Chapter 13 #2
“I was trying to think of somethin’ nice to say,” Megan snapped. “Ye make it very hard to think of ye kindly, ye ken. Next time I’ll just call ye hen.”
“Aye, I’m sure ye will. I came to talk to ye briefly about what happened yesterday in the woods.”
Megan swallowed and tilted her chin up. She looked into the mirror as if examining her reflection, but she could see Ryder’s reflection over her shoulder. Always, her gaze shifted back to him.
“I’m nae sure that there’s much to say about it,” she said at last.
“Perhaps nae,” he conceded. “First things first, though. Ye’ll nae be wearin’ that gown to the cèilidh.”
She rounded on him. “What? Ye commissioned this gown for the cèilidh. Sophie picked it out!”
“Aye, well, I didnae think ye would look like that in it! Every man there will be slaverin’ over ye and wantin’ to dance with ye.”
She blinked. Was he saying that she looked beautiful?
Trust him to give me a compliment without it even sounding like one.
“And what’s wrong with that?” she managed at last.
He grinned. “Ye are mine, or did ye forget?”
“Do ye want me to turn up to this big, fine cèilidh with all of yer fellow lairds looking like a hag, then?”
He rolled his eyes. “Daenae be so dramatic. Ye could wear a burlap sack and look passably pretty.”
“Passably pretty? Keep insultin’ me, and I might arrive at the cèilidh naked.”
At once, Megan regretted throwing that insult at him.
His eyes darkened—not with anger, but with something else—and she found herself vividly imagining the scene.
In her head, she walked naked through a crowded feasting hall, the recipient of shocked stares.
However, she was only focused on a single stare.
It was Ryder, sprawled out on his throne, watching her approach…
Enough! She all but screamed at herself.
“I want to wear this dress,” Megan tried again when the silence dragged on.
He took a step toward her, arms folded, eyes flashing.
“Challengin’ me again, eh?” he murmured warningly. “This is nae a battle of wills that ye will win, me sweet. If ye are trying to make me attracted to ye in hopes that ye will get what ye want, then…”
“How dare ye!” she snapped, rounding on him. “I daenae need yer attraction.”
“Good, because our bargain is a simple one. Three months, and that is all. Yesterday, we blurred the lines in our relationship, so I thought I would make things clear. What happened then should not have happened. I should have been stronger, but I willnae make the same mistake again.” His expression softened, just a little. “I daenae want to hurt ye.”
“Hurt me!”
“I mean I daenae want ye to get confused, aye? It’ll nae happen again, this confusion between us. Aye? Do ye understand? Did ye not say that ye were saving yerself for the man ye would marry? Or was that just an excuse?”
She cleared her throat, not sure why there was a weight in her chest now. Her own words came back to haunt her, echoing around her head.
“ Of course I understand,” she managed, swallowing hard. “Thank ye for… for reminding me. I’m sure I’ll be able to marry, when I find the right man. My sisters all managed easily enough.”
“Good for them,” Ryder responded, his voice smooth and expressionless. “Marriage is nae a goal for all of us.”
“Nae for me.”
“Just as well, eh?”
He turned to go, but Megan found herself speaking again.
“Sophie chose the dress. She’ll be hurt if I daenae wear it. If ye insist upon me pickin’ something else, talk to her about it first. If ye daenae say anythin’ further, I’ll assume that this is the gown I’m wearin’.”
Ryder said nothing for a moment. He reached the doorway and opened the door, pausing and glancing back over his shoulder.
“Aye, very well,” he said mildly. “By the way, if ye bully each man ye meet the way ye bully me, I am nae surprised ye are nae yet wed.”
Megan flushed red with annoyance. Before she could snap something back at him, he disappeared into the staircase with an echoing chuckle. She heard him jog downstairs, still laughing.
She rushed after him, pausing on the landing, but just about restrained herself from shouting an insult after him.
It willnae look good, the laird’s betrothed shoutin’ insults to the stairs at him, she thought glumly, retreating into her room. Sophie willnae like it if I insult her braither. Alaina might nae mind, but she might have preferred to give the insults herself.
She returned to the mirror, inspecting her reflection. The dress suited her well. The color and cut were good, and with Flora’s adjustments, the bodice hugged her breasts nicely.
I almost look like a lady in this, she thought, offering herself a wry smile and placing a hand on her hip. She concentrated on how good she looked, covering over the hurt that Ryder’s words had left.
What did I expect? She told herself, as reasonably as she could. He doesnae want to wed, and if he did choose a bride, it would nae be me. Fair’s fair.
One thing is for sure, however. I daenae care what he says—I’m wearin’ this gown to the cèilidh.