Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
The blue chamber was far grander than anything Liliane had expected.
Tapestries depicting Highland landscapes covered the stone walls, a massive four-poster bed dominated one corner, and a copper tub sat steaming near the hearth.
Agnes had left food on a small table and promised to return with proper clothing.
Liliane stood at the window, staring out at the unfamiliar landscape. Somewhere beyond those walls, Nessa was alone with their father. Safe for now, perhaps, but for how long?
"Miss Liliane?"
She spun at the sound of voices. Three young women swept into the chamber, their faces bright with curiosity. They wore fine gowns in rich colors, their hair elaborately dressed, and moved with the easy confidence of women who'd never known fear in their own home.
"Forgive the intrusion," one of them said, dropping a small curtsy. "I'm Alyson MacDonald. These are me sisters, Sofia and Catherine."
"We heard Tòrr had brought home a bride," Catherine added, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She seemed the youngest, perhaps twenty, with dark hair and her brother's green eyes. "We had tae meet ye."
Sofia, who appeared to be in her early twenties, moved to the wardrobe and began laying out gowns. "Agnes said ye needed proper clothin’. We've brought several gowns and dresses fer ye tae choose from."
"That's... very kind." Liliane's voice came out smaller than she'd intended.
"Nonsense." Alyson settled into a chair by the fire, gesturing for Liliane to sit. "We're tae be sisters soon. Of course we'll help ye."
Sisters.
The word made Liliane's chest tighten with longing for Nessa.
"Come, sit," Sofia urged, her voice gentle. "Ye must be exhausted from yer journey."
Reluctantly, Liliane took the offered seat. Catherine immediately perched on the arm of her chair while Alyson poured tea from the service Agnes had left.
"So," Catherine said eagerly, "how did ye meet our braither? He's been so secretive about everythin’."
Liliane's hands trembled as she accepted the teacup. "Well, we met at..."
"Was it romantic?" Catherine pressed. "Did he sweep ye off yer feet? Tòrr can be terribly serious, but he has his moments."
"Catherine, let the lass breathe," Alyson chided, though her own curiosity was evident in her expression. "Fergive me sister. She reads too many romances."
"I just want tae ken how he convinced a lass as bonny as her tae marry him so quickly," Catherine defended.
The question hung in the air. Liliane stared into her tea, searching for words that wouldn't be a complete lie but wouldn't destroy their obvious affection for their brother.
“It was… sudden,” she managed finally.
“Sudden can be romantic,” Sofia offered kindly. “Sometimes the heart knows afore the mind can catch up.”
If only that were true. Liliane’s heart knew only panic and desperation.
“Where are ye from?” Alyson asked. “Yer accent sounds familiar, but I cannae place it.”
“Foulis. Near Inverness.”
“Foulis?” Catherine’s eyes widened. “But that’s Munro territory. Are ye his daughter?”
“Aye.” The word came out sharp. “I’m Roderick Munro’s daughter.”
Silence fell over the room. The sisters exchanged glances, and Liliane saw comprehension dawn in their faces. They knew about the feud between their clans, knew her father had been no friend to the MacDonalds.
“Well,” Alyson said briskly, breaking the tension. “That explains the hasty weddin’. Tòrr never daes anythin’ by half measures.”
“He mentioned ye’d be wed tomorrow,” Sofia added gently. “Are ye… pleased with the arrangement?”
Liliane wanted to scream that she wasn’t pleased, that this was a nightmare, that she’d been sold like livestock and dragged there against her will. But those women spoke of Tòrr with such obvious love and respect, how could she destroy their image of him?
And beneath the fear and anger, a quieter ache settled in her chest—shame. Not because of Tòrr, but because of the man who’d put her on that platform in the first place. Her father had done that. Her father had made her a prize to be won. Whatever else Tòrr was, he hadn’t been the one to sell her.
"I'm... adjustin’," she said instead.
"That's understandable." Alyson's voice held surprising sympathy. "Marriages between our families are complicated at best. But Tòrr is a good man, truly. He'll treat ye well."
Will he?
"He's fiercely protective of those he cares about," Sofia continued. "Sometimes too much so. Our braithers can be... overwhelmin’ in their certainty."
"That's one word fer it," Catherine muttered, earning a sharp look from Alyson.
"What Catherine means," Alyson said diplomatically, "is that our braithers sometimes forget tae explain themselves. They're so used tae makin’ decisions fer the clan that they forget nae everyone is accustomed tae their methods."
"Methods," Liliane repeated hollowly.
"Aye. But beneath all the gruffness, Tòrr has a kind heart. He's raised us since our parents died, kept the clan together through troubles that would have broken lesser men." Alyson's voice softened with affection. "Whatever brought ye here, ken that he'll protect ye with his life."
The words should have comforted her. Instead, they only highlighted how little those women knew about how she'd come to be there.
She set down her teacup before her shaking hands could betray her. "I should... I need tae freshen up before supper."
"Of course." Alyson stood gracefully. "We'll leave ye tae rest. But if ye need anythin’, anythin’ at all, please dinnae hesitate tae ask."
"The blue gown will suit ye beautifully," Sofia said, indicating a dress of deep sapphire silk. "It'll bring out yer eyes."
After they left, their cheerful voices fading down the corridor, Liliane sank onto the bed and pressed her hands to her face.
Their kindness made everything worse. If they'd been cruel or suspicious, she could have justified her hatred of that place.
But they welcomed her with open arms, offered friendship without condition.
It would be so easy to stay. To accept that comfortable chamber, those kind women, the protection of a powerful clan. To let Tòrr MacDonald marry her and try to make the best of an impossible situation.
But what about Nessa? Sweet, innocent Nessa who trusted Liliane to protect her, who had no one else.
If their father couldn’t reclaim Liliane, he’d turn to Nessa instead, sell her off to a laird aligned with the Pact without a second thought.
And Nessa was too young, too gentle to survive what Liliane had endured.
She had to try again. Had to find a way out of that castle and back to Foulis before the wedding made escape impossible.
Liliane moved to the door and pressed her ear against it, listening. No sound of guards, no footsteps in the corridor. Apparently, Tòrr trusted his castle walls to keep her contained.
Foolish man.
She eased the door open and peered out. The corridor stretched empty in both directions, lit by torches in iron brackets. Somewhere below, she could hear voices and the clatter of the evening meal being prepared.
Heart hammering, she slipped into the hallway and pressed herself against the wall, moving toward what she hoped was a servants' stair. If she could reach the kitchens, perhaps find a door that led to the courtyard...
Her pulse roared in her ears as she crept forward. Every shadow seemed to hide a guard, every sound a threat.
She paused at a corner to catch her breath, leaning against a door for support. The wood gave way beneath her weight with a soft click.
"Nay." The word barely left her lips before she was stumbling forward, her balance lost.
She caught herself on the doorframe, her breath coming in short gasps. Then she looked up and froze.
Tòrr MacDonald sat in a copper tub in the center of what must have been his private chambers, water sluicing down his shoulders and chest as he turned to face her. Steam rose around him, and for a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
"I—" Her voice failed completely. Heat flooded her face as she spun around, presenting him with her back. "I'm so sorry, I didnae mean tae come in, the door wasnae locked."
"Give me a moment." His voice held an edge of amusement that made her want to sink through the floor.
She heard water splashing, the sound of him rising from the tub.
Dinnae look. Dinnae turn around.
"Ye can turn around now, lass. I'm decent. Mostly."
Liliane turned slowly, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the floor. But peripheral vision was a traitor, and she couldn't help noticing his bare feet, the hem of trousers hastily pulled on, water still dripping down.
God, this man is handsome…
Her gaze snapped up to his face, carefully avoiding everything in between. "I apologize fer the intrusion. The door wasnae latched properly."
"What are ye daein’ in this part of the castle?"
"I was..." She couldn't very well admit she'd been trying to escape. "I was lookin’ fer the kitchens. Tae get somethin’ tae eat afore supper. Agnes mentioned food, and I got turned around in the corridors."
"Ye got turned around." His tone made it clear he didn't believe a word. "In the corridor that leads directly away from the kitchens?"
"I got lost. I dinnae ken where the kitchens are."
He took a step closer, and she forced herself not to retreat. "Funny. Ye seem tae have an excellent sense of direction when ye're tryin’ tae run away. But ask ye tae find somethin’ as simple as food, and ye're helpless?"
"I'm nae helpless."
"Nay?" Another step. "Then what are ye?"
Desperate. Terrified. Drowning in circumstances beyond me control.
"I'm hungry," she said instead.
"Are ye now?" He was close enough that she could see water droplets clinging to his collarbone, could smell the clean scent of soap on his skin.
Her breath caught.
He kens. Of course, he kens.
"I was lost," she insisted, though her voice wavered.
"Ye're a terrible liar, lass."
"And ye're standin’ very close."
"Am I?" But he didn't step back. "Daes it bother ye?"
Yes. Nay.
She didn't know anymore. His bare chest was right there, water still glistening on his skin, muscles moving beneath as he breathed.
She'd seen men without shirts before, stable hands, guards during hot summers, but never like this.
Never close enough to see the small scar above his heart, the dark hair that arrowed down his stomach to disappear beneath his waistband.
"Ye're starin’, lass."
Her eyes flew up to his face. "I am nae."
"Aye, ye are." A slow smile curved his lips. "Checkin’ me out, as it were."
"I'm daein’ nay such thing!" But her face burned hot enough to light kindling. "Ye're in the way, and I couldnae help but notice."
"Notice what?"
"Naethin’. I noticed naethin’."
"It's all right tae look, ye ken. We're tae be married tomorrow. Might as well get acquainted." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur.
"We are nae gettin’ acquainted like this!"
"Nay? How would ye prefer tae get acquainted then?"
"I wouldnae! I'd prefer tae be anywhere but here, with anyone but ye, daein’ anythin’ but this!"
"Well then." He stepped back, giving her space to breathe. "Since ye're nae interested in gettin’ acquainted, and ye're nae actually hungry, perhaps ye should return tae yer chamber."
"Perhaps I should."
"I'll escort ye. Wouldnae want ye tae get lost again."
"That's nae necessary."
She wanted to snap back at him, to wipe that knowing smirk off his face. But she'd already revealed too much, shown too clearly that she'd been attempting escape. She turned around to leave.
"Liliane."
She stopped but didn't turn around.
"The guards are doubled on all the exits," he said quietly. "And the walls are sixty feet high with no handholds. Even if ye made it tae the courtyard, ye'd have naewhere tae go."
"Then why tell me? Afraid I might actually succeed?"
"Because I want ye tae understand that fightin’ me will only make both our lives more difficult." He moved to stand behind her, close enough that she could feel his warmth. "I'm nae yer enemy, lass."
"Arenae ye?"
"Nay. But I'll dae whatever is necessary tae keep ye here, and neither of us will enjoy that."
The threat hung in the air between them, all the more effective for being spoken so quietly.
"Is that all?" she asked, her voice tight.
"Fer now."
She practically fled into the corridor, his low chuckle following her retreat. Her face still burned with embarrassment and something else she didn't want to examine too closely.
Damn the man. Damn his knowing smile and his bare chest and the way he could read her so easily and damn herself for noticing any of it when Nessa's safety hung in the balance.