Chapter 7 #2
She was sure that if her mother and father could read her thoughts, they would disown her at the images flashing in her head. Something about this man made her want to throw caution to the wind and just feel.
“All in good time, lass,” he muttered, shaking his head.
Leah cut a piece of cheese on her plate, putting a small square in her mouth as she contemplated his reply. She was disappointed, she realized irritably. She had wanted him to respond quite differently.
What did you expect him to say? That he’ll have his way with you like one of the villains in your stories?
“I should like to write to Daphne and Katie and let them know I am safe,” she said. “Would that be possible?”
He nodded. “Aye.”
That was all he said. Leah waited for him to elaborate or indicate where she might find a quill and paper, but he said nothing more.
“When might I be given the materials to write it?” she hazarded.
“Tomorrow,” he said, dragging some boiled eggs to his plate and biting into one with what appeared to be great relish.
“Do you have any plans for the next two weeks that I should be aware of? Any visitors?”
“Nay.”
“Do you need me to hide away from any relatives you have locked in your dungeons?”
That earned her a stern glare. “Nay.”
She focused back on her plate, her appetite gone. She was not used to men making no effort to speak with her. Usually, she was trying to make them stop talking, not the other way around.
“What is Betty’s occupation?” she asked curiously, sure that the strange older woman would trigger the exasperated response she had seen earlier.
“She’s a healer,” he said, taking a great swig of wine and glaring at her as though daring her to ask more questions.
He was about to be disappointed if he thought an angry glance would silence her.
“And the other girl?”
“Apprentice.”
“She’s very beautiful.”
His frown deepened. “Is she?”
“Yes.”
He lowered his wine glass with a loud clatter, and Leah winced. He returned to his plate of food as she stared at him, incensed by his unsociable demeanor.
Finally, after almost a full minute of her not taking her eyes off his handsome face, he glanced up at her.
“Aye?” he prompted.
“I can’t think why you wouldn’t have any visitors. I can imagine your conversation is the stuff of legend.”
She lifted her wine glass to her lips and took a hefty swallow. She was not used to feeling so vexed with a person who, by rights, she should be grateful to. He did have a way of grating on her nerves.
“The less conversation we have, the quicker the time will pass, and I can be rid of ye faster,” he said finally.
Her nostrils flared with indignation. “Why did you help me if you prefer your own company?”
“Why do ye need me help?” he fired back, his continuous movement from plate to mouth to plate again finally ceasing as he studied her from the other end of the table.
He raised his eyebrows and waited for her to respond.
“Very well, if you must know, I am hiding from someone. Someone who wishes to end my life,” she said bitterly, her mind filling with hateful thoughts of her father again and whatever old codger he would force her to marry.
She was surprised when every muscle in MacWatt’s shoulders tensed up.
“Someone wants ye dead?” he asked, his voice as dark and brooding as she had ever heard it.
He leaned forward menacingly, and she was given a clear glimpse of what Oskar meant by MacWatt being a warrior.
“No,” she replied, feeling a rush of gratitude that he would so quickly come to her defense. “Someone wants to marry me, and my father has agreed to it without my consent.”
Slowly, Magnus sat back in his chair, his food forgotten, his steady gaze never leaving hers.
“Marry?” he asked. “Who?”
Leah shrugged. “I do not know. Someone who he deems worthy, which means someone who has more money than youth. I imagine he will approach an acquaintance from his club who has been a bachelor for many years and saddle me to a sixty-year-old earl.”
She struggled to keep the anger out of her voice. The thought of that nightmare becoming her future and being unable to prevent it made her breath stutter and her palms sweat. She took a deep breath, trying to find something—anything—to distract her.
“Were you married?” she asked quietly.
MacWatt’s gaze flicked to the fire. He stared into the flames for a long while until, finally, he nodded. “Aye. Ye’re wearin’ the proof of that.”
Leah ran a hand down the sleeve of her dress, wondering what the woman who had owned it had been like.
“I dinnae wish to speak of me past,” MacWatt continued, rising from his chair, walking to the fireplace, and placing two hands against the mantelpiece.
Leah tried her best not to stare at his muscular legs and wide back, but it was not easy to tear her eyes away.
“I’ve never heard of marriage as somethin’ that’ll end a life before. Nae by anyone else, that is.” His voice was low, vibrating through the air between them and making her shudder.
“It is a cage,” she said. “I am not allowed to marry for love or because of my own wishes. It is a transaction, a matter of business arranged by men without a thought or feeling given to the lady. That is what marriage is to me. What is it to you?” she asked, burning to know the answer.
For a long time, the Laird did not speak. She could just see his profile as he stared into the fire, his dark eye reflecting the flames before him and his hands holding onto the mantelpiece with a white-knuckled grip.
Finally, he turned to face her. “A curse,” he stated, his voice devoid of emotion. “Marriage is nothing but a burden.”
Feeling shaken by the hollow look on his face, Leah nodded. “Then we agree. It is best avoided at all costs.”
“Aye,” he replied softly, and then, very slowly, he began to walk toward her.
“That is the reason I am here,” she added. “If I can complete my book while I am in Scotland, I will have the ability to sell it, then I can live off the income and retire safely as a disowned spinster who no man in Society would want.”
“Sounds like a lot of trouble for a solitary life.”
He kept moving in her direction, and suddenly, his expression changed. His gaze was heavy and focused, a dark promise in the way his body moved, like he was stalking his prey, and she was powerless to escape.
“It is no trouble,” she countered. “Not if it means I can live the life I choose with the freedoms I deserve.” She swallowed as he came to stand beside her chair, looking down at her with that same unerring gaze.
“There, I have answered your question. Now it’s your turn.
” She placed her napkin on the table and moved to rise. “Why are you really helping me?”
“To collect me debt,” he growled, taking her upper arms in a vice-like grip and pulling her up from her chair, bringing his mouth down onto hers in a passionate kiss.