swear,” she murmured, and the tension between them eased slightly. For the first time that night, Ian allowed a shadow of relief to cross his face, knowing they would face the morning as one, bound in secret.