Chapter 4
Chapter Four
The fiddle was playing something bright when Katherine appeared at her shoulder. “Daenae look now,” she whispered, her fingers clamping tight onto Elspeth’s sleeve, “but he’s moving.”
Elspeth immediately felt that sensation again. It was him.
Despite the warning, she turned and found him walking in their direction. She had enough time to study him without seeming to stare.
He was the largest man in the room by a margin that made it notable.
His shoulders were broad from raw, grinding work.
He had dark, curling hair and a heavy jaw.
He wore no clan colors, nothing decorative, nothing that indicated he considered the occasion worthy of effort.
He moved through the gathered men without aggression, yet the others instinctively moved aside for him.
He was not handsome in the strict sense of the word. He was… significant.
That was the word that sprang to mind.
Elspeth turned back to Katherine. “That,” she said, her voice controlled, “is the Laird ye were describing?”
Katherine’s expression did something complicated and deeply unsettling. “He may be.”
“Katherine.”
“I learned his requirements first,” Katherine hissed defensively, her eyes darting away. “His livestock holdings and his trade routes.”
“Did ye learn his face?”
“I learned his holdings.”
“Katherine.”
“I thought… I assumed a man with those holdings would likely be soft-looking.” She stopped, smoothing her skirts with a sudden, nervous twitch.
“He looks like he has won a war,” Elspeth said flatly. “Several wars. On purpose.”
“That is simply his…”
“If ye say face, I will walk out of this hall and take me chances with Dunmore.”
Katherine closed her mouth.
Across the room, the enormous man had stopped at the far end of the line of women and appeared to be asking something. The woman he had addressed looked briefly uncertain, then answered. He nodded once and moved immediately to the next.
Elspeth watched, her brow furrowing. Something about the pattern was wrong.
The angle of the conversation, the brevity, the way the women exchanged frantic glances after he passed.
It was not the usual pattern of a marriage market.
The usual pattern was compliments and mild, winding questions about household management that were really questions about temperament.
What she was watching was an interrogation.
“What is he asking them?” she murmured.
“I daenae ken.”
He was two women away now. The woman currently speaking to him had gone slightly pink.
Not the pleased, flushed pink of flattery, but the confused, defensive pink of someone trying to locate an answer in a subject they had not prepared for.
She spread her hands in defeat. He nodded again, his expression unchanged, and moved on.
And then he was standing directly in front of Elspeth.
Up close, he was worse. Not worse in a bad sense, but worse in the way that proximity made things already significant undeniable.
He had dark eyes, the blue-black of deep water, and they moved over her once with no particular expression before settling on her face.
“Me Lady,” he greeted. His voice was low, heavy, and used with brutal economy.
“Me Laird,” she returned.
“Yer household experience.” It was a command, not a question. “What have ye managed?”
She blinked, her fingers tightening around her cup. “I beg yer pardon?”
“Accounts. Provisioning. Staff. What have ye managed, and for how long?”
She straightened without meaning to. The question was so direct, so stripped of pleasantry, that her lips answered it before her mind could catch up.
“Me father’s household since I was fourteen. The accounts, the stores, the seasonal provisioning. I manage the staff, the kitchen orders, the wool and dairy scheduling.” She paused, looking him dead in the eye. “Seven years.”
He looked at her for a silent beat, his gaze steady. Then: “The livestock.”
“The—I’m sorry?”
“Yer experience with livestock.”
She stared at him. He did not seem to be jesting; his scarred face remained carved from stone. Behind him, at a comfortable distance, she could see the other women watching their exchange with expressions ranging from sheer relief to absolute fascination.
“I spent considerable time at me father’s farm,” she said carefully, her voice dropping to a professional register. “He had sheep, goats, and a dairy herd.”
“Birthing season,” he countered instantly. “What do ye do if a lamb willnae take the teat?”
“I…” She stopped and started again, her practical mind locking into place. “Ye wet a finger in the milk and press it to the lamb’s mouth first. Give it the taste. Then guide it to the ewe before the lamb has time to decide otherwise.”
She paused, her mouth setting into a firm line. “If the ewe rejects it, ye skin a lost lamb and put the fleece on the living one so she accepts the scent.”
Something shifted in his expression. Very slightly. It seemed like reluctant respect.
“Feed shortage,” he said, stepping an inch closer, his deep voice cutting through the noise of the hall. “Early spring. Grain stores low. What do ye do first?”
“Triage the herd. The breeding females and the youngest animals eat first. The older, non-breeding stock gets reduced. Ye contact the nearest reliable merchant before the shortage becomes visible in the animals, because by then ye’ve waited too long.”
She tilted her chin up, meeting the dark intensity of his gaze. “And ye fix whatever fence failed in the autumn that let ye lose half yer hay to the weather, so it doesnae happen the following year.”
He was quiet. The heat between them felt heavy, sharp, and separate from the warmth of the hearth.
“Stubborn goat,” he said softly. “Keeps breaking through the eastern fence. Ye’ve reset the post twice.”
“Then the post isnae the problem. The problem is the goat.” She folded her hands tightly in front of her stomach. “Ye move her. Separate enclosure, away from whatever she’s going toward. A goat that breaks fences is going toward something, nae just away. Find that something.”
He looked at her long and hard.
The hall continued its frantic spin around them. The fiddle, the glittering candlelight, the murmur of two dozen other conversations, and none of it seemed to reach the suffocating quiet that had settled between them.
Then he nodded once and walked away.
Elspeth breathed out hard through her nose. Her hands, she noticed, had been pressed flat against her ribs with enough force to bruise. She uncurled her stiff fingers, reached for her abandoned wine, and took a long sip.
Well, that was unusual. At least it’s over now.
“Elspeth.” Katherine whispered. “What did ye tell him?”
“I answered his questions.”
“Which were…?”
“About sheep. And goats. And fencing and lamb feeding and…” She turned fully, her eyebrows snapping together at Katherine’s expression. “Why is yer face doing that?”
“I may have been,” Katherine said carefully, “somewhat hasty in me assessment earlier.”
“Katherine.”
“He is going to bid for ye.”
“Ye said he was perfect for me.”
“I said he had excellent holdings and required a capable lady.”
“Ye said perfect.”
“He is probably nae the laird I was describing.”
Elspeth set her cup down on the table. She set it down very gently, because otherwise she would be shattering the pewter with considerably more force. “Ye told me he could be the one. When I asked if that enormous man was the one ye’d described, ye said most probably.”
“He was asking about goats and land management!” Katherine hissed, desperate.
“Many lairds could ask about goats,” Elspeth agreed, her voice dropping to a dangerously pleasant purr. “And so, when ye werenae certain, the correct answer was—”
“Ladies and gentlemen.” Laird Bickerson’s booming voice lifted above the din of the hall, warm and carrying.
The fiddle stopped mid-note. The entire hall turned as one. He stood at the front with a heavy piece of parchment.
“It is me pleasure to announce this evening’s arrangements.” He looked down at the ink. “Lady Elspeth MacRae of Clan MacRae has been claimed by Laird Magnus Wallace of Ben Cruachan.”
Elspeth turned slowly.
He was crossing the room toward her, that enormous, scarred man in the plain dark coat. Moving with that same unhurried, terrifying certainty.
The crowd parted for him without a fuss. His dark eyes were already locked on her face. He stopped directly in front of her, that self-assurance fixed in place.
She waited, her breath caught in her chest.
“I have spoken with yer father, and it is settled,” he declared, his deep voice sliding over her skin like rough velvet.
“Yer maids, tell them to pack warmer cloaks.” A pause followed, brief and slightly uncomfortable, as though he were translating something from a language he rarely used.
“Me lands are colder than what ye’re used to.
Fancy dresses arenae necessary; there willnae be much occasion for them. ”
He reached inside his dark coat and produced a folded document, holding it out without a shred of ceremony. “I drew the contract before I came. Yer father has signed. Ye are betrothed as of this moment.”
He then offered her his arm.
She looked at that massive arm. Then at the stark white document. Then at his face, which offered no additional information.
Say something, Elspeth. Ask something useful.
She took his arm.
His forearm was pure iron beneath her gloved hand. She could feel the hard muscle shifting beneath the thick wool of his coat, and she decided in that very moment not to spare another thought for that.
Katherine fell into step beside her, but at a single glance from Magnus, she fell slightly back.
Liam materialized from the edge of the crowd, briefly placing a hand on Elspeth’s shoulder. Ye will be fine, the firm pressure said. Then he too dropped behind her.
Her father, she noticed out of the corner of her eye, was already examining the signed contract. He did not look up to see her leave.
The night air hit her at the massive oak doors, cold, clean, and sharp. She pulled in a frantic breath.
Right. Alright. This is going to go well.
The horse was enormous. It stood at the foot of the stone steps, resembling something otherworldly. Dark and broad-chested, it was clearly a horse bred for war, same as his keeper. Magnus moved toward it without pausing his stride.
Elspeth looked around the dark courtyard for the carriage. There were carriages. Several of them. Her father’s among them.
She turned to Magnus, keeping her voice even. “Ye’ll ride alongside, aye? In the carriage.”
He stopped and turned to look down at her. “Carriage?” he asked flatly.
“Aye. The carriage. For traveling.”
He looked at her for a long moment. Then: “There is no carriage.”
She heard her own voice repeat, small and stunned, “No carriage?”
“Ye and I, we ride together.”
Before the words had fully registered, before her thoughts could assemble them into their full, terrifying meaning, he bent and lifted her clear off the stone steps. She made a small, startled sound as the world lurched sideways and she was suddenly airborne.
The gravel courtyard was a wrong, dizzying distance below her. One of his massive arms was clamped beneath her knees, and the other was wrapped tight around her waist.
At this proximity, the first thing she noticed was his scent.
It reminded her of rain that had just fallen, cured leather, cold northern air, and something deeper beneath it.
Something uniquely him. Α warm, dark, masculine note that had no name she could reach for because her heart was racing in her chest.
Oh Lord.
She looked up at the steps.
Katherine stood frozen in the doorway in her good green dress, an expression of pure, unadulterated horror on her face that she was making absolutely no effort to conceal. Their eyes met, and her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Ye sold me to this man, who cares more about his sheep than building a home. Ye will answer for this.
Magnus lowered her into the heavy leather saddle and then mounted up behind her.
There was approximately no space between them. His broad chest was pressed flush against her back. His massive arms bracketed her on either side to take the leather reins, pinning her in place.
The horse shifted its great weight, and Elspeth gripped the pommel so tightly that her knuckles turned white. He did not seem to notice that tension, which was somehow far worse than if he had remarked on it.
“Daenae move,” he said, his deep baritone rumbling near her ear, his breath warm against her chilled skin.
She had not intended to move. In fact, she intended to remain rigidly still for the entire duration of whatever this madness was, and then have quite a lot of feelings about it later, privately, at a safe distance.
The horse began to walk.
The glittering lights of Bickerson Hall fell away behind them, disappearing into the mist. The road ahead was dark and cold and terribly long.
She could not shake the fact that she knew absolutely nothing about the man whose heart was beating steadily against her spine.
Nothing, except that he knew exactly what to do with a lamb that wouldn’t feed, and that his lands were colder, and that he had come to the auction with a contract already drawn.
I have no idea what I am supposed to do next.
The horse trotted on, and she resigned herself to the fact that she could do nothing but obey the beast. For now.