Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Lachlan slumped down on the edge of the bed, pressing his fingertips into his temples. Perhaps if he slept, he would be able to escape the endless memories of her that waltzed around his mind—though he had a feeling that she would haunt his sleeping moments as much as she did his waking ones.
He hadn’t slept since the night before, after she had gone storming out of his chambers to sleep in her own room.
He shouldn’t have been surprised, he supposed, given the way he had treated her.
She had sequestered herself away in her room, ducking and diving his presence like she could hardly stand the sight of him.
She had dressed herself for him. That was the part of it that he could not seem to shake from his mind, no matter how hard he tried.
She had laced those flowers into her hair and done it for him.
There was no way any of the maids would have brought her such a thing, given that nobody so much as shot a look towards the gardens, but she had.
And he had wanted her. God, he had wanted her in that moment when she had let his hand snake between his legs and demanded everything a husband could have asked for.
There had been a part of him, a part of him that he had fought to control, that had wanted nothing more than to take her right then and there.
To show her how much he wanted her, how this was about more than just winning the game she had accused him of playing.
Was he even playing? He didn’t know if he could tell anymore.
He must have been, because he had denied her when she had been so willing to give him her all.
But he wanted her to come to him, to beg for it, in all the ways that he so dearly needed to hear from her.
If she had come to his door in that moment, in nothing but her nightdress, he wouldn’t have been able to resist her, and he knew it.
He would tuck his hands into her hair, draw her in close, and show her all the ways that he had desired her since the moment he had laid eyes on her—
Suddenly, a creak sounded in the doorway. For a blink in time, he thought that it was her—that he had managed to summon her through sheer force of will. But, instead, he found himself looking at one of his most trusted advisors. Keith was standing in the doorway with a hard look on his face.
“You,” he remarked, breaking the silence when he realized he had been spotted. “Look like a man who has a lot on his mind.”
“Aye, maybe I do,” Lachlan replied, as he turned to look into the flames of the hearth that warmed his room.
Keith always sensed more about him than he was willing to talk about.
A good thing for an advisor. He rarely had to be told where all this left Lachlan, as foolish and spiteful as it might have looked from the outside.
But he sensed that Keith knew more than his fair share about what had been going on inside the Keep, and he did not much want to talk about it. Not with him, and not with anyone.
“You care to get some of it off yer mind?” he suggested, making his way towards the fire, lifting his hands to warm them slightly.
Keith was a fair bit older than Lachlan, and at times like this, Lachlan was struck by how much it showed in his face. He fell silent. He could not have put it into words, not even if he had tried, and he saw little reason to even stick with that much longer…
But, before he was forced to respond, he was mercifully interrupted by a guard hurrying to the door. As soon as Lachlan noticed the expression on his face, he rose to his feet; he could tell that it was serious.
“What is it, lad?” he barked. “Speak!”
“A carriage,” the boy finally managed to get out, though he seemed to trip over every word as it escaped his lips. “Bearing the Anderson colors.”
Keith and Lachlan exchanged a look. The arrival of an enemy crest in their lands was hardly what they needed—now or ever, for that matter. But since he had taken one of their own and given her his name, he supposed he should have expected such a thing.
“Show me,” Lachlan commanded, and the boy hurried towards the stairs to take him down to the courtyard.
Sure enough, by the time they got there, there was a dark carriage, gleaming where it was emblazoned with the gold and green crest of the Andersons—a thistle rising out of a field of grass.
But someone else, it seemed, had found out about the new arrival. By the time he had reached the courtyard, Innes was already standing, her hands planted on her hips, glaring at the pair of guards who stood between her and the carriage.
“Well?” she prompted them angrily. “Are you going to let me get my things, or will you insist on keeping them hostage in such a manner?”
“When did this arrive?” Lachlan cut in, stepping between them.
She whipped her head around, her eyes flashing.
“My brother has sent some of my things over,” she mused, her tone suddenly sugared by his presence.
He noticed it at once, the shift in the way she was speaking; she was well-mannered, that much was obvious, but that didn’t mean there was not human emotion tucked away underneath.
“And I simply want to unload my clothes and bring them to my chambers,” she explained. “But yer guards seem insistent on—”
“Clothes, is it?” Lachlan asked, lifting his chin to look past her. “Then you’ll no’ mind me having a look, will ye?”
Her hand flew to her chest.
“Lachlan, you really trust me so little?” she retorted. “You married me, in case it has slipped yer mind, and I think I deserve a little more trust for all my troubles.”
“Anything could be in there, my Lady,” Keith cut in from behind her, moving past Lachlan with a pointed stare. “We need to open it before we bring it inside.”
“Aye,” Lachlan agreed, his eyes turning back to Innes. “Poison, weapons…”
Her cheeks darkened, but he paid no heed to it. This was the most time that he had spent with her since the night of the wedding, and he was not going to let his desire for her cut short what he knew needed to be done.
Pulling open the carriage, he grasped the heavy wooden crate inside and tossed it to the ground.
It landed with a thump that made Innes jump, though she clearly didn’t want him to see that.
He reached for the knife he kept on him at all times and pushed the blade beneath the twine that held it shut.
The pieces fell apart easily and the box sprang open.
He pushed aside the wood with his dagger to check what was underneath.
A large, gold dress was spread out over the whole crate, and, upon it, a small swathe of letters bound with ribbon and wax.
He pulled aside the dress, not entirely trusting that it could be so easy, and instead of anything nefarious, found several slips and other delicate things underneath.
She gasped, and he straightened up at once, annoyed that he had allowed himself to expose her in such a way. He could only imagine how humiliated she was, having all this laid out in front of the Keep.
He glanced around and realized that almost the whole Keep had come to watch. Even though it was getting dark outside, the fuss caused by the carriage had drawn the attention of practically everyone in the county, or so it seemed.
Innes’ hands were clenched at her sides as she glowered at him, the shock and betrayal written all over her face.
“You cannae leave anything alone, can ye?” she exclaimed.
And, with that, she pushed past him and made her way into the Keep, leaving Lachlan wishing for nothing more than to be able to undo the mess that he had just made.
Innes paced in her chambers, too frantic to think about sitting down.
“You cannae go on like this all day, my lady,” one of the maids, Annabelle, chided her kindly from where she stood in the doorway.
She had been sent as some sort of peace offering, no doubt, after she had so furiously told her husband what she thought of him after he had laid all her personal things bare like that in front of the entire Keep.
Lachlan had sent the trunk to her rooms. At least she did not have to fight him on that matter.
He seemed to be doing his best to make amends, but she found it hard to believe that he would even know that he’d done something wrong.
How could a man be so willing to invade a girl’s privacy like that?
The very thought of it was enough to make the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
“Would you like help unpacking yer things, my lady?” Annabelle offered, trying to turn her mind to matters a little less distressing.
Innes cast a look over to the blasted thing; she had been too stung to go through it yet, but in truth, she was relieved that her brother had sent some of her things.
He knew her well and understood intimately what she might miss.
She wondered, briefly, if his new wife had had anything to do with this, but she brushed that thought aside at once.
Stooping by the trunk, she pulled the bundle of papers into her lap.
They might have looked like letters at a glance to anyone else, but she recognized them at once; small envelopes of her dried herbs, the kind that she kept to give away to visiting family or friends.
She tore one open and brought it to her face, the scent of peppermint and fennel filling her senses.
“Will you bring me some hot water?” she asked Annabelle, her mind suddenly filled with an almost aching nostalgia. She rose to her feet at once and nodded.
“If you think that would help, my Lady, of course.”
“And bring some cups with it, please!” she called after her as she hurried for the door, clearly glad to have something to do that wasn’t sitting about and watching the new Lady feel sorry for herself.
Innes went through the trunk again, rummaging around until she found her journal; she flicked through the pages, smiling slightly as she saw all of her notes scrawled frantically alongside the charcoal sketches of plants she had drawn from the garden.
So many memories tied up in this journal, she was glad that her brother had thought to send it to her.
She returned within a few minutes with a large pot of hot water and some cups, along with a tea strainer.
Innes, sitting in front of the fireplace, carefully tipped a small amount of her dried herb concoction into the strainer and balanced it in the pot, watching as the colors seeped slowly from within the plants to the hot water.
Once it was cool enough, she poured herself a cup and lifted it to her lips. But, before she could take so much as a sip, she was overwhelmed by a sudden rush of emotion so intense she could not mind herself.
Tears sprang to her eyes, and she could have sworn, smelling this, that she was back in the great hall of the Anderson Keep, sitting with her brother, laughing about something or other. In this light, she could almost see a shimmer to the top of the cup, no doubt nostalgia’s golden drape.
She placed the cup down quickly and swallowed hard, half-turning so she could shoot a look at the maid.
“You should go.”
“If there’s anything else I can do—”
“I’ll be sure to tell you,” she assured her. “Now. Please. Go.”
Annabelle hesitated for a second longer, but she seemed to think better of making any kind of fuss about staying. She made her way down the stairs, pulling the door to behind her, and Innes reached for the cup again.
So many memories, wrapped up in just a scent. Memories that she might never have a chance to experience again. As she took a sip of the tea, she tried not to let the memories of home overwhelm her.
And then, as if she had summoned it, a great wave of darkness rose to swallow her whole. Suddenly, her vision blurred, and she found herself scrabbling for the floor—but she landed on it with a thud, the cup spilling that precious tea all over the flagstone floor behind her.