Chapter 12 #2
Having woken up from an uneasy dream, Leah was now overcome with emotion as she sobbed in Katie’s arms. Her life and every hope she had clung to seemed to have been dashed to nothing. She felt sickened by the thought of yielding to her father’s demands and meekly following him back to London.
“It’s alright, Leah,” Katie said gently, running her fingers down her friend’s long hair. “It will work out for the best.”
“You cannot know that,” Leah cried despairingly. “I am such a fool.” She pulled away with an irritated groan, wiping her eyes in frustration. “I can’t remember the last time I fainted. Never from memory, and yet I have done it in front of my father and Laird MacWatt.”
Katie gave her a knowing stare and leaned back to look at her more closely. “And what, pray tell, does it matter what Laird MacWatt may think of you?”
Leah sniffed primly. “Nothing at all, as you well know.”
“Oh, do I?” Katie said with a laugh. “I think you might care for his opinion more than you’re letting on.”
“And what gave you that impression?” Leah asked indignantly.
“I have seen the way you look at him.”
Leah shook her head, wanting to distract her friend from her line of questioning. “Imagine swooning in front of my father. He already thinks of me as a weak, silly woman.”
Katie took hold of her shoulders, giving her a long stare. “You, Leah Anderson, are not weak. You are the strongest woman I have ever known. I don’t want to hear that kind of talk from you, do you hear me?”
“Ye should listen to yer friend,” came a voice from the entrance of the room. “She is a wise lass.”
Leah pulled back from Katie in surprise. MacWatt was standing there, watching them with the same expression.
Katie gave him a pointed look, something passing between them that Leah could not read.
A few moments later, Katie rose, brushed down her skirts, and leaned over to hug Leah, giving her shoulders a squeeze for good measure. She curtsied to MacWatt as she left the room, giving Leah a meaningful stare as she did so.
Leah pulled her hair from over her shoulder and began to plait it, separating the strands and lacing each one through the other until she could tie them all together.
She looked up at MacWatt, who had not moved.
His good eye roamed over her briefly as though to ascertain if she was really well.
She felt a swell of sadness at their predicament, wondering what their relationship might have been like without the weight of their responsibilities under different circumstances.
“I am sorry,” she murmured. “I have dragged you into a mess that is not of your making, My Laird,” she said solemnly, feeling the weight of her guilt as he took a few steps into the room.
“I wish I could help ye, lass, ye ken I do, but I cannae marry ye. Ye wouldnae be happy with a man like me.”
Leah pulled another strand of hair into her fingers and began to plait it obsessively, watching the pieces fit together, grateful that she had control over one thing in her life.
“I would hardly be happy with Grandpa Wellton either,” she replied with a shudder.
“But I do understand. You told me you see marriage as a curse, and I would not wish to force you into another union you may despise. Wellton is known to be a kind old man. If I can avoid giving him heirs, then I might—”
“Ye’ll nae lie with him,” MacWatt barked, his fists clenching as a vein pulsed in his temple.
He looked away, his jaw tight, as though, once again, his mouth had run away with him before his mind had decided on what to say.
Leah scoffed, finally tying her hair into a neat knot at the back of her head and watching him carefully.
She recalled the feel of the weight of his body over hers as she had lain sprawled across his dining table, the intense need and desire in his gaze as he looked down at her, the feel of his fingers gripping her body as though he were about to claim her.
She felt desire spring to life at the memory, but even as the feeling bloomed in her blood, irritation was quick to follow it.
She threw the covers off herself and walked over to the window, grabbing a shawl to ward off the biting draft that blew into the room.
She looked out at the fertile lands below her. Lands that she was neither allowed to remain in nor permitted to leave due to the possessive and obsessive wills of men.
She turned, her eyes narrowing as MacWatt met her gaze.
“You do not want me, yet no other man can have me, is that it?” she spat. “What exactly do you suggest I do then, My Laird? My father will disown me, and no man in Society will want spoiled goods. I shall be a laughing stock, thrown out of my home and my friends—”
“I didnae hide in that carriage.”
“You are the one who gave me sanctuary. You did not have to. Every action has its consequences.”
“Ye are tellin’ me I should have predicted this outcome. This madness from yer faither—”
“What exactly did you expect, and why help me at all when—”
“Fine!” Magnus snarled.
Leah froze in place, seeing the same shock on his face as he closed his eye. He opened it only to throw his head back and look up at the ceiling as though in deep despair.
“Fine?” she echoed disbelievingly.
“I’ll marry ye,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face and heaving a great sigh. “Goddamnit to hell.”
“W-what?” she replied stupidly.
“I’ll marry ye. That’s what ye want, is it nae? The better choice of two bad ones?”
She opened her mouth to respond, but no sound would come out. She had not foreseen this, certain that he was entirely set in his decision and never expecting him to renege on it—certainly not so quickly.
She put her hands on her hips. “You will not even ask me?” she said, a mix of relief and fear warring within her.
“That is what ye are fixated on, is it nae? Wellton hasnae asked ye either. Would ye prefer him?” he asked, taking a predatory step toward her.
She wrung her hands, at a loss for words. “But—”
“Listen to me.” His voice was dark, his gaze set and unyielding. “I’ll just say this once. So listen well.”
He sighed, coming to stand a few feet away from her, his expression softening. He put his hands behind his back, swallowing down whatever he had been about to say before taking a deep breath, closing his eye, and laying out his terms.
“We will marry to save yer reputation and stop yer faither from throwin’ ye out of his home like a child throwin’ his toys from a pram.
I will prevent ye from marryin’ some old goat who will barely live past yer weddin’ day.
But this willnae be a conventional marriage.
We will lead separate lives. Ye will have yer own castle, yer own staff, yer own life, and I will have mine. That’s the best I can offer.”
Leah’s eyes went wide at what he was suggesting. It was madness to believe that they could marry but live as though they did not know one another. And yet the alternative was unthinkable. She could not leave and marry Wellton—she simply could not.
How could he possibly want this as his future? Surely, it would be easier for him to just let me leave with my father.
She had to give him one last chance to revoke his statement. “But, My Laird, you cannot possibly want—”
“It’s ‘Magnus’ now, wife,” he grunted as he turned on his heel and walked to the door, giving her no chance to respond or even to ask a question.
He bowed his head as he laid a hand on the door handle, the same tension rolling off him in waves as he glanced back at her.
“We marry tomorrow,” he growled.
“But—”
The door slammed shut behind him with such finality that Leah’s words died in her throat.
And so I have signed my life away to a man who will never truly want me.