Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ian found his gaze drifting to Arianna more often than he intended, noting the calm line of her mouth and the way the wind teased loose strands of her hair. She did not sigh or complain, nor did she fill the quiet with needless chatter. Her stillness pleased him more than he cared to admit.
He wondered if she always carried herself so, or if the silence was armor. The thought made him frown, though his eyes softened when she shifted in the saddle and glanced toward the hills. She looked as though she belonged to the land already. Ian told himself to stop thinking such foolish things.
They entered the dirt roads that wound between stone cottages, their thatched roofs darkened by age and smoke. Chickens scattered at the sound of hooves, and a pair of children paused mid-game to stare. The place smelled of earth, peat, and river water.
She studied the cottages and the people moving about their tasks. “Tell me of Clan McGuire,” she said quietly, her voice careful. “And of this place.”
Ian drew a breath, surprised by the question and the way she asked it.
“We live by fishin’ and farmin’,” he said. “The river gives us trout and shellfish enough to trade. The fields keep us fed, even in lean years.”
Arianna nodded, attentive. “It seems a good life,” she said.
“It’s honest,” he replied. “That’s more than many can say.” He continued, warming to the telling. “We also grow herbs, more than most clans.”
Arianna turned to him, curious. “Herbs?” she echoed.
“Aye,” he said. “Medicinal ones, taught to us by healers long before me time.” His voice held a note of pride despite himself. “They’ve brought coin and favor from places far beyond these hills. For there's nae much that people will nae trade to save a life.”
“That was clever,” she said.
Ian glanced at her. “It was necessary,” he answered. “Clever just happened to come with it.”
She smiled then, open and brief.
They rode deeper into the village, villagers bowing or nodding as they passed.
Arianna lowered her voice. “They seem to respect ye.”
Ian replied, “They expect me to earn it.” The words were simple, but he meant them.
She considered that. “I hope I can do the same,” she said.
Ian looked ahead, then back to her. “Give them kindness,” he said. “They’ll give ye loyalty.” As the road narrowed, he felt, for the first time, that perhaps she truly wished to understand his world.
They stopped in front of the seamstress's cottage and dismounted.
Ian felt at once the press of warmth and color.
Bolts of cloth were stacked to the rafters, ribbons and cords hung from pegs, and the air smelled of wool, dye, and beeswax.
Sunlight streamed through a small window, catching motes of dust that danced as the door closed behind them.
The place felt busy even in stillness, as though it hummed with half-finished dreams.
Ian watched Arianna pause just inside, her eyes widening as she took it all in.
Her hands clasped together, and she turned slowly, as if afraid to touch anything lest it all tumble down.
He recognized that look too well, the one folk wore when choice became a burden.
It stirred something protective in him before he could stop it.
The seamstress bustled forward at once, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Me laird,” she bowed. “Och, this must be the new Lady McGuire,” the woman said brightly.
Arianna dipped her head. “Aye,” she replied, sounding uncertain.
The questions came fast as arrows. “What colors do ye fancy, me lady, aside from the clan green and silver?” the seamstress asked. “Do ye like heavier wool for winter, or softer linsey-woolsey?” She barely paused for breath. “And for summer, do ye prefer lighter sleeves, or long sleeves?”
Ian watched Arianna blink, clearly overwhelmed. “I… I daenae ken,” she said softly. She glanced back at Ian as though seeking land after deep water. “Whatever ye feel is best,” she added, her voice nearly lost in the rush.
Ian stepped forward before the seamstress could barrel on. “Enough,” he said, not unkindly but firm. The woman stilled at once, eyes flicking to him. He gestured toward a deep blue cloak trimmed with fur. “That one will serve her well for winter.”
He moved along the racks, his confidence surprising even himself.
“This ridin' skirt,” he said, tapping sturdy fabric, “it’s good for long days in the saddle.” He lifted a lighter gown between two fingers.
“And this for hot summers, when the sun’s high and the air’s thick.
” He paused, then added, “She’ll need somethin' heavier still for ice and snow.”
The seamstress nodded rapidly, already making notes. “Aye, aye, I see it now,” she murmured.
Ian felt the weight of her gaze and pretended not to notice as Arianna's shoulders dropped in relief.
When the seamstress turned away to gather cloth, Arianna leaned closer to him. “Thank ye,” she whispered, her voice warm with gratitude. “I’m grateful I daenae have to answer another question.”
Ian huffed a quiet sound that might have been a laugh. “Anytime,” he said gruffly, though inside he thought it no hardship at all.
Once they left the seamstress, Ian angled them toward the tavern for a bite and a drink before the long ride back. The building squatted at the edge of the village, smoke curling from its chimney, with open fields stretching wide behind it.
He was mid-sentence about ale when Arianna let out a sharp squeak. Before he understood why, she bolted toward the grass.
Ian cursed and took off after her, heart slamming as his hand went instinctively to the dirk at his belt.
“Arianna, come back!” he shouted, scanning the field for movement. He imagined a snake, a stray dog, something lurking low. When he reached her, breathing hard, he skidded to a stop in disbelief.
Arianna was crouched in the grass, laughing softly, a small brown bunny cradled against her chest.
“Look at it,” she murmured, eyes bright as she stroked its ears.
Ian stared, torn between relief and irritation. “Ye near gave me a panic for a rabbit,” he snapped, though his voice had lost its edge.
She looked up at him, clutching the bunny closer. “Can I keep it?” she asked, hopeful as a child.
Ian crossed his arms. “Nay,” he said flatly.
Her chin lifted at once. “That’s not fair, I’d feel more at home with it there,” she shot back, blue eyes flashing.
He stepped closer, looming without meaning to, his shadow falling over her.
“It’s a wild thing,” he said low, “and castle McGuire isnae a nursery.”
Arianna rose to her feet, still holding the bunny, and met his glare without flinching. “I daenae understand why ye will nae let me have this,” she fired back, her voice shaking with more than temper.
The air between them grew tight, charged, his frustration tangling with something darker and hotter. He noticed how close she was, how the wind lifted strands of her hair, how fiercely she held her ground.
“Ye argue like ye mean to win,” he muttered.
“Aye,” she said, breath quick, “and ye daenae like it when I do.”
The bunny wriggled free of Arianna’s arms and hopped a short distance away, nose twitching as it grazed on the sweet grass.
Ian barely noticed the creature after that, for his attention had fixed itself entirely on her.
She stood with her hands planted on her hips, breath still uneven from their argument, lips parted as if she meant to say something sharp and had forgotten the words.
The sight of her like that struck him low and hard.
He had known she was stubborn, but seeing her defiance burn so bright in the open field stirred something fierce inside him.
His gaze traced the tremble of her lips, the rise and fall of her bosom beneath the fitted bodice, the strength in her stance as she faced him without fear.
Heat coiled in his gut, hot and unwelcome, dragging his thoughts to places he had sworn to keep locked away.
Desire surged, raw and demanding, and it took all his will not to seize her at once.
“I warned ye,” he said roughly, stepping into her space, his voice low and edged, “that yer feistiness would get ye into trouble.”
Before she could retort, before sense could return, he bent and claimed her mouth. The kiss was meant to be a lesson, sharp and brief, but the moment his lips touched hers, something shifted. Instead of pulling away, she softened with a quiet sound, her body yielding against his.
The shock of it nearly stole his breath.
Her mouth warmed beneath his, pliant and uncertain yet eager, and the faint taste of her made his head spin.
He slid an arm around her without thinking, drawing her closer, feeling the press of her chest against his and the heat of her through layers of wool and linen.
The world narrowed to the feel of her in his arms, to the way she fit far too well.
Her hands fisted in his tunic, not pushing him away but holding on, and the knowledge sent fire racing through him.
His scars, his missing eye, the walls he kept built high, all seemed to vanish beneath the force of want.
He kissed her deeper, slower, savoring the softness of her mouth and the quiet gasp she gave him.
Blood roared in his ears, and for one wild heartbeat, he forgot every promise he had made.
With a harsh breath, Ian tore himself away. He stepped back as if burned, chest heaving, fists clenched at his sides.
She feels like heaven itself in me arms. If I daenae stop it now, I may never be able to. She has me under her spell?
“This ends now,” he said hoarsely, forcing steel back into his voice. “I’m nae touching ye again until our agreement is complete.”
Arianna stared at him, eyes dark and shining, her lips swollen from his, with confusion on her face. “I…Ian, what…?”