Chapter 7
Lying in bed while sharing a room with a man who was practically a stranger to her was peculiar; Victoria would have no issues admitting to that. Arran lay on the ground in front of the door, looking very uncomfortable, though he did not say anything to that effect.
“Are you sure that you will be all right down there? You have already said that there will be a long ride tomorrow morning,” Victoria asked, sitting up in bed with the blankets pulled up around her.
While his linen shirt came down nearly to her knees, she was too aware of her exposed, stockingless legs beneath those blankets.
It was still immodest to be so disrobed with a stranger present.
Then again, how much had he seen while she was in the bath?
He claimed not to have seen anything, but what if he had?
Did I want him to look?
It was strange even to think about. She supposed that over the course of the last Season, she had just become somewhat accustomed to being the center of attention and having so many eyes on her.
Every move she made and word that she had spoken had been under constant monitoring and scrutiny.
She had not asked to be the Diamond, but she fully understood the weight that came with it when she was named as such.
Now? She felt… casual, and it was uncomfortable.
“I’ve slept in worse places,” Arran answered.
“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in the stables with the rest of your men?”
Perhaps then, she would not be so restless.
“Ye need guardin’. I trust me men to guard the outside, while I watch over the inside.” He punched the bag he was using as a pillow to fluff it up some. “It is those that I daenae ken that I daenae trust.”
“Do you think that something is going to happen?” she asked. “Or is it that you do not trust that I will not smother you, as I said I would?”
“I think that one solid kick would knock any of these old doors right off their hinges. I’d rather nae risk it.
At least this way, they will have to stumble over me body to get to ye.
” Arran chuckled at his own joke, but she did not know how it truly made her feel.
“As for yer other question, I’d feel ye creepin’ across these floorboards before ye ever got a pillow over my face. ”
He grew silent after that, and she attempted to settle back into the bed.
She could not stop feeling rather guilty for the way that he had refused any of the bedding.
He had his tartan stretched out beneath him like a bedroll and that saddlebag under his head.
Personally, she did not care if that was how he often slept while he was traveling; it felt so spartan to her.
Not to mention, she was certain that she would wake up with a headache and a terrible crick in her neck if she were to attempt it.
He smells lovely for someone who has traveled so much in recent days.
The linen shirt that she wore carried his scent.
It was not unpleasant in the slightest, certainly cleaner than she would have expected.
Various sections of the soft fabric had been crudely sewn and patched, making her curious as to what they covered up, but it showed that he cared for the things that he had.
As she lay there, mind racing, she found herself rather intrigued about what life in Scotland must be like on a day-to-day basis. Certainly, it could not be that different from her own life, could it?
To say that she found herself confused at her own thoughts and the situation that she found herself in would be putting it mildly. Again, she knew that she ought to be frightened, but she was just so… relieved that she did not have to marry Charles.
“Arran?” she asked after a while.
Sleep would not come to her, no matter how she tried. It was so dark beyond the window, the impenetrable black of the countryside, that there was no way to know how long it was that she had been tossing and turning in her bed.
“Arran… are you asleep?”
If he was, or if he was just ignoring her… then perhaps that would be fine. She would just have to squeeze her eyes shut and try a little harder to drift off without the glow of any city lights to comfort her.
Then, after a long stretch of silence, came his exasperated sigh and a rustle of fabric from the floor by the door. Even if she sat up, the fire was burning too low for her to see him properly.
“No,” he finally grumbled.
“Um, I just… I feel terrible that you are on the floor. You have done more than enough for me… you do not have to sleep there.” She spoke as her hands wrung uncomfortably around the fabric of the blanket that she was holding.
Why did she feel so nervous? It was not as if she were asking him to share her bed. Not like that anyway. The moment the thought crossed her mind, her face flamed with embarrassment.
“Daenae tempt me, lass,” he answered gruffly, and she did not hear him move again.
She attempted to settle back down into the bed but could not get comfortable. With a huff, she dropped her arms heavily to either side of herself and stared up at the dark ceiling.
“How long are you planning to have me stay with you, then?”
Arran sighed again. “Until our common enemy is ruined.”
“What if you never find him? Am I supposed to just rot in your dungeons?” she huffed right back.
“I already told ye that ye’re nae my prisoner.”
Victoria sat upright once more. “But I am not free to go, either. That, by any description, makes me a prisoner.”
“I suppose that ye’d be more comfortable if I treated ye that way?
” Arran said wearily, and she could see the outline of him sitting upright, his knees bent and his elbows resting on the peaks of his knees.
She could not see the details of his face, but she could make out the glint of his eyes in the dimness.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Ye daenae strike me as a damsel in distress, or an unreasonable lass, and yet yer head just keeps on whirrin’ and ye keep thinkin’ the worst.” Arran’s hand moved to his head, but she was glad she couldn’t see the ensuing gesture.
“I just fail to see how any of this is going to help me. You say it is to keep me safe, but–”
“And ye would rather be out alone in the forest?” Arran shook his head, pushing to his feet and pouring himself a drink of ale. “I told ye, I will take care of ye. I gave ye my word. Perhaps the men here daenae stand by theirs, but I assure ye–”
“Yes, yes, until you kill my betrothed, you shall care for me. And then what? You shall just send me back? You do not seem to understand how that will look where I hail from. Just being in this room with you… if anyone knew… we would be ruined,” Victoria spoke, her worry turning into irritation as she slipped from the bed so that she could find herself on better footing with him while they argued.
“Who is we?” Arran asked, thrusting the glass of ale in her direction.
She did not reply to that question. “Perhaps I ought never to have run in the first place! It would be better if I were there waiting for the Earl’s return.” Victoria picked at her bottom lip as she started to pace.
Yes, if she were there when he returned, then he would not have any reason to go searching for anyone. There was a chance, however small, that he would seek out her friends to see if they were giving her refuge… and if that was so, would he find Melody? She could not allow for that to happen.
“It was just a moment of weakness… I will force him to understand. Then I can find a way to make things right and spare anyone else from harm.”
She was talking more to herself than to him now, and she placed the glass of ale on the bedside table, untouched.
Her panicked rambling was cut off mid-pace as Arran closed the distance between them.
His arms formed a cage on either side of her body, pinning her between his bulk and the wall that she had been standing in front of.
She gasped, heat flushing every part of her as she allowed herself to be trapped.
She turned her focus upward, able to make out the stern look on his face now that they were standing so close to one another.
When he spoke, his voice was lower and more dangerous than she had ever heard him be before, and it sent a shudder down her spine. “Give me one good reason that ye would need to go back to that place.”
Victoria felt like crying all over again. Somehow, being trapped by him like this did not feel dangerous. Not at all like the times that Charles had done it to her when he wanted to get his way, or intimidate her. No, this just felt like Arran needed her absolute and devoted attention.
“To marry him, of course,” she breathed.
He reached down and grabbed her forearm, lifting it so that they could both see her wrist and the injuries there. “Ye’d marry the monster who did this to ye?”
Victoria could not look at him any longer.
She turned her chin down and attempted to look at the floor beside the bed, just beyond the cage she was in.
She did not even have it in her to struggle out of his grip.
She knew how insane it sounded. She did not want to do it…
but she was being so incredibly selfish by thinking that there would not be repercussions to her leaving.
Charles had already made it clear that he had no qualms about using her sister against her.
“I forbid it,” Arran seethed.
That got her attention right back on to him. Her mouth opened in muted shock as she struggled to find her words in her outrage. “Forbid? I was not aware that I needed your permission for anything!”
Arran’s jaw tensed, but it was clear that he would not be budged on this topic.
“What grounds do you have to stop me from doing anything? This does not even really concern you at all.”
“Why?” he growled, and her stomach clenched. She could practically feel the vibration of his voice against her chest. “Because ye’re mine… to protect. I already told ye. Mine.”
Her nose crinkled as she geared up to argue with him some more—until his lips connected harshly with her own, and she lost the ability to think at all. All the ranting and rambling thoughts that had been rattling around her mind for the last few hours seemed to slip right out of her focus.
The tension in her spine melted away as Arran closed the slight distance between them, his body flattening hers to the wall.
It was comforting pressure all around her, even more so when his hand dropped from her forearm so that one hand could cup her face while the other slipped around her waist, arching her forward to maximize their contact.
Victoria had never been kissed before. Not that Charles had not attempted to do so more than once.
She could vividly recall him grasping her chin in his hand, attempting to force his face to hers…
but she had managed to divert him by way of her forehead ramming into his own.
It had not even been intentional. It was aggression born of desperation, and he had certainly punished her for it.
That, if she was not mistaken, was when she had lost the privilege of sleeping in a bed.
But she was not sorry for his broken nose, nor was she going to pretend to be displeased with the way his eyes had both purpled and swelled from the injury.
Charles had wanted to own her, to dominate her in every horrible way imaginable.
It constantly shocked her to think that there had ever been a time when she had thought that she might have been able to fall for him, to really love him.
But then again, Charles had been kind at the beginning of their courtship.
Arran did not seem to have any such twisted intentions; he seemed to be the sort of man to act on his feelings.
His hands were rough, yes, but they held her so well as her own nervous hands came to rest on his firm, broad chest. She ought to shove him away, to bite him, to slap him for daring to steal a kiss from her—but he tasted sweet.
Like nutmeg and honey and something that she could not place.
The scent was everywhere as he consumed her in the way that a kiss ought to be.
This was the sort of thing that made everything else fade away, her body crackling, a swell of feeling pooling at the junction between her thighs…
just like all of her books said that a kiss ought to make her feel.
It was indecent. She was stamping the ticket to her own ruination… but it felt so nice to be held.
I want him.
The thought registering was enough to bring her to her senses, and she added pressure against his chest with one hand, increasing the distance between them slightly.
To her surprise, Arran stepped back easily, his green eyes searching her face for something that she did not know.
Everywhere that he had touched her felt overly warm, and the room itself was dizzying.
What have I just done?
“Forgive me,” Arran muttered with a softness that she did not know his voice could possess. She could not even bring herself to move as he took another step back and away from her. “Please get some rest, Victoria.”
There was no time even to try to think of a reply, or to ask him to stop, or to kiss her again, before he left the room.