Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“What is all of this?”
Emilie breathed the words, saying them a bit more for herself than she had for anyone else. But that did not stop her husband from answering.
“It’s a distillery,” he explained.
Emilie took several steps, walking a bit further into the nearly cavernous space. It was cool inside, much cooler than it had been when they’d been outside. And Emilie couldn’t figure out how they were doing it.
There were rows and rows of massive barrels turned on their side sitting on shelves. Her skin crawled as she thought about what was within them.
“Why are we here?” she asked, a bit of her judgment leeching into her tone.
Emilie had never been comfortable around alcohol. It was something that the nuns had made sure of.
Many of their sermons, their lessons, and their prayers had surrounded the drink. She had learned from the lips of the nuns how alcohol often turned men into beasts.
“I own it,” Archer explained, his voice gruff but filled with curiosity. “Why do ye seem so uneasy?”
But Emilie could not answer. She barely registered what he’d said after admitting that he owned it.
How could he own a place like this? How could he, her husband, the man that she was married to, have his hand in distributing something that was so incredibly foul?
I’ve never seen so much in one place. I couldnae imagine there ever bein’ so much.
“He must supply all of Scotland,” she whispered, not taking into account how her words would travel in the massive space.
“I daenae even supply all of Thrums,” Archer’s voice chimed, and Emilie whirled to look at him.
The corner of his mouth was ticked up in a smirk, his eyes shining as he watched her stare around the space, taking it all in.
“What do ye mean this doesnae supply all of Thrums?” Emilie parroted, the shock flashing through her.
If Sister Nancy could see her right now? The old woman’s heart might very well stop.
An image flashed through her mind of the nun, seeing the way the old woman would hold on to the edge of her habit and clutch her rosary when she was nervous.
She would certainly be doing that now.
Emilie crossed herself, glancing around at the barrels before her eyes landed on her husband once more.
“I daenae understand it,” Emilie said, shaking her head to try to clear it of all the thoughts racing through her mind.
Her palms had begun to sweat, and she flexed her hands, trying to get rid of some of the jitters.
“It’s a business,” Archer explained again, walking forward as he held her gaze.
“Just like any other. I distill the whisky and distribute it. It is part of the reason why me family has been so wealthy for all these years. And why we’re able to use the money to help our people.
It helps us keep our taxes cheap, and cover for those who cannae pay their dues. ”
Emilie just stared at her husband. None of his words made sense.
He’s using the money to help people? Using the money from the liquid sin to help the people he governs?
She couldn’t wrap her mind around it. How was something like that possible?
Archer gave her another knowing smirk and then walked toward the man who managed his distillery. He had told Emilie his name when they’d arrived, but she could not remember it, not with everything else that was currently swirling in her mind.
While they talked, Emilie walked farther in between the shelves. She reached out and touched the barrel; it felt cool and rough to the touch.
It seems innocent enough. I cannae feel sin seepin’ through the wood. I cannae feel the temptation that the nuns so often talked about. And how is it that somethin’ the nuns claimed was so evil, could be used to do good?
Emilie’s mind was racing, recalling one night at dinner when the nuns had begun giving them a lesson.
Sister Nancy had talked about a crisis of faith, and how when the novices finally took their vows and began to occasionally experience the outside world for their duties at the abbey, they might begin to have one.
Sister Nancy had explained that a crisis of faith was something that made someone doubt their teachings, made them wonder if their vows had been right. And Sister Nancy had warned that it was an affront to God.
Is that what Emilie was having now? Was she having a crisis of faith?
Those words, ‘crisis of faith’, resounded in her mind, ringing through until it reached every single cell within her body. She couldn’t focus on anything else.
Archer’s meeting with his distillery manager seemed to fly by, their conversation falling away to a mindless drone behind her. And before Emilie knew it, Archer was at her side again, leading her through the distillery, out onto the streets, and finally, to the carriage.
Emilie felt like she had merely blinked and they were there, the carriage jostling to and fro as it drove them back toward Castle McGregor, back toward home.
Her eyes landed on her husband, finding him sitting with a straightened spine, his eyes watching her with obvious interest.
“Ye’re quiet,” Archer grunted the moment he realized he had her attention. “Want to tell me what ye’re thinkin’?”
Emilie gritted her teeth and shook her head. She didn’t want to talk to Archer, not right now.
“Was it all the whisky?” her husband continued, speaking truth to what was in her mind. “I cannae imagine that was easy to deal with. Probably safe to assume ye havenae been around that much alcohol in yer life.”
Emilie huffed, mad that she’d seemed so transparent. Before she turned and looked out the window, she could have sworn she caught sight of a flicker of amusement playing along the corners of Archer’s mouth.
Thankfully, he seemed to take the hint, allowing the conversation to drop. By the time they arrived back at the castle, it was midafternoon, the sun shining high and merrily above them.
“We’ll be goin’ to the drawin’ room,” Archer explained the moment that the door was pulled open.
He didn’t wait for her to respond before climbing down, marching toward the castle with self-assured strides.
Frustration raged within Emilie, as well as annoyance. So much had happened today, so many things that had shaken her to her core.
And the last thing she wanted in that moment was to be ordered around.
Her husband had a habit of doing that, barking orders at her and then just expecting them to be obeyed. He’d done it a thousand times over since the moment they’d gotten married.
Emilie hadn’t realized until that moment just how much it had begun to grate on her skin.
Quick as she could, Emilie threw herself forward. She climbed down, trotting as fast as her legs would carry her to try to catch up with her husband. But by the time she reached him, he was directly outside the doors of the drawing room.
“Ye cannae keep doin’ that,” Emilie blurted, putting her hand on his arm and turning him toward her.
Archer’s eyes flashed as he whirled, clearly startled at having someone put their hands on him. But they relaxed the moment they landed on her.
“What do ye mean?” he asked, a smirk turning up the corner of his lips as he stepped into the drawing room.
He waved his hand in front of him, an obvious invitation for Emilie to step through. Or was it an order?
She was certain that if she refused, Archer would turn it into an order, even if he didn’t mean it as one right then. It was all too much. Emilie had experienced too much in the last few weeks.
Everything that had happened to her was making her question things. Things that had seemed absolute truths up until her marriage. Things that she was certain the nuns would claim damned her heart for questioning them at all.
“Ye cannae keep orderin’ me around,” Emilie hissed, crossing her arms as she stormed past her husband and into the drawing room beyond.
“I am nae yers to order. I am nae yers to command. I am a person, with a mind and with feelings, wants, and desires of me own. And I daenae want to jump at yer beck and call.”
Archer’s brow ticked up in amusement, the expression absolutely infuriating. He wasn’t taking her seriously.
He didn’t seem to understand just how much she meant it. Didn’t seem to understand how much everything that had happened the past few weeks had seemed to chafe against her skin, leaving her standing before him now feeling raw and exposed.
“Is that so, wife?” he asked, his voice a gruff drawl that danced over the air to her.
She gulped. The dark amusement in his voice had done something to her, had called to some desire deep and low in her belly.
And that was the problem, wasn’t it? That in almost every interaction she’d had since coming to Castle McGregor, she’d ended up stewing in her attraction and lust for the man across from her. And then rationalizing it almost immediately after.
The more time she spent here, the more it was fundamentally changing who she was.
“That is so,” Emilie argued.
She hugged herself, taking several steps away from her husband. She needed more distance between them. Not when the way that he was looking at her made her head swim.
“Well,” Archer growled, his voice dancing over her skin and setting everything on fire.
He took another step closer, staring at her with eyes like molten steel.
“I have bad news for ye, wife,” Archer continued, either unaware or not caring about the effect that he was having on her. “Ye agreed to be mine the moment ye married me. And I never let go of what’s mine.”
Archer stared at his wife, amusement flickering in his eyes. Her eyes were wide as she looked up at him, her chest heaving as she panted for breath.
“What do ye mean I’m yers?” Emilie argued, but her voice had lost a bit of its heat. “I agreed to be yer wife. I dinnae agree to be yer property.”
Archer let out a low, dark chuckle despite himself.
“It’s the same thing in the eyes of the law.”
His words seemed to rock through her with a jolt, and Emilie took several retreating steps back. She began shaking her head.
“I am nae yer property,” she hissed, a fire lighting anew inside of her.
He’d seen this side of his wife a couple of times now, and each time he was struck with a bit of awe at how beautiful she was like this. Fired up and glaring at him, it was like all the masks and pretenses between them fell away.
When she was like this, either defending herself or the twins, it was like Archer was finally getting a glimpse of the real, true Emilie. And it was a sight he very much liked to see.
“I willnae stand here and have ye keep tellin’ me that,” she insisted. “I willnae stand here to have ye tell me that I belong to ye.”
“That’s where ye’re wrong, lassie,” Archer growled, allowing all of his desire to seep into his voice. “Because whether ye like it or nae, ye do belong to me. Ye have since the moment ye said ‘I do’ in that church.”
“I am me own person!” Emilie insisted, but her words shook.
Was she feeling the same desire that he was? Was she standing there and staring at him, filled with lust like him?
Archer’s eyes swept over her, taking in every gracious curve and beautiful bit of skin. He felt himself hardening beneath his kilt. Felt the need for her coursing through him and heating his blood.
“Ye can be yer own person,” Archer growled, moving forward to bring himself mere inches away from Emilie’s body. “Ye can do that, and ye can be me wife, all at the same time. Now, why daenae ye tell me what this is really about?”
A look of uncertainty crossed her face, and Emilie sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. She shook her head.
“It’s about today,” she said, but it didn’t sound like she believed the words.
“Ye stepped in to defend me, and I appreciate that ye did that. I truly do. But ye protectin’ me doesnae mean that ye get to command me.
I daenae want to be commanded. I daenae want to be ordered. I want to be respected.”
“I respect ye,” he said. “I respect ye more than ye ken.”
Emilie startled a bit, his words clearly taking her off guard.
“If that was true, then ye’d stop orderin’ me around all the time,” she argued back after a brief pause.
Archer just shook his head.
“I’ll still be orderin’ ye around,” he growled, taking a step closer to her.
Archer’s chest and body flooded with warmth, his desire for his wife reaching an all-time high as he stared down at her. With every step that he took, Emilie’s eyes grew wider, going almost glacial in their clarity.
“And ye’ll be fightin’ me every time I try to order ye around,” Archer continued.
She was studying every one of his movements, and Archer couldn’t help but grin down at his wife. He moved slowly, remembering the night a few nights ago when she had broken off their kiss and run out the door.
Archer didn’t want to spook her again, didn’t want to turn on her heel and run out the door. He was certain that if she did, he wouldn’t see her again for a few more days. And Archer simply could not abide by that.
But Emilie did not turn and run. She did not move at all, aside from shifting her weight a bit between her feet as Archer reached out his arms.
His hands came to rest on either of her hips, holding firm. He could feel her warmth through the swaths of fabric.
Emilie adjusted her body, moving so that she was even closer to him as she stepped into the embrace of Archer’s arms. Her chest pressed against his.
And finally, ever so slowly, Archer bent down, allowing his mouth to claim his wife’s.