Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Christ, but she looks like an angel.
The thought shocks Archer as his lips leave his wife’s, staring down into her beautiful, open face.
It was true, though. Something that he couldn’t deny.
Emilie’s long chestnut hair and cornflower eyes, along with her tall, curvy body—it was as if God himself had reached inside Archer’s mind and plucked out his deepest desires and brought them to flesh.
She was staring up at him now, her blue eyes wide and filled with an emotion that he could not entirely place.
A soft, timid applause filled the air, and Archer looked up. Marcus and Paisly were in the pews, bringing their hands together as they beamed at him.
They have nay reason to be this excited. It’s nae like me marriage will be anythin’ like theirs.
Emilie’s parents stood on the opposite side of their aisle, their grim faces watching every step they took as he and his new wife walked back toward the church opening.
The sunlight shone through the already open door, and the carriage that he had taken here was waiting for them at the front of the steps. Archer looped his arms toward Emilie, solemnly guiding her toward the door and toward the carriage that was waiting to take them to the rest of their lives.
She’s a quiet one, me new wife.
In the entire time since they had been announced as man and wife, Emilie had not spoken a word. Granted, Archer hadn’t either. But he found it unusual that a woman would be quiet for this long.
Wasn’t the wedding day supposed to be the happiest day of a woman’s life? If that was so, why did Emilie’s face look more like she was on her way to her own execution, rather than marrying a rich Laird?
“Are ye always this quiet?” Archer grunted as he helped her up into the carriage.
His wife did not answer him as she settled herself into the bench seat, working to smooth her skirts down beneath her before blinking her blue eyes at him expectantly.
Archer climbed into the carriage himself, settling down across from her. As soon as he was situated, he glanced back at Emilie.
The carriage jolted forward, the wheels crunching on the gravel as it took them back toward Castle McGregor.
“Did ye hear me?” he growled.
There were very few things that irritated Archer as much as having people ignore him.
His new wife blinked rapidly, taking her gaze off where it had been lingering at the window and moving to his. She studied him for a moment, the same nervous expression lingering on her face.
“Nay, me Laird,” she answered, in a voice that made Archer want to lean into her.
“Nay, ye dinnae hear me?” he pressured. “Or nay, ye arenae typically this quiet?”
Now that she was talking, Archer had thought for sure that she would answer him right away. But she didn’t. She kept studying him, and her delay in responding chafed against him.
“I’m nae usually this quiet,” she said finally, shrugging one shoulder as if the words meant nothing to her.
“Then why are ye bein’ this quiet now?”
Why on earth does it matter? Why is it botherin’ me so much that she’s nae payin’ attention or talkin’ to me?
Archer had no idea what the answer to his own question was. All he knew was that it did bother him.
“Would ye like me to talk more, me Laird?” Emilie pressed, tilting her head to the side as she studied him.
Archer shook his head, unsure of how to respond. He didn’t want her yapping away the entire time back to the castle, but he also didn’t want to feel as if his new wife was ignoring him.
“Ye daenae have to call me that,” he grunted, switching the conversation so as not to answer her question. “Ye can call me Archer. We are married, after all.”
Emilie stared at him in the way that he was quickly finding both infuriating and beguiling.
What was it about her? Why was he responding to her like this?
She seemed so innocent. So infuriatingly pure in a way that made him want to defile her.
He could feel the urge welling up inside him, the need to reach out and touch her. To run his fingers along her supple skin. To feel himself…
Nay. Enough of thoughts like that. I cannae go thinkin’ about her in that manner. Nae when I cannae love the lass.
The thought made him scowl, even though it was true.
He couldn’t offer Emilie anything other than a title and a castle. She would have a soft life, one where she would take care of his twins.
But he could not give her love.
‘The rest of yer life will be as cold and as loveless as ye made our marriage.’
The words that Martha, his first wife, had cursed him with on her deathbed danced through his mind, causing goosebumps to erupt along his skin.
He had treated Martha exactly like his father had treated his mother. And he would not give himself the chance to do the same thing to Emilie.
“What if I daenae want to call ye by yer given name?” Emilie asked, dragging Archer from his spiraling thoughts.
He blinked rapidly, clearing the ghosts of his past from his mind. What had they just been talking about?
Ah, right. Her calling him ‘me Laird’ the whole time.
“It will be strange for me own wife to nae call me by me name,” he advised.
“Will you find it strange? Or will yer clan?”
The question was abrupt, catching Archer off guard. He stared at her for a moment, waiting for her to take back her words. But she did not.
Emilie just stared right back at him, seeming not to notice how odd it was to address a laird so bluntly.
“Both,” Archer answered honestly. “And I would prefer it if ye call me Archer.”
Emilie nodded, a muscle in her jaw ticking.
“All right then,” she said softly, turning her attention so that she was looking back out the window. “I’ll call ye Archer.”
His name sounded awkward falling from her lips, but he didn’t say anything about it. Her shoulders were straight, her posture stiff as she stared out at the landscape beyond, and Archer got the feeling that she did not want to talk to him any longer.
He settled back in his chair, turning his gaze toward the opposite window and trying not to let her ignoring him keep him from relaxing. But of course, it was one of the few thoughts that would occupy his mind.
Archer was not used to this. He was a powerful Laird, one who had made quite a name for himself and who was adored by his clan.
The attention of women was not something that he was used to having to fight for. And yet, his own wife seemed to be content if he never so much as looked her way.
When Castle McGregor finally came into view, the intricate, beautiful, sprawling stone building sitting high on a cliff with the sea as its backdrop, Archer exhaled in relief.
They were home.
“When we arrive,” he said, “ye’ll want to follow me straight into the castle.”
Emilie shook her head, and when she turned to look at him, she seemed surprised to find him still in the carriage with her.
Had the lass been so in her own head she’d forgotten that I existed entirely?
Her blue eyes grew hard, clouding over like the sea before a storm, and she pressed her lips into a hard line.
“Why do ye need me to follow ye?” she asked hesitantly, her spine going straighter than it had been a moment before. “Where will ye be takin’ me?”
She’s worried that I’m tryin’ to bed her.
The thought caught him off guard, mostly because he realized that it was true.
Her parents had mentioned something about her living with nuns for the last few years. Archer hadn’t given it much thought before the wedding, but perhaps that had something to do with the bizarre way she was behaving.
“There will be a cèilidh when we return,” he explained gruffly. “The whole clan will be there to meet their new lady. And I’ll be leadin’ ye to the Great Hall where it’s takin’ place.”
Emilie visibly relaxed as the words washed over her, obviously realizing that he wouldn’t immediately be taking her to their shared bedchamber.
“What will the cèilidh be like?” she asked, her eyes a bit wide with what looked like wonder.
Archer shrugged.
“Like any other cèilidh, I suppose.”
“I’ve never been to one. So I daenae ken what any other cèilidh would be like.”
Archer’s brow arched in surprise just as the carriage rolled to a stop.
“Never been to a cèilidh?” he repeated, prompting Emilie to shake her head. “Well, why nae?”
The carriage door was pulled open by the footman, and Archer and Emilie didn’t speak for a moment as they busied themselves with clambering out. The gravel crunched beneath their feet as they jumped from the carriage.
From all the way where they were located in the courtyard, Archer could already hear the sounds of the merrymaking happening deeper within the castle.
He glanced at Emilie, nodding his head toward the large, oak front doors that were open before them.
“The stewards will take yer things up to our bedchambers while we’re at the party,” he advised.
Worry flickered on her face at the mention of their bedchambers, but Archer paid her no mind as he walked forward. He did not look back to check if she was following; he trusted that her curiosity would get the better of her eventually.
He’d seen the way her face had lit up at the mention of the cèilidh.
Sure enough, lighter, rapid footsteps sounded up behind him, and Emilie appeared at his side a moment later.
“What did ye mean ye’ve never been to a cèilidh?” Archer prompted once more.
He’d never been someone who enjoyed having to repeat himself. And yet, somehow, his new wife had made it a habit for him in less than a handful of hours.
“I spent most of me life at Caledon Abbey,” Emilie explained. “The nuns werenae the type to throw a party.”
There was an excitement and a bounce to her steps that hadn’t been there a moment before. And, the closer they got to the Great Hall, the more Emilie’s excitement seemed to grow.
Archer didn’t entirely know how to respond to what she’d just revealed.
Her parents had claimed that she’d only been at the abbey for the last few years. But she’d just said she’d been there most of her life.
So, which was it?
Archer made a note to himself to bring that up later, something for them to discuss when he had more time.
I’ll just be askin’ so that I can get to know the lass. It’ll be good to ken the kind of person raisin’ me bairns. That’s all.
He did not stew on the fact that he was lying to himself. That, even though he knew he could never give himself over to Emilie in the way that a husband should, that he would never be able to love her, he still found himself endlessly curious about her.
Surely that curiosity will die out soon, though. It is only because our marriage is so new.
They arrived at the Great Hall without speaking another word. The sound of the party happening just beyond the doors was almost deafening.
The sound of bagpipes and lyres filled the air. Laughing and the murmur of talking mingled with it. As did the smell of sweat, and of roasted meat.
Archer threw open the doors, revealing the revelry beyond them.
The people closest to the doors took note, their eyes immediately landing on Archer and his new bride before they broke out in wide grins that turned into cheers.
The sound was infectious, traveling from person to person until the entire room was raising their glass or their fist to welcome their new Lady into their clan.
Stealing a glance at Emilie, he saw that her face was lit with wonder. Her blue eyes were shining as they took it all in.
The dancers. The drinking. The large table of food pushed against a far wall.
And there, on a raised dais in a prominent position at the back of the hall, was the head table. Marcus and Paisly were already there, Paisly’s hand resting atop her swollen, pregnant belly as she smiled fondly at her husband.
They had been in the smaller carriage and had been with the quicker horse. So, it was no surprise to Archer that they had arrived before him.
Two seats right next to them were empty, reserved for him and Emilie. And then there, even further to the right, were two chairs that were occupied by small bodies that were currently bouncing up and down while they ate.
“We’ll be sittin’ up there,” he announced, pointing his finger toward the empty chairs at the head table.
He watched as Emilie’s eyes followed along, her brow quickly creasing with curiosity.
“Who are they?” she asked.
For a moment, he thought for certain that she was talking about Marcus and Paisly. He prepared to tell her exactly who they were, but then she pointed.
And when he followed the line of her finger, she was not pointing to Archer’s man-at-arms and the wife that adored him, but to the two children that sat directly to the right of the empty chairs.
“Ah,” Archer murmured, his voice barely loud enough to be heard over the crowd. “Those are me bairns, Louis and Aurora. Ye’re to be their new maither.”