Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Heat flared in Marissa’s cheeks all over again, but just as she opened her mouth to tell him to mind his manners, the sound of footsteps rang out through the space. She nearly groaned, wanting nothing more than to have a few more moments to try and understand the Laird.
She glanced at the door, preparing herself to tell whatever maid had interrupted them to leave. But it was not a maid who entered the drawing room.
“Me deepest apologies!” Freya, Marissa’s older and heavily pregnant sister, announced as she breezed into the room in a swish of skirts. “I only just found out that me darlin’ sister has a visitor, or I would have come to greet ye meself!”
“Nothin’ to fret over, Freya,” Marissa assured, her voice light despite her mild annoyance at having been interrupted. “It’s all better, now that ye’re here.”
“Quite right it is.” Freya beamed at the two of them.
Marissa watched as her sister’s eyes, the same soft, golden brown as her own, swept over the Laird. She watched as Freya took him in, noting the moment his unkempt beard and dirt-smudged clothes registered.
Oh, she’ll have a fit when I tell her who he is.
“I’m Freya Hughes, Lady of Clan McEwan,” Freya declared.
Her voice had an uncharacteristic brusqueness to it, and Marissa had to stifle a laugh. Her sister had no doubt taken in Arthur’s appearance and marked him as some sort of savage.
Little does she ken that the savage will be her braither-in-law soon enough.
“And who might ye be?”
Freya’s auburn hair shone in the sunlight as she tilted her head to the side, still regarding Arthur with open curiosity. He pushed himself to his feet, the chair letting out a creak of relief now that his considerable heft had left it.
“Arthur Barkley, Laird of Clan Reid,” he announced, dipping his head in a reverent greeting. “It is a pleasure to meet ye, Lady McEwan.”
He noticed Freya’s eyes light up in recognition.
Freya opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, Marissa interrupted her.
“He is me betrothed,” she blurted, pushing herself to her feet as well.
Freya, who until that moment had been focused solely on Arthur, whirled to face her. Her mouth dropped open in an ‘O’ of surprise, color rising high in her cheeks.
“Yer betrothed?” she parroted, her voice high and shrill as shock raced through her. “What do ye mean he’s yer betrothed? Ye didnae want to wed.”
Marissa felt the heat rising to her own face, a younger mirror of Freya’s. Her mind raced to come up with a plausible tale.
Stories typically came to her mind with ease, her tongue itching and her fingers tingling with the need to speak them aloud or to write them down. But, for once, at the worst possible time in her life, her mind was utterly and completely blank.
“We agreed it was best if she pretended she didnae want to be wed.” Arthur’s voice, deep and calm, filled the room, drawing the attention of both women.
“Ye see, I’ve been away at war for quite a long time.
We didnae ken if I would survive. And I didnae want her to have to deal with the whispers of others if they kenned she had been betrothed to a man who died at war. ”
Freya’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, doubt plastering itself on her fair features. Her hand rose to her swollen belly, and she rubbed it absentmindedly as if trying to soothe herself.
“But if ye’ve been at war, how did ye meet? How did ye become betrothed?” Freya asked, the doubt clear in every word she spoke.
Arthur began to explain, the words rolling off his tongue so easily that Marissa could not help but be impressed.
“It was three years ago” he answered, his voice so even and so confident that one couldn’t help but believe him.
“A few of me soldiers and I had fought in a battle nae far from here. We had to come to the village for supplies, and the lads needed to blow off some steam in a tavern. I came to the market to buy a few gifts to send home to me sister. I met her there.”
“It was the weekend after I bought ye the ribbons,” Marissa interjected.
Her sister had stood at the window with her, watching as that wretched man had followed her home and refused to leave. She would know the significance of the timing.
Back then, Marissa had only told her sister that she’d had a plan, but she’d never divulged what it was. For all Freya knew, Marissa’s suitor had simply accepted that she was not interested in marrying and had finally given up.
But this added news, much of a farce as it was, seemed to make things make sense for Freya. Her eyes went wide, and Marissa watched as she made the connection of exactly the time she was referencing.
“We met near the flower stall,” Marissa continued, hoping to provide just enough details that her sister couldn’t help but believe them. “Since I wasnae able to buy ye one the week before, I had gone back. But I ended up meetin’ Arthur instead.”
“We chatted at the flower stall,” Arthur picked up.
Marissa couldn’t help but admire the way the two of them were working together, seamlessly weaving a story as her sister stared at them, lapping up every word.
“For nearly a half hour we stood there, discussin’ the blooms. We agreed to write to each other, and we became pen pals in a way.”
“Those letters ye were always sendin’ out…” Freya’s words were hushed, spoken as if they were meant for only herself.
But, finally, it was something that Marissa could reply to without having to lie.
“They were for him,” she explained, and her sister nodded.
“We were friends for nearly two years,” Arthur continued in a steady tone. “I got to ken more about her. It wasnae until a little more than a year ago that we realized we’d come to care for one another as more than friends, and we agreed to wed.”
“But ye were still at war,” Freya murmured, swept up in the story Marissa and Arthur were weaving for her.
Arthur’s expression was still grave as he nodded. “Aye. And I already explained why we agreed to keep it to ourselves. We didnae ken if I’d ever return. But I did. Marissa herself couldnae have written a better story.”
Marissa’s mouth dropped open. She’d never told him that she was a writer. Had not even alluded to it throughout their conversation.
Arthur’s sharp gaze flicked to hers, a knowing look dancing in his stormy eyes. It made Marissa want to demand how he knew that. How did he know such a specific detail about her when they’d only just met?
But she couldn’t question him in front of her sister.
Speaking of Freya. Apparently, Arthur’s last comment, the acknowledgment of Marissa’s passion for writing, had been all she needed. Any final shred of doubt had vanished from her face.
“It’s so romantic,” she half whispered.
Marissa had to hide a laugh by forcing a cough when she noticed her sister’s eyes had welled with tears.
Apparently, she hadn’t done a good enough job of hiding it though, because Freya’s eyes flashed as they landed on her.
“Dinnae laugh!” she scoffed, swiping at her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “It’s this bairn in me belly! Got me all out of sorts!”
“It’s sweet,” Marissa offered, giving her sister a wry, apologetic smile.
“So is yer story,” Freya said pointedly.
She walked forward, taking Marissa’s hands in her own. She rubbed the backs of them with her thumbs—something she’d done since Marissa had been little.
“This is what ye want?” she asked solemnly.
Marissa didn’t give herself time to hesitate as she nodded.
Her sister’s eyes flicked to the Laird as she let go of her hands.
“Then we must celebrate!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together excitedly. “I’ll throw a feast tonight in yer honor, and ye can stay here for the night. I’ll have me servants prepare a room for ye.”
Arthur opened his mouth, no doubt to protest.
Freya was stubborn during the best of times. But while she was pregnant, there was not a soul on this earth that could sway her once she set her mind to something.
Seeming to sense what the man was about to say, she put her hand up before his lips could form the words.
“I’ll nae hear anythin’ else but a thank ye,” she insisted, her tone indicating she was not to be argued with. “If ye’re goin’ to marry me sister, I’ll be celebratin’ ye. So give me just a moment, and I’ll have one of the maids lead ye to yer rooms.”
Freya didn’t wait for a response as she turned and strode out of the room, yelling for one of the maids as she disappeared into the corridor. Marissa and Arthur could do nothing but stare after her.
“Yer sister is a force of nature,” Arthur mused, staring after the woman who had just breezed out of the room.
“Ye should have tried growin’ up with her,” Marissa snorted.
He turned his attention to her, allowing himself a moment to truly take in her features.
On his ride there, he’d tried to picture what she might look like, but he’d struggled to conjure any kind of image in his mind. Looking at her now, though, he couldn’t quite believe his luck.
Her short auburn hair curled delicately around her face, accentuating her fair features. Her brown eyes shone with an untold emotion as she gazed back at him.
“How did ye ken I was a writer?” she asked abruptly, breaking through his thoughts.
“It was in yer letters,” he explained as if the answer should have been obvious.
Marissa blanched. “Ye actually read them?”
Arthur arched an eyebrow at her. “Of course, I read them. Ye think I wouldnae get to ken everythin’ I could about me betrothed?”
“I’m at a disadvantage.” Her tone had softened as she continued to speak. “I dinnae ken anythin’ about ye. Up until an hour ago, I didnae even ken ye existed.”
“Dinnae worry, lass.” Arthur winked at her, a cocky smirk playing on his lips. “Once ye get to ken me, ye’ll nae be able to get enough.”
A laugh tore from her throat. But before she had time to retort, Freya breezed back into the drawing room, a maid hot on her heels.
“This is Esther,” she explained. The maid dipped into a curtsey as Freya gestured to her. “She’ll show ye to yer rooms and help ye with anythin’ ye need.”
“I appreciate it greatly,” Arthur said, giving them both a nod of gratitude.
“And I’ll be happy to stay and celebrate.
But I will have to return home early in the mornin’.
I’d only just returned with me men from the war before ridin’ here.
” He gestured down at his clothes, for the first time offering an explanation for his disheveled appearance.
“I didnae want to wait to see me betrothed.”
Freya nearly swooned at his words. Marissa, however, had an odd expression on her lovely features.
“It’s alright if ye need to leave early,” Freya said, waving a dismissive hand. “We can make sure—”
“I’ll be leavin’ with him,” Marissa blurted.
Freya’s mouth snapped shut, her eyes going wide as she turned to stare at her sister. “Ye are?” she asked.
“Aye.” Marissa nodded.
Arthur watched as she paused for a moment, her throat bobbing as she swallowed, and then continued speaking.
“I’ve been apart from Arthur for a long time,” she explained. “And I think it would be best to get settled into the castle before the weddin’. Understand what me life will be like. And get to ken him more in person, rather than just on parchment.”
Freya’s eyes never once wavered from her sister. There were a million reasons why she could object, Arthur knew that well enough. The least of which was the fact that Marissa was an unmarried woman who would be living in a castle with an unmarried man without so much as a chaperone.
However, as Arthur watched the two sisters stare at each other, a silent conversation passing between the two of them, he got the feeling that the pair might do things a bit differently than one would expect.
Apparently gathering whatever she needed from the look on her sister’s face, Freya nodded.
“Alright,” she said, her voice thick with emotion as her sister’s impending departure settled over her.
“I’ll have some of the maids begin packin’ yer things so ye’re ready for the journey.
” She then turned to Arthur. “We’ll be kin soon enough.
If there is anythin’ ye need to help me sister make this journey, ye need only ask. ”
There was something on her face, a lightness and an honest eagerness to help that reminded Arthur of his siblings. It reminded him of the way they looked out for each other and guided each other through life. And he could see Freya’s intent to bring him into that as well.
It was not an offer he would ever take lightly.
“Me offer is the same to ye,” he said, his voice steady and serious. “Nae just for Marissa’s journey to her new home, but anythin’ ye and yer clan need. All ye need to do is ask. We’re allies now. Clan McEwan and Clan Reid.”
A flash of recognition crossed Freya’s face at the name, but she masked it quickly.
Whatever she’d heard about Laird Reid, it was enough to cause such an expression. It didn’t seem to change her opinion of him, though. Not as she turned and told Esther to escort Arthur to his rooms.
He followed after the maid, feeling Marissa’s eyes on him until he disappeared through the door.
“Me rooms… I assume I’ll have a bathin’ chamber as well?” he asked Esther as they walked down the lushly decorated corridor.
“Aye,” the maid replied. “We’ve already brought up heated water for ye, and anythin’ ye might need to clean yerself.”
“Much appreciated,” was all Arthur said.
His mind was reeling from the events of the day. It weighed heavy on him, just how much had changed in the span of a few hours.
Arthur had not yet had time to fully process the fact that the war was over, or to come down from all the things he had experienced while away at battle.
And tomorrow? Tomorrow, one of the biggest changes of his life would begin taking place. Because when he left this castle in the morning, his future wife would be at his side.