Chapter 2
“She came here to heal me people,” Kayden snorted. “Did ye hear her? So arrogant. So dismissive.”
He paced up and down, hands flexing and then balling into fists, pausing now and then to stare out of the window. He did not know why the notion that she had come here under false assumptions upset him so much, but he was burning with it.
His hands fisted again as he recalled the contempt with which she had spat out her purpose. The bewilderment. The utter horror at the thought of marrying him.
He gritted his teeth as he suppressed a growl.
Does she think she is too good for me?
Jacob leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and shrugged. “Clearly, there has been a misunderstanding.”
Kayden shook his head, mouth turned down in a sneer. There was no misunderstanding. Just pure arrogance on her part. Such presumption.
Such a typical sassenach.
Even as he thought it, he could not help but recall the light blush that bloomed in her cheeks, the freckles that dotted her nose, the soft blonde hair neatly hidden in a cap, except for the little tendrils that had escaped.
Her doe eyes, staring at him with an innocence mixed with distaste that he could hardly bear to look at.
“She has angered ye,” Jacob noted.
Kayden gave him a look. “Of course, she angered me. Who does she think she is, coming here and lording over us as if we answer to her?”
But that was not the only reason why he was so unsettled. There was something about her that had disturbed the ground beneath his feet, and he did not like it one bit.
Jacob gave a small smile. “I daenae think she was lording over us. I think her faither failed to tell her what she truly came here for. Ye didnae help, by the way. Why were ye so rude to her?”
Kayden whirled around to glare at him. “I wasnae rude!” he hissed.
“Ye didnae even introduce yerself.”
“So what? She didnae introduce herself. She is the sassenach, with all those manners they are supposed to have. Gently bred and so on.” He waved a hand in dismissive contempt.
“She just entered the hall and started demanding things.” He released an angry breath through his nose, pacing up and down.
“And now what am I going to do with her?”
“Well, it doesnae seem like anything has changed. The agreement was between ye and the Major, was it nae?”
Kayden snorted derisively. “I am nae marrying a reluctant lassie. I am nae that desperate.”
“Have ye forgotten why ye agreed to this marriage in the first place? For peace?”
Kayden stopped pacing and let out a deep sigh. He gave Jacob a look that let the other man know his argument had hit home.
“I suppose I will have to speak with her again. Explain, since her faither failed to do so,” he said bitterly.
Jacob patted him on the shoulder consolingly before walking out of the study.
Kayden sat in his chair with a sigh, staring out the window. He could not help but recall his own father sitting in the same chair, receiving deputations from the surrounding villages, solving conflicts, or just conversing with his tenants.
He owed it to his father’s memory to do everything he could to ensure that the clan was safe. He owed it to his people as the Laird.
If he were being honest with himself, he also wanted this marriage. Her petite body, her graceful yet strong-looking hands that wanted to heal, appealed to something primal that he could not completely ignore.
“Ah, hell!” he hissed in frustration before grabbing a bottle of whisky and pouring himself a large glass.
After downing it in one go, he got to his feet and went in search of the English lassie.
Lilliana sat on her bed, vaguely appreciating the soft mattress and the luxurious furnishings. Betsy was talking a mile a minute, trying to find the silver lining in this absolute debacle, but Lilliana was not ready to participate.
How could Father do this to me?
To betroth her to a terrible barbarian was one thing, but to lie to her about why she was here was a level of cruelty she had not expected. Not even from him. Even if that barbarian happened to take her breath away, it was no excuse.
Did Cecily and Jane know?
She pushed the thought away. Her sisters would have said something if they knew. She had to believe that.
A jarring knock sounded at her door, and her eyes flicked to it. Her heart sped up, and her hands grew restless.
Is it him?
Betsy glanced at her, deposited Bramble in her lap, and went to see who was knocking. Lilliana clutched the cat to her, waiting with bated breath.
“Yes, My Laird?” Betsy said.
Lilliana shot to her feet, dropping the cat unceremoniously. She had known it was him. Something in the air changed when he was near.
She moved slowly towards the door and put her hand on Betsy’s arm. She met the Laird’s piercing steel-blue eyes over her maid’s shoulder.
“We need to talk,” he said quietly.
The way he spoke, his voice low and rich with the nearly indecipherable Highland accent, did something to her, much as she would have denied it if asked.
She nodded shakily, nudging Betsy aside to step into the corridor. “Alright,” she said, closing the door behind her. “Let us talk.”
The Laird did not say anything for a long time. He just stood there, his eyes raking over her.
She resisted the urge to fidget and stood straight, her shoulders rolled back, her chin up. He would not find her lacking in either comportment or pride. What else he thought of her looks was none of her business.
Why would I even care?
He finally cleared his threat. “I believe that we got off on the wrong foot, lass—”
“Do you even know my name?” she blurted out in frustration, and then stiffened, shocked at her own daring.
The Laird blanched, scowling at her, before taking a deep breath as he rocked on his heels.
“I ken yer name is Lilliana Ashcombe. I believe ye and I have gotten off on the wrong foot. I will start by introducing meself. I am the Laird of Clan McGill. Kayden is me name. Ye may call me Laird McGill, or Me Laird, whichever ye prefer.”
She stared at him wide-eyed, slightly embarrassed at her abruptness in interrupting him, even as she was thrown by his response and reluctant to apologize for her actions.
“Very well. You may call me Miss Ashcombe or Miss Lilliana, whichever you prefer.” She lifted her chin, giving him a challenging look.
His mouth twitched, as if he was tempted to smile, but then he was back to giving her a blank face, devoid of emotion. “Yer faither didnae tell ye why he sent ye here?”
“I have told you what I believed I was here for. I was told that your people were ill, and since I am a nurse—”
“A healer would be more appropriate to care for the ill. Nae a nurse… for the bairns.”
Lilliana flushed. She felt the heat spread through her body, and she fumbled for words to recover. “For bairns—oh golly, no. Not a nurse. A healer, then.”
“That is unfortunate. I was promised a bride. We have redcoats garrisoned nearby who make a habit of invading me lands and harassing me tenants. I cannae have that. The plan was for ye and me to get married, so the redcoats would stop harassing us. Yer faither told me that ye need a husband, and I, in turn, need a wife. The agreement has been made, and there is nay going back on it now.” He gave her an apologetic bow, as if he regretted it all.
Lilliana folded her arms, torn between an irrational feeling of rejection and anger. “But I was not consulted! I do not wish to marry you!”
“Ye realize that yer da is nae obligated to consult with ye about marriage agreements.” He cocked an eyebrow at her, as if she were acting ignorant on purpose.
She drew in an angry breath, exasperated in a way she rarely allowed herself to be by anyone. “I am not a bag of grain to be tossed about all willy-nilly. I have the right to make my own choices!”
He snorted, shaking his head. “Can ye save the theatrics for after-dinner entertainment? Our bard is leaving us soon, and we will need a replacement.”
She huffed as her annoyance grew. “Begone with you and your dinner. I do not appreciate you making light of this situation. If I am to be your wife, then I am entitled to your respect,” she challenged, moving closer to look him in the eye.
He stared back at her, unimpressed. “Aye, ye are. But will ye earn me respect, lass?”
She blinked at him, taking him in with every breath. He smelled of peat smoke and manly sweat. She could feel her nipples peak beneath her folded hands. Something about him stirred her body like no one else she’d ever encountered.
“You call yourself Laird, but are you planning on earning my respect? I see no evidence that you have given it much thought.”
He gave a small smirk, his eyes dropping to her bosom for a moment before rising to meet her eyes, as if he knew how he affected her.
“Time will tell, will it nae?”
She took a deep, shaky breath. “I suppose we are at an impasse. We had different expectations of my arrival here. Perhaps we can both get what we want. I will stay in this godforsaken land with you if you allow me to treat your villagers.”
“I didnae tell yer faither about me villagers’ troubles in order for him to send a mere chit of a lassie to treat them.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Then why did you tell him?”
“I merely wished to impress upon him the magnitude of our worries. It hasnae got anything to do with ye.”
“Well, I am here, and I wish to help. I am a trained healer, and you have none.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “I cannae let ye out on yer own to prey on me tenants. What do ye take me for?”
“I have to assume you are an intelligent man who realizes that he needs help with this illness, and I have the knowledge to help you!” she shouted.
He grunted in disagreement. “Yer English remedies arenae needed here. We have our own medicine.”
“Deny me, and you are surely signing their death warrants.”
“I will have nay more talk of this.” He waved a dismissive hand. “The subject is closed.”
Lilliana sneezed, as she usually did when she was angry.