Laird of Wrath (Highland Protectors #3)

Chapter 1

“Arowan branch for luck,” Lara said as she flitted about the vanity, fussing with everything within reach.

She tucked the rowan branch with its tiny orange fruit between the vanity and the wall, right in the small slit where they met, and then gave it a gentle pat as if to say, Stay here, wee thing.

“We’re a little too late for luck now,” Rhea muttered. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, at the pale, lifeless face, at the brown eyes that stared back at her and were the only sign of life. “Had I had any luck, I wouldnae be here now.”

“Me Lady!” Lara gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Daenae say that.”

Rhea glanced at the young maid over her shoulder, then turned her gaze to the room. “Is anyone else listenin’?”

“Och nay,” Lara said, her eyes widening. “Nay, me Lady, nay one is spyin’ on ye here.”

“Then why should I nae say it?”

“Because it is bad luck to say it!”

Rhea couldn’t help but chuckle fondly at the maid.

They didn’t know each other for long, only for the few days Rhea had been at Castle McMahon. And yet Rhea had come to like her. Lara had become a comforting presence for her in the castle, when there was no one else there for her.

“Daenae laugh, me Lady,” Lara urged, her tone suddenly so stern that it reminded Rhea of her governesses. “Such things are far from funny.”

“Right, of course,” Rhea said, pressing her lips into a thin line to stop herself from smiling. “Forgive me.”

“Ach, nay harm done.” Lara came to stand behind her, a smile on her face. “He’s a good man, me Lady. He’s a good man.”

It was not the first time Lara had spoken those words that day. She had been muttering the same thing over and over to herself, and with every repetition, a new wave of anxiety washed over Rhea.

She didn’t know whether Lara was saying it for her sake or for her own.

Lara kept mumbling the same words like a mantra, and with each repetition, Rhea became more and more agitated, shifting in her seat.

She was still in her wedding gown—a heavy, tight, deep blue gown of luxurious silk, which restricted her breath and threatened to crush her ribs, the sleeves trimmed with an intricate lace that must have cost more than half the tapestries in the room.

Her hair was pinned up in an intricate updo, the pins poking into her skull, the linen of her undergarments itchy all over her back.

She had the distinct sense that her discomfort had more to do with her mental state rather than the dress itself.

A curt knock on the door pulled her out of her thoughts, but before she could call out to her visitor to come in, the door opened and in strolled her new husband, Callum Muir, Laird of Clan McMahon.

He was in all his glory, just like she had seen him earlier that day, dressed in his finest black silks and wools, his jacket and trews the color of a midnight sky. His garments, along with his dark hair and beard, made him look like a lurking shadow, like darkness incarnate.

The moment he entered the room, Lara went still and silent, much like a statue. Rhea saw the difference in her immediately; the effect of fear, paralyzing her completely.

Rhea swallowed past a dry throat as she sprang to her feet. Her husband had an odd way of commanding silence in every room—something she had seen as much at the altar as at the feast.

What should have been a joyous occasion had instead been a bleak, dreary gathering.

The only sounds in the Great Hall had been those of the band playing cheerful music and the clink of cutlery against the plates.

The guests had been timid, quiet. Rhea even more so, avoiding her husband every chance she got.

She hadn’t even taken a good look at him until now, as she had been trying to keep her gaze averted, in case he met her eyes and tried to talk to her.

What will I even say to him? We have nothin' in common!

Taking a better look at him now, Rhea had to admit—though begrudgingly—that Callum was a handsome man.

His gray eyes were like sharp steel, slicing straight through her.

Heat coiled deep in her core, an unfamiliar sensation, and her hand flew to her stomach on instinct, wondering what it was that had suddenly changed inside her.

Callum spared Lara a glance and then promptly dismissed her with a wave of his hand. With an awkward, hurried curtsy, Lara rushed out of the room without so much as another look at him.

It seemed that Rhea was not the only one avoiding his gaze.

Her heart thudded in her chest when their eyes finally met. Desire surged through her, but under it, there was something else, something darker: a fear that threatened to paralyze her, too, especially when she realized that they were now alone in the room.

There was no one else there. There was no one to delay the inevitable.

I ken what must be done. And I will do me duty.

Callum also seemed to know what needed to be done. He approached her where she stood near the vanity, circling her like a predator—like a lion that had found its meal for the day.

The silence in the room weighed heavily on her shoulders. In it, she could hear his breathing, strong and steady. It was almost heavy, as if their proximity was affecting him as much as it was affecting her.

But that thought was ridiculous. Callum seemed far from the kind of man who balked at the sight of a woman. Rhea was the one who was too timid, too uncertain around men. And now, the closer he drew to her, the quicker her heart thudded in her chest.

She wondered if he could hear it in the quiet. She wondered if it showed on her face, if her cheeks had reddened, if her eyes had widened. It was as if at that moment, she was outside of herself, as if her body existed independently from her. As if she hardly had any control over herself.

His eyes… they’re so cold.

He looked like he had not smiled a day in his life.

And yet, despite that coldness of his expression, his gaze was enough to light a fire inside her. It was as if he was stripping her naked with his eyes, as if every garment on her body, every protection, every piece of armor she had built around her was slipping off, clattering to the floor.

She despised that feeling.

Callum grunted, though she couldn’t tell whether that was a pleased sound or a displeased one. All she knew was that she wouldn’t get all that much out of him easily.

She watched as he walked over to the other side of the room, crossing beneath the archway to the sitting room in her new chambers. The rooms she had been given were grand, and it was clear to her that Callum—or whoever had selected them for her—wanted her to never doubt Clan McMahon’s wealth.

But she was no fool. She knew why she had been married off to this man. She knew that her father needed Clan McMahon’s manpower just as much as Callum needed her clan’s gold.

Callum lowered himself on the chair near the roaring fire. There, he was framed by golden light, the tapestry behind him glittering with gold thread. He looked like a laird now more than ever—regal, proud, the kind of man who could bring an entire clan to its knees.

Rhea couldn’t help but stare, her mouth going dry at the sight. It wasn’t only her sudden attraction to him, though, but also a strange, cold fear.

He’s a good man. He’s a good man.

That was what Lara had kept saying, and now Rhea was saying the same thing to herself.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Rhea stood by the vanity, not knowing what to do with herself. Hesitantly, she approached Callum and sat in the chair opposite him, sinking into the plush cushion, but not leaning back to relax.

How could she relax around him? How could she see him as anything but a threat, when she knew nothing about him?

Perhaps I should get to ken him better. He doesnae look like the kind of man who will talk on his own. Maybe he willnae even talk if I ask him.

“Thank ye,” she said, for lack of anything better to tell him. “For helpin’ me clan, I mean.”

Another grunt, one that she could once again not decipher.

Callum turned his gaze to her, his gray eyes glinting in the incandescence of the fire. “Daenae thank me yet,” he said.

It wasn’t the first time Rhea heard his voice, but it was the first time she heard it in a quiet room, where it was only the two of them.

It was surprisingly sweet, a deep baritone that rumbled through her chest, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have him speak against her neck, to feel that rumble fully through her body, to hear him say things no one had ever said to her before.

But he doesnae seem to be that kind of man either.

“When should I thank ye?” Rhea asked with a small frown.

“When I return victorious.”

For anyone else, perhaps that statement would have seemed presumptuous. Cocky, even. But Callum made it sound like the simple truth. He didn’t believe there was any other outcome to this war other than winning, and Rhea got the impression that this was precisely what would make him win in the end.

If he can save us all, he can be as presumptuous as he likes.

“It is strange, is it nae?” she asked, talking mostly to herself without expecting a response from him. “That we only just wedded and ye’re leavin’ on the morrow for war.”

“It is what is demanded of me,” Callum said simply. Rhea couldn’t tell whether the fact bothered him or not, whether he even cared at all that they would be separated right as they had gotten married. “I wedded ye in exchange for yer father’s gold.”

“Aye,” Rhea uttered, trying her best not to sound bitter about it. “I ken ye did.”

I have nay illusions of love, was left unsaid.

She used to, once. She used to think that a man like her father would allow her to marry whoever she wished, the man her heart had chosen. And yet fate had other plans.

Whether her heart wished it or not, her duty now was clear to her. She was Callum’s wife, and certain things were expected of her, even that night.

Numbness crawled up her arms, followed by a strange feeling in her stomach, one that was not wholly unpleasant.

She would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t been thinking about it all day, ever since the short and bleak ceremony at the castle chapel.

But now, sitting across from Callum in a dark and quiet room, she was more aware of her wifely duties than ever.

“I only wish we could have had more time,” she added with a small shrug. “I daenae understand why ye must leave at dawn.”

“Because the situation is dire,” Callum said.

He isnae much of a talker.

“I understand that, but is it truly so dire that ye cannae delay it a single day?”

“Our weddin’ couldnae be delayed a single day,” he reminded her. They had hardly had any time to prepare for it, nothing more than a hasty courtship and a poorly-planned feast. “So nay, it cannae be delayed.”

“I ken nothin' about this place,” Rhea pointed out. “I… I daenae ken what ye expect of me.”

“Then I shall tell ye.” Callum leaned a little closer, though their chairs were still too far from each other to come anywhere near her. “I expect ye to perform yer duties as the lady of the clan, and I expect ye to take care of me sister.”

Sienna.

Rhea had seen the young woman at the ceremony and then at the feast. They had even sat at the same table, though they had exchanged few words. Still, from what she had seen, Sienna seemed perfectly kind.

It wasn’t Sienna that Rhea was worried about.

“Of course,” she agreed with a firm nod. “Ye have me word.”

Callum nodded in response, but then fell silent once more. He turned his gaze to the flames, their orange glow reflecting in his eyes, and Rhea sat there, watching him, equally silent.

But not quite as still. Where Callum had relaxed into his seat, she was anxious, fidgeting. She wanted to say something, anything, just to fill the silence, but Callum wasn’t giving her anything she could work with. So instead, she said the first thing that came to mind.

“How did ye like the feast?”

Callum turned her gaze back to her, looking incredulous. “I have been to funerals that were more joyous.”

Rhea stared at him in disbelief for a few moments. Then she burst out laughing, the sound sudden and jarring even to her. She couldn’t help it. There she was, trying to maintain some sort of decorum, and he didn’t seem to care for such things one bit.

He was right, though. The wedding had been rather bleak.

Before she knew it, Callum was standing before her, leaning close, and her breath left her in a long, sharp exhale.

He was staring right into her eyes, gray into brown, his hand coming up to cup her cheek.

His palm was warm, so warm, much like the flames that heated the other side of her face.

His gaze was piercing, and his lips, when they found her neck with a soft, tender touch, sent a shiver down her spine.

Surrender was such an easy option. She could give in to him. She could give in to the surge of pleasure that coursed through her when his lips brushed against the sensitive skin where her neck met her shoulder, to the hand on her waist that was as possessive as it was grounding.

But it was too much, too soon. They hardly knew each other, and Rhea didn’t know how to trust a man who was practically a stranger.

“Ye’re tremblin’.”

She hadn’t even realized it until Callum stopped and pulled back from her, bringing her back to the present. She was trembling, indeed. She was shaking from head to toe, and she supposed the idea of bedding her when she was in such a state was far from appealing to him.

“We… we hardly ken each other,” she stammered, giving voice to her concerns. “And ye’re leavin’ at dawn to go to war, and I… I daenae understand how I am the only person worryin’ over this. Ye could die. Does nay one else care? Do ye nae care?”

She couldn’t understand how everyone could act as if everything was normal. Nothing about their courtship or their marriage was normal. Nothing about their circumstances was normal, and yet no one was saying a thing.

Callum frowned, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend what she was saying.

“I willnae die,” he said, sounding perfectly certain of himself.

The worst part was that Rhea was inclined to believe him.

Her breath caught when he pressed a tender kiss to her cheek, right next to the corner of her lips. It caught her by surprise, but it also sent another wave of desire through her.

“I will return,” Callum promised, his eyes boring into her own. Then, he abruptly pulled back and walked off to the door, stopping there to look over his shoulder at her. “And once I do, I will claim ye as me own. So prepare yerself.”