Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Ye’re starin’ again,” Arianna muttered.
He gave a low huff of amusement. “Am I?” he asked, voice rough as gravel.
Arianna stood beside Ian in the stable. Her gaze moved over the hard planes of his face, softening the scars that had once frightened her. She hated that she noticed how broad his shoulders were beneath his plaid. Worse still, she hated how her body warmed at the sight of him.
“Aye, ye are,” she said, lifting her chin though her heart thudded. “It’s nae polite.”
He stepped closer, boots crunching against the dirt, and her breath caught. “Polite’s the last thing on me mind when I look at ye,” he replied softly.
Her stomach fluttered treacherously, and she despised the weakness. She had meant to stay angry, to guard herself like a fortress. Yet standing there near him she felt thin and brittle. Attraction, however, felt solid and undeniable.
“I ken ye are mad about what happened in the council. But I want ye to kent that if I’d seen ye afore the contract was found,” he said, voice steady but low, “I’d have wanted ye still.”
The words settled heavily between them. Arianna blinked, startled by their sincerity.
“Is that so?” she asked before she could stop herself. Doubt edged the single word. She searched his face for mockery and found none. He stepped even closer, close enough that she could feel the heat of him through her gown.
“Ye daenae ken what ye do to me,” he murmured. “I cannae get the image of ye in that bath out of me mind.”
The admission made her cheeks burn hot as flame. Her fingers tightened in the folds of her skirt.
“Ian,” she whispered, scandalized and breathless at once. He lifted a hand as though to touch her cheek, then let it hover in the air. For a heartbeat, she thought he would kiss her. Instead, he stepped back abruptly.
“Come,” he said gruffly, gesturing toward the stacked wood near the stable wall. “If ye’re still angry about the council, ye can take it out on that.”
She stared at the pile, confused. “I daenae ken how to chop wood,” she admitted.
He arched a brow. “Then I’ll show ye.” The simple promise sent another ripple of warmth through her. She followed him, uncertain whether the greater danger lay in the axe or the man.
He picked up the axe and placed it in her hands. The weight surprised her, pulling her arms downward.
“Grip it firm,” he instructed, stepping behind her. His chest brushed her back as he adjusted her stance.
Her breath hitched at the contact.
“Like this?” she asked, trying to focus on the task. His hands closed over hers, large and warm, guiding her fingers into place. “Aye, just so,” he murmured near her ear.
The closeness stole her composure more surely than any kiss might have. She felt every inch of him aligned with her, solid and protective. “Ye’re tremblin’,” he noted quietly.
“I am nae,” she lied.
He shifted her feet apart with a gentle nudge of his boot. “Balance, Arianna,” he said. “Let the strength come from yer shoulders.”
She swallowed as his hands slid to her waist, steadying her.
“Ye daenae make this easy,” she muttered.
“It’s wood we’re choppin’, lass, nae virtue.”
Her face flamed deeper at that.
“Lift it high,” he instructed, guiding her arms upward. The stretch arched her back against him. She felt the hard line of his body and nearly forgot to breathe.
“Now bring it down swift,” he said. Together they swung the axe. It struck the log with a sharp crack, splitting it cleanly.
The force jolted through her arms, but his hands kept her steady. “There,” he said, pride threading his voice. “Ye did it.”
She laughed breathlessly, surprised by her own delight.
“I had help,” she said.
He leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of her ear without quite touching. “We’ll call it teamwork.”
She turned her head slightly, and their faces hovered inches apart. “Ye’re enjoyin’ this far too much,” she accused softly.
She watched the corner of his mouth tug into a mischievous smirk.
“Again,” he urged, resetting the log. She raised the axe, and he guided her once more, slower this time. His touch lingered, not necessary but deliberate.
“Ye’re strong,” he said against her hair. “Stronger than ye think.” The praise warmed her more than the exertion. She felt seen in a way she had not expected.
When the axe fell again, the wood split neatly. She gasped in triumph, turning to him with shining eyes. He looked at her as though she was the only thing in the world worth seeing.
“Still angry?” he asked quietly. She considered the question honestly.
“Less so,” she admitted.
“Good,” he said, brushing a stray curl from her face. His fingers lingered against her skin, rough yet gentle. “I’d rather see that fire turned toward me than against me.”
Her heart pounded at the boldness of that statement. “Ye may regret sayin’ that,” she warned. His eyes darkened, not with menace but with desire carefully leashed. “I doubt it,” he replied.
They stood in silence for a moment, the split logs at their feet evidence of shared effort. The tension between them was no longer sharp with anger but thick with promise. Ian stepped back. She looked at him, trying to hide her disappointment at the sudden space between them.
Arianna realized, with a flutter both frightening and sweet, that she wanted to know what would happen if he ever stopped stepping back.
The next evening, Arianna walked the long stone corridors of Castle McGuire. Torches flickered along the walls, casting wavering shadows that seemed to dance with her thoughts.
I wonder what Ian will teach me next?
She found herself smiling despite her efforts not to, recalling the solid weight of the axe in her hands and the satisfying crack of splitting wood. She had not expected such simple labor to bring her joy, nor had she expected Ian to stand behind her with patience instead of mockery.
It startled her still, that he had not treated her as ornamental or weak.
He had corrected her stance, praised her strength, and never once laughed when she faltered.
No one beyond her father had ever thought to teach her such things.
The memory warmed her far more deeply than the fire she had helped build.
At least here, I am not useless.
She paused outside the solar, smoothing her gown and schooling her features. When she entered, she found Ian leaning against the mantle, a glass of whisky loose in his large hand.
“Arianna,” he nodded his head in greeting.
Firelight gilded the hard lines of his body, catching in his dark hair and glinting faintly off the leather patch that covered one eye.
“Me Laird,” she said returning the greeting.
Her gaze roamed before she could stop it.
His shoulders were broad enough to block the hearth, his chest powerful beneath his shirt, scars carving pale lines across his visible skin.
His beard was thick and dark, his hair long and black as midnight, and the single brown eye that watched her burned with quiet intensity.
He looked every inch the beast the council feared, menacing, scarred, formidable, and yet her pulse fluttered with unmistakable desire.
“Ye look well this evenin’, lass,” he said, pushing away from the mantle.
She dipped her chin slightly. “Thank ye… as do ye.”
A corner of his mouth lifted, and he crossed the room in a few long strides. He pulled out a chair for her at the heavy oak table, the gesture unexpectedly courtly for a man so rough-edged.
“Sit,” he said.
“Ye are full of surprises, me Laird,” she murmured as she lowered herself into the chair.
“Daenae spread that rumor,” he replied dryly. “I’ve a reputation to uphold.”
Before she could answer, servants entered in a quiet procession, bearing trenchers and steaming platters.
The rich scent of roasted venison filled the air, seasoned with rosemary and garlic.
There were bowls of buttery neeps and mashed turnips, thick slices of oat bannocks still warm from the hearth, and a hearty stew of barley and root vegetables simmered in broth.
A silver dish held smoked salmon caught from the nearby river, alongside wedges of sharp crowdie cheese.
A platter of roasted grouse rested near the center, its skin crisp and golden.
A flagon of ale was placed beside Ian’s whisky, and a small dish of honeyed berries offered a sweet finish to the meal.
Ian waited until the servants withdrew before lifting his cup. “How are ye settlin’ in at Castle McGuire?” he asked, watching her closely.
She cut into the venison, considering her answer. “’Tis a beautiful place,” she said softly. “The walls feel strong… safe. But I do miss me family.”
His expression softened, though it did not lessen his severity. “They may visit ye if ye please,” he said. “The gates are open to yer kin.”
Her eyes lifted to his, surprised. “Truly?”
“Aye,” he replied simply.
“Thank ye, Ian,” she said, sincerity warming her tone.
They ate in quiet for a few moments, the crackle of the fire filling the space between them. She felt his gaze more than once and pretended not to notice. The air felt thicker than the stew, heavy with unspoken thoughts.
“Are yer demands bein’ met?” he asked suddenly.
She looked up, confused. “What demands?”
He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “Yer demand that we get to ken each other afore consummatin’ this marriage.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she nearly dropped her fork. “Aye,” she said carefully. “I have come to ken ye a little better. But ye are still… somewhat a stranger to me.”
He huffed, not offended but thoughtful. “Fair enough,” he said. “Then we shall continue remedyin’ that.”
“Oh?” she asked, heart beating faster.
“Be at the entrance hall early in the mornin’,” he said, taking a long swallow of ale. “We’ll have our second outing.”
She blinked. “Second? And where are we goin’?”
“That,” he said, standing from the table, “is a surprise.”
“I daenae like surprises,” she called after him lightly.