Chapter 15
Whatever expression or reaction Victoria had expected Arran to have was not the one she received.
He had looked vexed to begin with, but the moment that she referred to herself as a possession of Charles, he looked absolutely enraged.
She had never seen him like that. It was the sort of expression that she would presume met his enemies on a battlefield.
She had to work to keep herself from flinching away from the intensity.
He would not hurt her. She knew that. At least she was mostly positive about that fact. She did not think that there was any reason to fear him. No, he was upset that she was being treated that way. He was not like Charles, not in any way. If anything, he was the opposite of him.
“I’ll only ask ye this once, Victoria, and please ken that I willnae think any less of ye, nay matter what yer answer is.
After all, I ken what sort of man he is—what he did to my sister,” Arran growled.
“Did that bastard…” He struggled to get the words out.
“Did he lay claim to ye before he started mistreatin’ ye? Did he make ye his?”
It took her a moment to understand the meaning of his words and what he was actually implying.
The urge to slap him was something she had to swallow down. The very implication of his words was enough to cause a scandal where she came from.
“No!” she gasped. The only man who had ever touched her in that way was the one sitting across from her right now. He was the only one who had ever made her feel… like she might actually want to… “How could you even say such a thing to me?”
“Is it so unreasonable with what ye just said?” Arran argued, clearly offended that they were even having to have this conversation in the first place.
“I meant that he thinks of me like a possession! That is all! He thinks of me like furniture, like an object in his home that he can move around and toy with as he pleases! I never wish to be with him like that. Never.”
Victoria could feel the grip of panic narrowing her vision. She forced herself to swallow, to stand from the chair, and to move further away from him to the best of her ability. She did not want to always feel like she was running from every conversation that they had.
“Do you have any notion of what it feels like?” she said more calmly. “To be locked away in his manor for fun? Nothing more than an amusement? It is inhuman.”
Arran stood with her but did not move any closer to her.
“I didn’t mean to upset ye, of course ye didnae wish to be there, ye’ve made that very clear.
I promise.” He softened, the anger leaving him as he lowered his voice, speaking to her with such tenderness that it almost hurt.
“I’m sorry, Victoria, lass, I didnae wish to give ye any cause to think of us in the same way…
I’ve said that ye’re mine before, but I didnae…
” He trailed off, struggling to find the words.
He feels guilty? He thinks that this is the same thing? She could not disagree more.
“You have shown me that you do not mean it in the same way. I know that you feel that I am your responsibility, not your possession. You are nothing like that man. If one can even truly call him such.”
Arran walked around the edge of his desk, holding out one hand toward her, and she accepted it.
He gently pulled her closer to his chest, wrapping his arms around her until she could rest her head against his chest. “I would hope that if I were ever foolish enough to make a lass feel like that, that she would run me clear through with my own dirk.”
Emboldened, Victoria lifted her head so that she could better look at the man in front of her with a gentle smile. “Just from the soft way that you hold me, you should know that you are nothing like him. I do not even think of you two in the same league as one another.”
Arran chuckled. “I daenae always hold ye softly, now do I, lass?”
Victoria flushed with heat, reddening until she was certain her face was a deep blush, as well as pooling in other parts of her that she was still growing accustomed to.
Arran lowered himself to her, his nose brushing against hers to encourage her to lift her chin to him.
She was only too happy to comply. If anything, she wished that he would hold her tighter right now.
She could not verbalize how he made her feel so safe in his arms. All of her worries seemed to melt away when it was just the two of them like that.
Her lips did not get the chance to touch his again, and before she could feel his breath over her skin, the door burst open.
Victoria jolted and immediately moved to spring away from him.
She knew the consequences of being caught alone with a man in that capacity, even if it was different here; it could not end well for either one of them.
But Arran’s hand around her waist held her in place to keep her from running too far away.
She was uncomfortable, but soothed by the look of confidence on his face.
He was not embarrassed to have been found with her in the slightest.
“Me Laird!”
There was a group of men coming into the room now. She did not know any of their names, and she certainly did not know why they were suddenly looking at her as if she were the dirt under their shoes. They were all large, of varying ages and builds… but she could not help but be frightened of them.
One of the men toward the front, who seemed significantly older than the two flanking him, scoffed.
“Ach, so it’s true then?” he started, gesturing with mocking hands toward where she stood with Arran.
His accent was much thicker than Arran’s, but she understood him well enough.
“The English wench has him doin’ her biddin! ”
Behind her, Arran moved with impossible swiftness, a low growl of warning tearing loose from his throat as he grabbed his dirk from his desk and shoved Victoria behind him protectively, all in the same moment.
“Ye want to say that again?” Arran demanded, his voice in a low growl.
“What else are we supposed to think?” the older man continued. She could tell from the look on his face alone that he felt that he was winning this argument. He felt wholly and utterly justified in speaking about her that way and likely expected all the men behind him to back him up.
But, at the look of Arran’s fierceness, the others that had stormed into the room uninvited all seemed to be taking a healthy step back and away from him. Whatever support the old man had was precarious at best.
Arran quickly capitalized on their moment of hesitation, and Victoria could easily see why he was the one in charge here, not the rest of them. “And ye all share his opinion, do ye? Suddenly decided that now was the time to be questionin’ me priorities?”
A few of them shook their heads and quickly backed out of the room, but Victoria was certain that he was going to deal with them later.
“Need I remind ye, mangy pack of dogs, of yer place? Ye are my council, and I am the Laird. So, unless ye wish to issue an official challenge, I suggest that ye quickly rethink yer tone, and yer nerve,” Arran warned in a voice so low that it both terrified and aroused her at the same time.
“We… we just think that ye are wastin’ the lives of our men, our sons, and neighbors.
And for what? An Englishwoman? A damned Sassenach?
” the older man spat. Victoria had never heard that word before, but she could tell an insult when she heard one.
“If ye wished a new plaything, then that would be fine. But keepin’ our lads in England for some new–”
“Watch yer tongue or I shall remove it from yer blasphemous mouth,” Arran warned.
“If ye have any honor left amongst the lot of ye, ye’ll move aside and let the lady through.
” Arran’s gaze cut to her for only a moment, and she knew better than to question him at a time like this.
“Victoria, go and wait for me in yer rooms.”
Dismissed, she knew better than to argue.
It was so much more than just an insult to Arran for questioning him; it was the whole clan that these men were taking issue with if they were going to dare to argue with him about this.
They were entitled to their opinion, just like they were equally entitled to shut up about it.
He wasn’t about to stand here and be questioned.
He was the Laird. Arran had been spending the last handful of years reminding others of that fact, that this rule was different from his father’s—but if he needed to act like his sire for a handful of moments to handle business? So be it.
“Have ye entirely lost yer head?” Arran spat cruelly. “Or is this a challenge?”
“Ye owe an explanation, me Laird!”
“I owe ye nothin’! Ye have sworn fealty to me and to follow me lead. That is all there is to it!” Arran spat back, advancing on the man with his teeth clenched.
Angus took a quick step back; at least he still possessed a small amount of common sense then.
“The English bastard that I am huntin’ has threatened my sister’s honor—the sister of the Laird.
Ye would have me here, belly up to the English?
He threatens not only that, but the honor of all of clan MacLeon!
He abused our hospitality and came in here, leavin’ a mess in his wake and runnin’ away, tail tucked!
I willnae allow that to stand, and shame on any of ye who disagree with me!
” Arran was shouting now. He was sorely tempted to run Angus through just to make an example of him, but he was attempting to keep his temper under control.
“Aye, and that is why we have given our men freely to defend our clan. But it doesnae even seem like it’s about that anymore! It is about yer wench!” Angus continued, throwing his hands around as he spoke.
Arran’s fist collided with the old man’s jaw.
Angus nearly spun in place a whole rotation from the force of the impact, and then staggered and fell to his knees, bracing his arm on the table that he nearly knocked over with his fall.
If there was one thing that every man in this room understood perfectly, it was violence.
The councilmen gasped and scattered backward, retreating to a safer distance. A few bolder ones only took a step back, their wide eyes betraying their fear. No one moved to help Angus up.
“Victoria is mine,” Arran snarled, hand still clenched. “While she is here, she is under my explicit protection. Mine. And ye all will do well to remember it.”