Chapter 22
The dress looked even more breathtaking than when he’d seen it before. Or perhaps it was just because she was wearing it.
Yes, that seemed more likely.
Ryder swallowed, trying to control his arousal. Desire pulsed through him like a second heartbeat, and desire was not a thing he wanted to be feeling just before an important political meeting.
He had to control himself.
Clearing his throat, Ryder turned away, striding over to the window. He tucked his hands behind his back, peering out at the gray landscape.
“It’s a nice dress.”
After a moment, he heard her approach, each footstep toward him echoing deep in his chest.
“Thank ye,” she murmured, directly behind him.
If I daenae look at her, I willnae risk losin’ control, he reminded himself. His body, however, moved of its own accord. He turned slowly, his eyes meeting hers, and a shiver raced down his spine.
“It’s nae the dress that’s beautiful, ye ken,” he managed, the words fighting up his throat, demanding to be heard. “It’s ye.”
Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening. He lifted his hand almost hesitantly and brushed a stray tendril of hair away from her cheek. It tangled in the petals of a small yellow flower tucked just above her ear. He smiled, gently running his fingertip over the flower.
“Ye have been avoidin’ me,” he murmured, letting his hand drop to his side. “Daenae try to deny it.”
She tilted up her chin. “I wasnae goin’ to.”
He chuckled. “Cheeky as always, I see. I like how straightforward ye are. A wee word of advice, though. When ye meet Laird MacAdair, daenae be too witty. He doesnae appreciate witty women.”
“I’m sure he doesnae,” she responded dryly. “Why do ye call him Laird MacAdair, and not Uncle Logan, as the lassies do?”
He shrugged, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms.
“He’s hardly me uncle. He was their maither’s braither, and so doesnae have much connection to me. We’re nae blood, although we are kin.”
“And his approval means a lot to ye, does it?”
He rolled his shoulders, suddenly uncomfortable with this line of reasoning.
“Nay,” he answered, frowning. “But he’s all I have left by way of kin, except for the girls of course.
He wants to raise them, and often talks about how much better of a guardian he would be.
I sometimes wonder that he might be right.
But it does not matter, because the girls are mine to raise, and I’ll keep them.
I hope ye daenae mean to imply that I want his blessin’ or permission to wed.
I need nobody’s permission, and the only blessin’ I would care about would come from me sisters. ”
Megan sniffed. “That is nae what I meant. And what’s more, it hardly matters, because we’re nae goin’ to be wed.”
Ryder stiffened.
Aye, I keep forgettin’ that. I forget that it’s all a lie.
That willnae do me any good, will it?
He cleared his throat again, suddenly wishing that he could fidget with his sword or stride around the room. But no, he had a purpose in coming here.
“Look,” he said at last, a little testily, “I ken that ye daenae like me. I ken that our betrothal isnae real. But tonight is meant to be a celebration of us, so I would appreciate it if ye would take it seriously, aye?”
She reddened. “Are ye sayin’ that I’ll nae take it seriously?”
“I daenae ken, Megan. I often daenae have the faintest idea of what ye are goin’ to do until ye have done it. I daenae much enjoy feelin’ out of control, and ye are nae doin’ much to help me with that.”
“I didnae realize that ye needed help to feel in control,” she sniffed. “It sounds to me like ye daenae have as much influence as ye think, if ye require help to…”
“Enough, woman, ye are givin’ me a headache.”
She gave a gasp of outrage. “I beg yer pardon? How dare…”
He shouldered past her, suddenly keen to put distance between them.
When Megan was angry, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes glittered.
The flush spread down her throat, and he wanted nothing more than to trace its progress with his fingers.
He wanted to touch her, kiss her, sweep her in his arms, and chuckle at her stiff annoyance.
She’s even more bloody beautiful when she’s angry, he thought wearily. There’s nay escape for me, eh?
“I willnae accuse ye of anythin’,” he continued firmly, “but we must put on a good show. It’s important. It’s politics.”
“Aye, I suppose it is,” she sniffed, shaking out her skirts. “And I suppose I have been avoidin’ ye, by the way. What else am I to do when ye keep pushin’ me away?”
He flinched at that, hastily glancing away.
“Aye. Well. Thank ye for yer honesty. Now, I have brought ye a present.”
That seemed to take her aback. She blinked, missing a beat.
“A present?” she echoed.
He nodded, reaching into the folds of his plaid. He took out a small, rectangular thing, wrapped in linen, and tossed it at her. She caught it neatly, frowning, and unwrapped it.
Her eyes widened.
“This… this is me Da’s book!”
“Aye. So it is. It’s yers now.”
She blinked again, seeming almost baffled. She smoothed her hand over the cover, her fingers shaking. It was an almost reverential gesture, and it brought a lump to Ryder’s throat.
That old diary means so much to her. So much.
I shouldnae have kept it from her for so long.
This thought was followed by a pang of something that felt suspiciously like regret. Ryder made a point to avoid regret as often as he could. It was a dangerous emotion, the sort of thing that choked a person and weighed them down with indecision.
And yet here it was, sweeping over him like a wave, unstoppable and loud.
He cleared his throat, averting his gaze to somewhere else in the room. He fixed his eyes on the tapestry instead. That seemed safer.
“I thought ye were keepin’ it until it was time for me to leave,” Megan murmured, her voice soft. “I thought that was our deal.”
“It was,” Ryder responded, fighting to keep his voice steady. He ran his fingers through his hair, his hand catching on a knot. The pain was sharp, helping to clear his mind. “But I think ye ought to have it now. Ye have done good work, even if ye have disobeyed me at every turn.”
She snorted, shaking her head. “I only disobeyed when I had to. But… but thank ye for this. It means a lot.”
She pressed the book against her chest, flattening her hands over his. When he glanced back at her, she was staring into nothing in particular, her gaze turning inward.
She’s thinkin’ of him, Ryder thought suddenly. She’s thinkin’ of her faither, goin’ through the memories they had together.
I hope her memories are happy ones.
Abruptly, her eyes flicked up to him. Before he knew what was happening, she lunged forward, going up on her tiptoes. Her soft lips pressed against his cheekbone, the touch barely there and fleeting.
The kiss spread through his body like a fire burning out of control, circling in his gut and tensing his muscles. He swallowed hard, praying silently for control.
Megan darted back, red-faced. If he hadn’t known better, he would have said that she was embarrassed.
“Ye daenae ken what this means to me,” she said after a pause, her voice more clear and level. “Thank ye. And here I daenae have a present for ye.”
Ryder swallowed. His throat had gone dry, almost scratchy.
He wanted to clear his throat again, but it was rapidly becoming a tic, a habit.
He fought to avoid habits. Habits were ruts, and ruts were dangerous.
Best to keep one’s life as free from entanglements of any kind as possible. Even routine was an entanglement.
And yet here he was, stumbling toward her again, gaze flicking up and down her frame as if he were a hungry man and she a fresh piece of bread, dripping with butter, new from the oven. His mouth watered.
“Are ye sure that ye havenae got a gift for me?” he whispered, his voice rough with desire.
Her eyes widened, pupils darkening. She swallowed, and he watched the movement go down her throat.
He let his gaze drift lower, resting on the curve of her breasts.
Sometimes, he could almost feel the warm softness of her breasts beneath his fingers, with the shape of her nipples burned into his mind forever.
He knew how she would react if he touched her, if only he could close the gap between them. His hands itched to touch—to touch her. He hadn’t touched her properly, and he could almost taste her sometimes, too.
Her breath caught in her throat. He heard it—a stifled, surprised gasp, heavy with desire.
She feels the same way, he thought. I ken she does.
And there was a tentative tap on the door.
“What? Who is it?” Ryder snapped, a flush of anger reddening his vision.
“Only me, me Laird,” Flora’s regretful voice came. “Ewan said that I should tell ye that Laird MacAdair is here, and that ye had both better come down.”
Ryder used the interruption as an opportunity. He stepped back, cleared his throat, and smoothed back his hair.
“We had better go,” he said, as coolly as he could manage.
Megan watched him, her eyes unreadable.
“I suppose so,” she answered.
The Feast Hall was filling up rapidly. Megan elbowed her way through the crowd, sweating already, until people around her seemed to realize that she was the Laird’s betrothed and hastily began to move aside.
Alaina and Sophie already stood at the broadest end of the space, where a low platform stretched out, facing the rest of the room. Ryder’s throne had been placed there, and a smaller chair had been put beside him. With a jolt, Megan realized that it was for her.
She hurried toward the girls, who smiled encouragingly at her. Flora waddled behind Megan, her arms cradled protectively around her belly. Megan wondered briefly what Flora had seen in her face when she left the room. Ryder had stayed behind, crisply telling them to go on without him.
The flush had faded from her cheeks by now, and that was something. She felt more composed, less… less heated.
As she moved toward the girls, she noticed a tall, stocky man talking to a group of men nearby. Both Alaina and Sophie kept glancing at the man. They both looked over at her as she approached, and the man turned.
He had a headful of dark red hair, scraped with gray at the temples, and narrow peat-brown eyes.
His face was sun-spotted and tanned, the lines around his eyes making him seem older than he was.
The rest of him, however, was strong and toned, and Megan estimated that he was forty-five years old, give or take.
“Forgive me, lass, but I must ask whether ye are the famous Megan Blackwood, betrothed to me nephew?”
Megan cleared her throat, glancing up at him. She smiled in what she hoped was a friendly and encouraging way.
“Aye, that is me,” she answered, dropping a lopsided curtsy.
The man gave a small smile, as if amused at something she did not quite understand. He bowed tautly and looked her over boldly.
“Ye are a beautiful lass,” he remarked. “But then, I could not imagine that me nephew would choose a woman who was nae beautiful.”
Megan stiffened. How was she supposed to respond to that?
“Forgive me,” he added, when the silence stretched out. “I’m a blunt man and a soldier. I speak me mind when I shouldnae. It’s a flaw, I can assure ye. Me councilors tear out their hair at me tactlessness.”
She had to smile at that and shook her head. “I admire yer honesty.”
It struck her then that while Ryder did not refer to Logan as his uncle, Logan referred to him as his nephew. How strange. She wondered how deep the breach between them was. Perhaps there wasn’t a breach at all, at least on Logan’s side.
“Nae everybody does. Tell me, lass, how is Ryder? His letters are crisp and businesslike. I hear little about how he is. This betrothal news was… concernin’.”
Megan paused, tilting her head. Well, if he could be honest, so could she.
“Concernin’? What do ye mean by that?”
Logan eyed her thoughtfully. She thought she detected a hint of annoyance in his eyes. A muscle ticked in his jaw.
Ryder said that his uncle doesnae like witty women. Well, that’s too bad, because I am nae going to muzzle meself to make this man—or any man—comfortable.
She lifted her chin just a little, holding his gaze, and waited for his response.
“I suppose I had thought that if he married, he would choose a bride who allied him to another clan,” Logan answered at last. “I assumed he would make a political marriage, nae a love-match.”
When the muscle in his cheek twitched again, Megan noticed for the first time a small, crescent-shaped scar there. When the muscle twitched, the barely-there scar tugged at his skin.
It gave her something of a start to realize that their marriage was considered a love-match. After all, political marriages were arranged through proxies, with the two clans knowing about it.
But he didnae choose me, she reminded herself, swallowing hard. I cannae lose sight of that.
She was suddenly aware that she had missed a beat, and that Logan was watching her with an intense, curious stare. He had an intense way of looking at people, which made her feel as though he could see all her thoughts.
It wasn’t pleasant, but then, he was a laird. All lairds were a little odd, in Megan’s opinion.
“Aye, ours is an unusual match, to be sure,” she managed at last.
Well, it’s nae a lie.
Logan nodded thoughtfully. “I am just grateful that he is marryin’ at last. Every laird ought to marry, for a host of reasons.
Ryder, though, always thinks that he is the exception to every rule.
I have tried to talk to him before, but he willnae listen.
It seems that he will, at last, listen to someone. To ye. What a blessin’, eh?”
Was he mocking her? Megan thought so. Still, there was a kernel of truth in what he said.
Since the beginning of time, lairds who were wise listened to their wives.
The more they loved them, the more they listened.
The Lady of the Keep was the second most powerful person in the whole clan.
Just how close a second she was depended on how clever she was.
“Ye must make him listen, Megan,” Logan continued, throwing a tired glance down at her. “I worry that his desire for control spills over into all things, even in his treatment of me nieces. Love is at the core of it all, but tragic consequences can come from the best of intentions.”
She shivered at that, swallowing hard.
“Aye, I… I understand,” she stammered. “I’ll do me best.”
“I ken ye will, lass. I ken ye will.”
He reached out as if to pat her shoulder, then seemed to think better of it. At that moment, a roar broke out at the other end of the room. Logan heaved a sigh.
“The man of the hour is here, then. I’ll go greet him.”