Chapter 19
At that moment, all the time she had spent in Scotland seemed like a dream, and she was jolted back to an ugly reality she was unwilling to accept.
Forced betrothal.
Lord Westall.
Father.
She could feel the fear coming, chilling her hands, making them clammy. She would rather die than go back to that. The Highlands might not be as refined as London, but it was where she found peace, and she could never opt for chaos ever again.
“Where is he?” she asked quietly, her eyes trained on a point past Ruaridh’s shoulder.
“Outside the stables. He just arrived in a hired coach.”
She nodded quietly.
Her father was not the enemy. By all accounts, he was a good father who had never raised his voice to her or harmed her. The problem was what he represented—a part of her past she did not wish to ever be trapped in again.
“I will be with ye,” Ruaridh murmured, tilting her chin up so that she could not avoid his dark gaze.
She did not realize that he had moved so close while her mind wandered.
“I willnae let anything bad happen to ye,” he added, with a tender look in his eyes.
At that moment, she truly believed that he could protect her from every danger.
“Papa is not dangerous,” she said with an awkward laugh, disengaging from his embrace to look around.
She had forgotten that they were not alone, but now the others were nowhere to be seen. They must have seen how lost they were in each other and decided to give them the room.
“Aye, he isnae. Except that that former fiancé of yers can use him to get what he wants. That is what makes him dangerous.”
“Papa is not that gullible,” she muttered.
Ruaridh just tilted his head and looked at her in a way that told her he did not believe her. And frankly, she did not believe herself either. Her father had shown just how gullible he could be several times over.
“Let us nae keep him waiting,” she said, avoiding his gaze as she headed out of the castle, with him hot on her heels.
Looks like she was going to have the protection whether she wanted it or not, and she was secretly grateful for it.
Her father, when she saw him, looked far older than the last time she had seen him. His hair was now a shock of grey, and his brow was lined by several deep wrinkles. His skin was weathered, as if he had spent more time outdoors than usual.
He looked terrible.
The little girl in her, the one who had enjoyed bouncing on his knee, pitied him. He might have all but sold her to Lord Westall, but he was still the father who had loved her.
“Good morning, Papa,” she greeted.
He turned at the sound of her voice. “Vi!”
He drew her into a hug, looking her over frantically like he had expected to find her injured.
“You look well,” he remarked, looking in Ruaridh’s direction with suspicion.
The unspoken accusation was there. As a typical English gentleman, he thought himself more civilized than the brutish Scots.
It was ironic that what they considered civilization was simply elaborate dresses, beautiful houses, and expensive events.
But somewhere in their eagerness to look perfect outwardly, they had lost human decency to the point that it became normal for them to think of relationships like transactions—a bride for a title, currency before family.
Useless if they could not buy power in their fickle society.
They thought that meant they were sophisticated.
Somehow, being cold and calculating was now exalted over being human.
The Highlands were different. Most of them had no qualms about airing out their grievances.
Everyone worked for a living and lived a communal life.
It was very far from glamorous, at least not in the way the English thought of the world, but life felt purposeful here, better than a performance. It was real and peaceful.
Violet knew there was no way her papa would understand if she explained. He was too much of an Englishman to do so. So she answered simply, “I am fine, Papa. What brings you here?”
Her father looked in Ruaridh’s direction again, like he expected him to attack.
She did not blame him; Ruaridh definitely looked dangerous.
Having just returned from an early morning sparring session, he was shirtless.
And now he crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps defined and glistening with sweat, legs apart, watching her father with razor-sharp attention.
While that posture was distracting for her, it was having a different effect on her father. He was intimidated.
Stepping closer to her, he pitched his voice lower. “You do not have to suffer here any longer. I have come to take you home.” His triumphant tone was that of one who thought himself a hero who had come to save a damsel in distress.
Except there was no damsel in distress, and even if she was, there were several people in the castle who would play the role better than her.
“I am not suffering, Papa. I wish to stay here. I love it here,” she said sweetly, enjoying the sight of his excitement morphing into shock.
“You cannot mean that,” he spluttered, outrage turning his face a reddish hue.
He was growing overset. He whipped his head in Ruaridh’s direction and said in a low whisper, “Do not tell me you are doing this because of the Laird. Even barbarians do not have the right to kidnap another’s bride.
The law is against it. I can take you home, where I would be able to protect you. ”
“Protect me?” Violet heard herself snap.
“You had the chance to do that, and you did not, and now you want to take me back to London? Did you forget that I am ruined to the ton? How do you intend to protect me from their judgment when you could not protect me from Lord Westall, even though I told you over and over that I did not want to marry him?”
“I-I was only thinking about you. He is a man of means and connections. I wanted to be sure that you would be well settled if I were no more.”
“You do not care if I was happy?”
He did not answer. He just watched her with a helpless expression.
“Well, what happens now? You know I cannot return to England. I am already ruined. Whatever prospects I had are now ruined, so it is useless to go back there.”
“Not necessarily,” he said eagerly, regaining his spark. “Lord Westall promises to make sure the ton will not gossip about you.”
“How does he expect to do that? He might be powerful, but not enough to stop people from talking.”
“He hopes to tell them you went on a trip to Scotland before your nuptials.”
“Then how does he hope to explain the squabble at the church?”
“A theatre drama.”
Except that a church was not a theatre.
Her father was either very stupid or a mad genius, and in this moment, he looked more like the former.
At that moment, the reason he had gone through the rigors of travel became clearer. It was not because he missed his only daughter. It was simple; he came to conduct a campaign that would see her back in Lord Westall’s arms.
Violet would like to say she was surprised, but she had always known that her father was a selfish coward who cared about himself first before any other person.
“What did he promise you?” she asked quietly, curling her right hand into a fist, resisting the urge to give in to rage at him.
“I do not know what you mean,” he said, avoiding her gaze.
He is definitely hiding something
“What did he promise you, Papa?” she pressed, her tone steely.
He got the message, eventually.
“The gentlemen were giving me the cut direct and not letting me back into clubs. No invites to balls, too.”
“He promised you that you would get your access back,” she muttered.
He did not need to confirm it. She knew it was true.
It just stung that her own father was willing to throw her to the dogs because he could not sit through boredom and the loss of his access to high society.
“I cannot marry him,” she murmured.
“Wait, Vi—”
“I cannot marry him.”
“Why?”
“I am marrying Laird McLeod.”
“What? You cannot mean that.”
“I do.”
He was watching her with open shock, like he could not believe what he was hearing.
“Won’t you long for home? It cannot be easy to adjust to your new living conditions.”
“I am happy here, Papa,” she said simply. “I love the Highlands.”
He was quiet now, watching her closely. He must have seen something in her eyes because in the next moment, his posture relaxed and his tone mellowed.
“If that is so, I will leave you to your choice, even though I am not sure about having you very far away from me in a strange land.”
“It is not so strange anymore, Papa,” she assured him with a smile.
“If you are sure of your decision, then you have my blessing.” He tilted his head up to look at the sky, then turned to Ruaridh, gaze earnest. “While the day is still early, London is still days away. Can I find a place to rest in your castle till tomorrow morning, my Laird?”
“It is nay problem. Ye can stay as long as ye wish. Violet’s family is mine, too,” Ruaridh replied. “Ye can go to the castle. Tell anyone ye meet that I sent ye. They will prepare a room for ye.”
“Thank you, my Lord,” her father said, picking up his bag from where it sat at his feet and hurrying towards the castle before Violet could correct him. It seemed he was in a hurry to secure a room before Ruaridh decided to change his mind.
Ruaridh was decisive, unlikely to change his mind when he had made it up, but her papa did not know that.
“Thank you for letting my father stay,” she murmured when her father was out of earshot.
“It isnae something to worry about,” Ruaridh said distractedly, as if he had heavier matters weighing on his mind. “He is yer family, so that makes him mine as well.”
Violet simply nodded, letting the silence fall over them.
His eyes watched her father go as though he worried for him, and she smiled at his thoughtfulness, though the dark frown marring his face made her curious.
“Are you well, Ruaridh?” she asked with concern.
“Aye, I am well,” he answered. “Why do ye ask?”
“You’re watching my father intensely,” she answered. “Is something wrong? Does it bother you to—”
“Yer da can stay here for as long as he wants,” he interrupted. “ He is to be me faither-in-law, after all. He can stay and enjoy the games. It would be great if he could attend our wedding at the end of the games.”
She was about to ask him what had brought about the change in his demeanor when he nodded and walked away.
For several minutes after he left, she stood there wondering what exactly had happened. If his coldness was a result of him rethinking his decision.
For the umpteen time, she wondered what exactly the problem was.
She wondered what had happened to the lover who had spent the better part of the last month trying to seduce her into changing her mind so they could get married soon.
This version was cold and severe and totally lacking that charm.
It was as if he were rethinking his decision, and she did not like it one bit.