Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
"We leave. Now."
David's hand closed around her elbow before Elinor could fully process what was happening. One moment she'd been standing in that dim backroom, watching her father count his money with gleaming eyes. The next, she was being steered toward a side door, away from the manor, away from everything.
"Wait," She tried to plant her feet, but David's grip was firm. Not bruising, but unyielding. Just. Certain. "Where are we going?"
"Away from here." He didn't slow his pace.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one ye're gettin' right now."
They emerged into the cold afternoon air.
The winter sun hung low and pale, casting long shadows across the frozen drive.
Elinor could see two horses already saddled and waiting, one a massive grey stallion, the other a sturdy bay.
The sandy-haired man, Tristan, stood beside them, checking the saddle straps with practiced efficiency.
"What about my things." Elinor started.
"What things?" David finally stopped, turning to face her. His dark eyes were unreadable in the fading light. "Did yer faither pack ye a trunk? Give ye time to gather yer belongings before draggin' ye here to be sold?"
The truth of it stung. She'd been allowed one small bag. A spare shift. A comb. Nothing else.
"No," she said quietly.
"Then ye've nothin' tae go back fer." He started walking again, pulling her along.
Something in Elinor snapped. She wrenched her arm free, stumbling back a step. "No."
David turned slowly. "Nay?"
"No." She straightened her spine, lifted her chin. Let him see that she would not be dragged about like livestock, even if he had just purchased her like she was. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me where we're going and why."
"Ye dinnae have a choice in this, lass."
"Don't I?" Her voice was sharper than she'd intended, edged with all the fury and fear of the past hours. "The last time someone told me to just go somewhere without explanation, I ended up on an auction block. Forgive me if I'm not eager to repeat the experience."
Tristan, who had been securing something to his saddle, let out a surprised bark of laughter. "She's got ye there, David."
David shot him a look that could have frozen fire. "Nae helpin', Tristan."
"I'm nay tryin' tae help." Tristan's grin was unrepentant. "I'm just sayin', the lass makes a fair point."
"A fair point," David repeated, his tone flat. He turned back to Elinor, and she saw something flicker across his face—frustration, perhaps, or grudging respect. "Fine. Ye want tae ken where we're goin'? We're ridin' tae Alnwick Castle. Tae meet the Regent, the Duke of Albany."
Elinor's breath caught. "The Regent? Why would we?"
"Because he summoned me." David's jaw was tight. "Ordered me tae take an English bride. And now I have one."
The words landed like stones in still water, rippling outward with implications Elinor couldn't fully grasp. "You bought me to satisfy a royal command?"
"I bought ye because…" He stopped himself, his hand moving to the back of his neck in what looked like frustration. "It's complicated."
"Then uncomplicate it."
"I cannae. Nae right now." He stepped closer, and Elinor had to resist the urge to step back.
That close, the fading light caught the sharp angles of his face. The high cheekbones, the strong line of his jaw shadowed with stubble, the slight crook in his nose that suggested it had been broken at least once.
His dark hair was pulled back, but a few strands had come loose, falling across his brow. He wasn't handsome in the soft, polished way of English courtiers. He was rougher. Harder. The kind of face that had been shaped by wind and battle rather than comfort.
And, despite the fear and fury still churning in her chest, Elinor felt something stir low in her stomach. An awareness she didn't want and couldn't afford.
She looked away.
"What I can tell ye is this: we need tae leave. Now. And before we meet the regent, ye and I need tae be married."
"Married?" The word came out strangled. "You can't be serious."
"I'm entirely serious."
"I don't even know you!"
"Ye ken me name and me title. Laird of Keppoch. Ye ken I paid five-hundred pounds fer ye when I could have walked away and let Langley have ye." His eyes held hers, dark and steady. "What more dae ye need tae ken?"
"Everything!" The word burst out of her, too loud, too desperate. She tried to rein herself in, to find the composure she'd worn like armor for so many years. "I need to know why. I need to know what you want from me. I need to know if I'm walking from one prison into another."
Something shifted in David's expression. The hard edges softened, just slightly. "I'm nae yer faither, lass. And I'm nae Langley."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the best ye're gettin' until we're away from here and married." He held out his hand. "Come."
Elinor looked at his outstretched hand. At the calluses on his palm, the faint scars across his knuckles. A warrior's hand. She thought of her father's hands, soft and weak despite his cruelty. Of Edmund Langley's hands, reaching for her like she was property to be claimed.
David's hand was steady. Patient. Waiting for her choice, even though they both knew she had no real choice at all.
"If I go with you," she said slowly, "and I marry you, what happens then?"
"Then ye become Lady MacDonald. Ye come north with me tae Keppoch. And ye're under me protection."
"Your protection." She tasted the words, found them wanting. "Men always say they're protecting women when what they mean is they're controlling them."
"Aye," David said quietly. "Some men dae."
"And you?"
"I dinnae ken yet, lass. I've never had a wife before." His honesty caught her off guard. "But I can tell ye this, I didnae pay five-hundred pounds fer ye just tae make ye miserable. That would be a poor investment."
Despite everything, a surprised laugh escaped her. "You're comparing me to cattle."
"I'm comparin' ye tae a very expensive decision that I'm hopin' I dinnae regret." The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "Are ye goin' tae make me regret it?"
"I haven't decided yet."
"Fair enough." He kept his hand extended. "But decide while we're ridin'. We need tae be gone before Langley works up the courage tae come take ye with force."
The mention of Langley made up her mind. Whatever David MacDonald was, whatever he wanted from her, he was not Edmund Langley. That alone was worth the risk.
She placed her hand in his.
His fingers closed around hers, warm despite the cold. Then, before she could process what was happening, he swept her up into his arms.
"What are you doing?" She grabbed at his shoulders, more from instinct than actual protest.
"Ye said ye'd come. I'm makin' sure ye cannae change yer mind before we're mounted." He carried her toward the grey stallion with long, purposeful strides.
"I can walk!"
"Aye, ye can. And ye can also plant yer feet and refuse tae move, like ye did thirty seconds ago." He stopped beside the horse, looking down at her. "I'm nae takin' that chance."
This close, she could see the fine details of his face. The sharp line of his jaw. The slight bump in his nose that suggested it had been broken at least once. The way his dark eyes caught the light, turning them almost black.
"You're insufferable," she said.
"Ye're nae the first tae tell me so." He lifted her easily onto the saddle, then swung up behind her in one fluid motion. His arms came around her to take the reins, caging her against his chest. "Comfortable?"
She could feel the solid warmth of him at her back, the steady rise and fall of his breathing. The horse shifted beneath them, and she had to grab at the saddle to keep her balance, which only pressed her more firmly against him.
"No," she said through gritted teeth.
"Ye'll adjust." His breath stirred the loose tendrils of hair at her temple. "We've a ways tae ride."
Tristan mounted his own horse with considerably less drama, shaking his head. "Never thought I'd see the day David MacDonald kidnapped himself a wife."
"I didnae kidnap her. I bought her fair and square."
"Oh, well, that's much better."
"Tristan."
"I'm just sayin', it's nae the romantic tale the bards will be singin' about."
"The bards can go tae hell." David's arms tightened fractionally as he urged the stallion forward. "Let's move. I want miles between us and this place before nightfall."
They rode in silence for several minutes, the horses' hooves crunching on the frozen ground. Elinor kept her spine rigid, trying to maintain some distance between herself and David despite the impossibility of it. Behind them, she could hear Tristan humming some tune she didn't recognize.
"Ye're goin' tae give yerself a backache, sittin' like that," David said quietly.
"I'm fine."
"Ye're stiff as a board. Relax."
"I can't."
"Why nae?"
Because if she relaxed, she'd lean back against him.
Because if she leaned back against him, she'd feel the solid strength of his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
Because some traitorous part of her wanted to do exactly that, to let someone else carry the weight for a while, and the thought terrified her more than anything else that had happened that day.
"Because I don't know you," she said instead.
"Ye keep sayin' that like it matters."
"It does matter."
"Daes it?" His voice was thoughtful rather than challenging.
"I didn’t know Langley either, and my mother was pleased enough when he came calling." The mention of her mother sent a fresh wave of anger through her. "She thought marriage to anyone would be better than staying under my father's roof. She was wrong."
"How dae ye ken she was wrong?"
"Because I saw the way Langley looked at me. Like I was a thing he was owned. A possession he'd been denied." She swallowed hard. "At least my father only saw me as an asset. Langley saw me as a prize."
"And what dae I see ye as?"