Married to the Icy Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #3)

Chapter 1

1

“ I fear that I will never get the scent off me hands.” Ceana tried and tried to scrub the scent of peat and citrus from her hands, but it was everywhere. “The more time I spend over those vats, the more the scent of whiskey seems to fuse to me skin.”

Blaine, her lifelong friend, looked at her from where he sat at the front of the single-horse cart taking her back home. She had just finished delivering one of the largest batches of whiskey that her family had ever sold.

Laird MacTristan was a regular customer, but they had seldom delivered such large quantities to the castle. Ceana thought that it was likely due to the man accompanying her home that she had been given such a boon. Befriending the Laird’s brother certainly did come with perks.

“I dinnae ken why ye think that’s a bad thing, Ceana.” Blaine laughed as they drove into the village.

With the fat coin purse in her pocket, the gentle rocking of the cart… Despite her half-hearted complaints, Ceana was in a bright mood.

The past year had been nothing short of a trial for her. It took her months to learn how to run the distillery on her own. It was not as if her mother and her younger brother, Peter, did not help in every way they could, but she was happy to shoulder this burden on her own.

She was of the humble opinion that she was doing a fine job of it.

“It may nae be a bad thing, but a lass hardly wants to smell like a warrior’s favorite drink now, does she?” she said with a laugh as they pulled onto the long dirt road that led to her family’s small cottage.

“I suppose nae,” Blaine conceded. “But smellin’ like a warrior’s favorite drink is bound to secure ye any husband ye choose.”

Ceana sighed. “Subtle.”

Blaine tried to hide his guilty expression, and failed.

“Did me maither put ye up to this? She’s been askin’ when I am goin’ to get married for a month now. She couldnae get an answer, and now she sends ye? I have half a mind to push ye off this cart and into the mud!” she threatened as she playfully bumped his shoulder with hers.

Blaine laughed and had the decency to at least pretend to flinch away from her as he pulled on the reins to slow his horse. “Maybe she did! I dinnae ken! I am innocent!”

“Since when do ye care whether I am married or nae?” She eyed him suspiciously.

“Since yer maither bribed me with one of her sugar pies,” Blaine admitted, flinching even harder as Ceana giggled and hit him in the arm.

“Terrible!” She jumped off the cart before it had even stopped rolling, not caring how muddy her skirts were going to be as a result.

“Wait! Wait, Ceana!” Blaine called after her, stopping the cart and leaning over, his elbows resting on his knees. “I do mean to help ye look after yer family, ye ken?”

Ceana softened, her hands dropping to her sides as she nodded. “Ye have been a great help, Blaine. And a great friend, for that matter.”

“But is there anything else I can do to help ye? I wish to. I ken ye dinnae like to ask for help… but it isnae always a bad thing.”

“I ken.” Ceana waved a hand dismissively. “Dinnae fash, Blaine. I am perfectly capable.”

She turned on her heel and strolled toward the cottage before he could see the look on her face. He called after her, but she could not focus on his words when her blood was pounding in her ears.

So long as she didn’t face her problems, she was all right.

So long as she did not think about how much her feet hurt, or how tired she was, or the aches and pains… Or her mother’s worry and diminishing appetite, or the way her dresses were now so loose on her naturally petite frame, or the fact that she had smaller portions at supper…

Her mother may not think that anyone noticed, but Ceana certainly did.

No, she couldn’t focus on those things, or else she wouldn’t be able to keep going.

If she stopped… she was terrified to think of what might happen to her family. Her mother and brother were her whole world. She couldn’t let them down. She wouldn’t.

“Maither! Peter! I’m home!”

Ceana unlatched the door and stepped inside, only to see a snagged hole in the sleeve of her dress. She only had two. Muttering a soft stream of curses, she started to look for her embroidery tools to patch up the hole in her sleeve.

That was going to take time out of her day that she simply could not afford to waste, but what other choice did she have?

Where had she put the damned basket? Where was everybody?

“Ma?”

Preoccupied with running her finger over the hole in her sleeve, pushing aside the fabric and prodding her soft skin, she was hardly paying attention as she started up the stairs to her mother’s room. She would certainly have a needle and thread in there.

“Ma?” she called again, the stairs creaking under her slight weight.

She added checking the nails in the stairs to the never-ending list of things she had to do.

When she heard footsteps ahead of her, she lifted her head with a bright smile to greet her mother. But it was not her mother that she saw.

Instead, Ferguson Arran stood in the narrow stairway, blocking her path with his bulky frame. He had to lean slightly to the side to accommodate his protuberant belly as he smirked down at her.

Ceana froze, her hands dropping immediately as her fight-or-flight instinct kicked in.

While the past year had thinned the rest of them slightly as they had to adjust to the absence of her father, Ferguson Arran had taken every opportunity to benefit from their misfortune as best and as often as he possibly could.

“What are ye doin’ here?” Ceana demanded unkindly.

There was nothing about the foul creature in front of her that deserved softness. Nothing .

The large man was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, his face and the apples of his cheeks flushed where they peeked out from beneath his graying beard and mustache. He wasted no time in appraising her despite the way she shrank away from his inappropriate gaze.

“How did the delivery go, Ceana?”

“That is none of yer business, Ferguson,” Ceana snapped rudely. “What are ye doin’ in me home?”

As it usually did when her temper irritated him, the lecherous smile that he wore a second ago dropped. “How can ye always talk to me this way, Ceana? Do ye have nay manners at all?”

“For ye? None,” she retorted.

He took three steps down, and she wanted to run .

“If ye had any idea how much I do for yer family, perhaps ye would have chosen to be kinder to me,” he snapped back. The smell of whiskey she had been talking about earlier invaded her nostrils. “Ye wouldnae have any whiskey to deliver at all if it werenae for me!”

What was that supposed to mean? She knew that he wanted her to ask, or else he wouldn’t have said it. He wanted her to ask him what he meant, to beg for more information so that he would lord it over her. Teasing and taunting her was his favorite game in the world.

She hated it. She hated him .

“But I suppose ye’re pretty enough that I can forgive ye,” he added with a smirk, running his tongue over his thin lips as he lifted a chubby hand to run his knuckles down the side of her face.

Ceana recoiled, batting his hand away and pressing her back against the wall. She might have to endure a conversation with him from time to time, but she certainly didn’t have to let him touch her. He had no right.

At the same moment that she slapped his hand away, a voice hissed angrily from the top of the stairs, “Keep yer hands off me daughter!”

Ceana could hardly see her mother, with the figure in front of her.

Ferguson only laughed. “Ye’ll both come around, sooner or later.”

He pushed past her down the stairs, jostling her small frame on purpose as he left the cottage.

Ceana had to concentrate to keep from glaring daggers at her mother, who stood at the top of the stairs, staring down at her sheepishly.

Only… her mother’s dress was rumpled. Her hair, which was usually immaculate, was disheveled… and she was flushed and trembling.

Och… och nay.

Guilt and pain stabbed Ceana right in the chest. She gathered her skirts and hurried up the stairs, quickly pulling her mother into her arms. She had no idea that her mother was… that she had been forced to…

If she had known that…

Ceana chewed on her bottom lip, knowing that there was a clear solution in front of her, no matter how much she did not like it. No wonder her mother had spoken to Blaine. Oh, she felt like such a fool.

“Dinnae worry, Maither,” she soothed, holding her mother tightly and smoothing down her hair. “Dinnae cry, I’ll take care of it. Ye’ll never have to do that again, I swear it.”

For a long moment, her mother was silent. “Ye shouldnae have to worry about such things…”

“Hush now, Maither. I’m goin’ to fix it. Ye ken when I set me mind to something, I get it done.”

“How can ye?”

Ceana paused, the weight on her chest growing heavier. Once she said the words, she would not be able to take them back. “I’m goin’ to marry.”

Ceana meant what she said. Once she put her mind to something, she accomplished it.

It had only taken her a week to finalize the details.

She had humbled herself enough to take Blaine up on his offer. Marrying her was the only thing he could do to help her family. It would be nothing more than a white marriage—just a convenience and nothing more.

Blaine had been reluctant to agree at first, given that there had never been even the slightest hint of romance between them, but she had not been willing to take no for an answer. She had even begged and pleaded.

Perhaps she should not have.

If she had been a little bit less desperate… a little bit less in a hurry or perhaps more understanding of Blaine’s reluctance when she had asked him, then she would not be standing here, alone, waiting for her betrothed, who had apparently jilted her on their wedding way.

Despite such a short amount of time, she felt that she had pulled together quite a handsome wedding. Her dress was lovely—a stunning pale gray and yellow piece that was prettier than anything she had ever laid eyes on.

Blaine had been clear with her—he had never wanted to marry. He didn’t want a wife. He had agreed because she was desperate.

And now? He wasn’t here.

She should have believed him.

Whispers rippled through the gathered guests. Her chest heaved, her panic increasing with each passing second as she remained there alone. She could not bring herself to apologize for wasting their time.

There was no way that she was ever going to live down the humiliation of being jilted at the altar. She couldn’t fathom what had happened to have made Blaine go back on his word.

She didn’t have to look at the villagers’ faces to know that there was pity in their eyes.

Slowly, they started to leave.

Ceana had no idea how long she was standing up there, waiting for a miracle that wasn’t coming. She continued to hold her bouquet even after her hands started to shake. She refused to cry, blinking back tears as, one by one, they all left.

What was she supposed to do now?

Despite all the covetous men who had approached her over the years, seeking filthy arrangements with her, Blaine was the only man who had actually agreed to marry her. She had been promised riches as a mistress, a lifetime of security and jewels, but she had no interest in things like that.

Before her mother could reach her, Ferguson shoved his way through the crowd leaving the pretty clearing where the ceremony was supposed to take place. He was the last person she had any intention of speaking to.

“Pity,” he taunted, his beard twitching with what was likely a smirk. “If ye were so desperate, ye could have just said so. I’ll take care of ye like I always have.”

There was pure, unadulterated hatred in Ceana’s eyes as she glared up at him. Only then did a single tear roll down her cheek. Her jaw clenched, and her grip on her paltry bouquet was so tight that she could feel the flowers being pulped between her fingers.

“Ye ken I willnae ask for much in return… ye ken what I want,” Ferguson whispered, leaning in.

“Ceana?” her mother called from behind him.

Ceana ought to go to her. She ought to go back home, where she could figure all of this out. She would just have to make a new plan. Just because this didn’t work out the way she wanted it to, didn’t mean that it wouldn’t work. She could still escape Ferguson and the greasy hold he had on her family.

“Something must have happened,” she said firmly.

“Ye cannae be serious.” Ferguson laughed right in her face.

“He wouldnae leave me,” Ceana insisted loudly and firmly enough that the few people still lingering to gossip were effectively silenced. They looked at her for a moment, holding her gaze before they scoffed, as if she was some joke… as if she was somehow offending them.

“Come, Ceana, we can just go home… put some water on yer face,” her mother suggested.

But Ceana couldn’t. She just couldn’t.

She was so angry .

“Nay. I’m goin’ to find out what happened, and then I’ll be back,” she practically spat in Ferguson’s face.

“Ceana—”

Dropping the flowers, Ceana gathered her skirts in her hands and did the only thing that she could think of—she ran.