Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Margo sat rigid in the saddle in front of Laird MacLeod. Her back and hips ached from the effort of keeping as much distance as she could between the two of them. Still, she felt every breath he took, every minute movement he made to guide the stallion that carried them.
“We’re near,” the Laird said, his voice so close that she jumped.
For the last several days, they’d barely spoken a word to one another, and hearing him speak again was a shock to her system.
While her anger had not waned, their interaction at the first inn they stayed at kept her at bay.
The way he had looked at her and the harsh tone of his words stuck to her, clawing at the inside of her mind.
“The spire in the distance?” she asked, squinting ahead of them.
“Aye,” he confirmed, taking a deep breath that pressed his muscular chest into her back. “I daenae think that we are the first to return. Me men should have ridden through the night rather than stoppin’ at inns along the way.”
Margo made a soft noise in the back of her throat, her heart beating faster as she took in the battered cliffs that surrounded the building.
It felt as if the Land itself was watching their approach.
The place felt ancient, as though it carried the spirit of every single person that had ever been there.
Or perhaps she was feeling something odler still - the heartbeat of the land itself.
The hills around them were becoming increasingly familiar to the horse; it seemed to move faster, with more ease. Behind her, she could feel the MacL’od's energy as well. She could not read it, which unsettled her even more.
It didn’t take long for them to reach MacLeod Castle.
Guards and residents alike lined the gates and walls, as though the entire household had gathered to witness her arrival.
As they passed through the gates, the guards noded in greeting.
She recognized several of them, some still bearing the injuries they had suffered during the skirmish on their first day upon the road.
I do not understand why there are so many people here.
As they came to a stop within the courtyard, Margo could not help but notice the way maids whispered behind their hands.
She realized the energy that had been building inside her since they arrived on these lands was hostile.
If she stopped long enough and listened, it sounded as though the sea itself were upset with her arrival.
“Oh dear,” she whispered to herself, feeling doubly exposed when MacLeod climbed down from the saddle, leaving her towering over everyone else.
She scrambled down, forcing a smile on her face.
Both of them were road-worn, their clothes dirty and tattered from days of exposure to the elements.
It was much more acceptable for a Laird to have his travel leathers scuffed and caked in mud.
It was much less acceptable for a Lady to look the way she did.
“Where is the Minister?” Laird MacDougal barked, turning to one of the guards who approached with the groom.
Minister?
“He’s waitin’ in the Great Hall,” the guard replied, examining Margo with poorly-concealed interest. “He arrived nearly two hours before ye.”
“Then we willnae keep him waitin’ much longer,” MacLeod said. He looked at Margo, his gaze hardening when he took in her expression. “Follow me.”
Without giving her the chance to respond, he began to march toward the doors. Several of the staff members took off after him; those remaining were watching Margo. She felt almost as if they were waiting for her to turn around and flee.
I cannot. If I do not follow his instructions, he will come after me. And he may go back to get Eleanor.
Lifting her chin and rolling her shoulders back, she walked in the same direction that MacLeod had gone. It was difficult to maintain her composure when she felt so scattered, but she refused to show any fear or trepidation. She would behave, if only so she could see her sister again.
As she stepped inside, the fires roared. There was a chill in the air; they must have been lit when the guards had spotted their approach. The ambiance was eerie; the ghostly feeling she’d experienced on the way into the valley seemed to extend to the interior of the MacLeod Castle.
“A ribbon,” MacLeod said. His sharp gaze swept over the gathering in the Hall. He didn’t even give her a second glance, apparently searching for someone else. “It doesnae matter what kind of ribbon. Any will do.”
There was a flutter of confusion running through the residents, and when she looked at the minister, the man’s brow was furrowed. As one of the women, older and severe, pulled a ribbon loose from her hair, a guard pushed Margo forward. Her head swiveled, trying to piece together what was happening.
As soon as she took her place in front of the minister, Laird MacLeod approached them with a tartan ribbon in his hand. It passed from his palm to the minister’s. Then, he stood in front of Margo, and the overwhelming truth rushed over her.
A handfasting. Right now?
“I trust ye ken the script,” Laird MacLeod said, offering Margo his hand without looking at her.
You cannot even look at me, and we are about to be married.
“Aye,” the minister said, clearing his throat. “Lady…”
“Margo,” she said, still looking down at his proffered hand. “Margo Abbot.”
“Lady Margo Abbot,” he said with a polite nod toward her. He was the only one here who felt safe. “Would ye please join hands with Laird Cameron MacLeod.”
Stiffly, she did as she was told, her eyes widening at the sheer strength of Laird MacLeod. His hand was so much bigger than hers, covered in calluses from years of training and fighting. She could not hear a single word the minister said, blood rushing in her ears.
I did not think that I would be married in a filthy gown to a man like him.
Her breath caught when the minister draped the tartan ribbon over their hands. His fingers were deft, binding the two of them together as he had surely done with countless other couples before. Margo could not help but feel a twinge of bitterness. Those couples likely both agreed to a wedding.
Those couples knew they were entering a marriage.
“Ye are now bound together as long as ye both shall live,” the minister said as he finished tying the ribbon. “Before God and these witnesses, ye are wed.”
So quickly that she could do nothing but obey, Laird MacLeod pulled her forward. Their lips met in a brief press. His mouth was surprisingly warm, his lips chapped. She barely had time to close her eyes when he abruptly let go of her.
“I present to ye to Laird and Lady MacLeod,” the minister said as Margo’s mind was still reeling.
The congregation clapped, a polite sound that felt like funeral bells rather than wedding hymns. Desperately, she tried to force her mind to work. She saw the faces of the crowd in flashes, heard the drone of polite well-wishes, and felt the Laird’s, her husband’s, hand around hers.
Oh, how she resented the fact that he was the only thing anchoring her to the ground.
“Where are we going?”
They were nearly to Cameron’s study when Margo finally found her voice once more. He almost regretted he gave her no warning about the ceremony. The shock she’d experienced seemed even more intense than when he’d pulled her out of the carriage on their first night together.
She would have fought me if she kent.
“Me study,” he grunted, reaching for the ribbon binding them and unraveling it.
Before he could drop the strip of fabric to the ground, Margo snatched it. Pulling her hand back, she tucked the ribbon away. Her stride never broke, her chin lifted high as if to say that she was choosing to walk with him.
As long as she’s nae makin’ a fuss.
The door was open when they reached the room. Cameron’s man-at-arms, Gavin, was sitting at the desk. In front of him were several sheets of parchment. A quill hung from between his fingers, a pot of ink to his left. Slowly, he raised his eyes from the pages.
“The papers are ready, Me Laird,” Gavin said, placing the quill to the side and rising to his feet.
“Thank ye, Gavin,” Cameron said, nodding at the other man. “Ye are dismissed.”
Next to Cameron, Margo tensed. It seemed as if she was worried about being the only woman in the room. As Gavin made his way to the door, she pulled away from them both, putting a large amount of distance between them.
When the door shut behind Gavin, she let out a long sigh. Cameron finally looked at her, taking in the way her body slumped. She wore her exhaustion like a heavy winter cloak.
“Ye chose this,” he said when she met his gaze with narrowed eyes.
Her expression soured further. He knew she couldn’t refute it. She’d insisted that he take her rather than her young sister. From the very beginning, she knew that she would be married to him.
“Those,” Margo said, pointing at the parchment that Gavin had been preparing. “What are they? My father has already signed the contracts, has he not? He’s surrendered everything tied to my dowry.”
“Aye, ye’re correct,” Cameron said quietly. He crossed the room, tapping his fingertip against the wooden desk as he skimmed the pages. Pushing the one he was searching for forward, he said, “The contract states ye have thirty days to give me an heir.”
She took a curious, disbelieving step forward. All of that indignation was still there. It was almost as if she thought he was teasing her. She nearly scoffed aloud at the notion that he was a kind of man capable of making such jokes.
“So, Lady Margo,” he said when realization dawned on her features, “ye will surrender.”
She finally tore her eyes away from the page, looking at him with fury tempered by shock. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Her fingers tightened around the edges of the parchment; she finally managed to say, “Why on earth would you have this kind of condition?”
He watched her, an eyebrow raised. Her disbelief wouldn’t change what had been agreed upon; though it wasn’t him who stipulated the clause.
“You could have had my dowry even if I didn’t lay with you,” she continued, each word seeming to bolster her further. “The marriage binds it…” She looked down again, reading over the contract once more. Then, her jaw set, she asked, “And if I do not? If I refuse?”
Cameron stepped away from his desk, walking slowly toward where she’d positioned herself. As he approached, she stayed stubbornly in place, holding her ground even though she knew it was pointless. When he stopped in front of her, he watched a shudder work its way through her body.
I’m nae even touchin’ ye, lass. Do ye even ken how yer body reacts to me?
“Ye can try,” he said, leaning in close to speak directly into her ear, his own animalistic urges driving him even further. If his mere presence had this effect on her, he had to know what teasing, what words would do. “But once ye’re in me bed, and do exactly as I say, ye will beg for more.”
The effect was instantaneous. Her sharp intake of breath was delicious. The way she seemed to sway in even closer without conscious thought was nearly enough to break his composure.
Her body seemed to shake, almost as if her emotions were twisted. Cameron could practically taste her fear, her fury. And, underneath it all, was something that smelled even sweeter.
He leaned back, taking in the flush riding high on her cheeks. Her lips were parted. Her pupils were blown so large he could only see a tiny ring of hazel surrounding the inky pools.
“Ye will do yer duty,” he said, finally taking a step away from her.
Without turning his back on her, he grabbed a quill from his desk. He gestured for her to come forward, dipping the nib into the pot of ink. Perhaps it would be easier to tell her that it was not him that demanded this, but he did not imagine she would believe him.
It’s nae like I’ve given her reason to think I’m nae a wild beast.
“That’s beneath me,” she said, moving away from him as her anger caused her form to coil like a snake about to strike.
Cameron growled before he could stop himself; the way she moved enticed him as though he were a starving dog. He swallowed down around it. Even if he wanted to grab hold of her and force her hand, he knew better.
I will wait her out. She’s bull-headed, but she kens that she doesnae have a choice. Neither of us have a choice.