Chapter 1 #3
Freya’s eyes flared in surprise, but she didn’t offer any follow-up questions, much to Sloane’s relief.
Wine was served with a lavish dinner and while she was not accustomed to large meals, she’d snuck her fair share of wine at home and she drank her share here to settle her nervous stomach.
Despite its warming effect, her belly squeezed with anxiety.
There was a time as a child when she dreamed of big events and loud crowds, but that was a long time ago.
Now, she just wanted to duck under the table and hide.
Searching for a familiar face, she looked around the table.
Her father’s closest guards were seated at the end of the table where they eyed the other men seated around them with disdain.
They had no reason to look after her. Most of them barely even knew her.
Ness, her father’s youngest brother and the heir to the Fenton clan, was seated by her father.
While Errol ignored her, Ness offered her a small smile.
Her uncle, older than her by nearly a decade, was the only one to go out of his way to be kind to her although he spent most of his time traveling.
Letting that smile comfort her, Sloane ate her dinner slowly and quietly. Freya, apparently having given up on drawing Sloane out in conversation, mostly ignored her as did the rest of the table.
Lachlan MacFarlane was the exception.
Every time that she dared look at the man, he seemed to know and his gaze quickly flitted back to her.
As he watched her, Sloane’s body both heated and shivered in a reaction that she didn’t understand.
His expression was unreadable. He neither smiled nor glowered at her and unlike her, he didn’t seem uncomfortable when she caught him watching her.
Sloane had a feeling that Lachlan MacFarlane did what he wanted with no apologies.
The only other person who seemed to notice was her father.
A strange glee glinted in his eyes, and she shyly smiled at him.
For most of her life, she sought ways to gain her father’s approval.
She didn’t know what she was doing now to make him happy, but it was a rare moment for her and she allowed herself to finally relax and try to enjoy the dinner despite the somber mood.
After dinner, her father gave her no indication that she was allowed to join in the evening activities, so she made her way to her appointed chambers. To her surprise, she wasn’t alone in the hall.
Lachlan stood outside the door of the chamber next to hers. Starkly, she wondered if it was his chambers that shared the adjoining door in her room. “Laird MacFarlane?” she asked softly.
Turning his head, he studied her almost lazily. “Lady Sloane.”
“Is that yer room?” His eyes widened, and she quickly backtracked. Emmeline, the head servant at the keep, once told her that her demanding questions might seem inappropriate. “Forgive me. I meant to ask ye more gently than that.”
“Aye, ’tis my room,” he muttered. “Are ye always so forward?”
“Sometimes.” Emmeline taught her to always go with the truth. “Forgive me if I have things confused, but shouldna yer wife be sharing this room?”
“I am not married.”
“Aye, but a woman who is not yer wife shouldna be in this room.” That should clarify things. She frowned. “I must move my things immediately. Is there another room available? I am comfortable sleeping elsewhere.”
“We were not counting on yer company, Lady Sloane, and this was the only room available.” He smiled slowly and she felt her whole body warm. “Ye have nothing to worry about. I have no intentions of using the door between our chambers. I will keep it locked if ye wish.”
“But it only locks on yer side,” she pointed out. “That doesna protect me. It only protects ye. That hardly seems fair.”
“’Tis a wife’s duty to always be available for her husband.”
Her temper spiked, but she struggled to tame it. It would not do to anger her host, especially after he’d just lost someone dear to him. “’Tis also a husband’s duty to protect his wife. How can a husband do that if a woman cannae lock her own doors?”
“A woman shouldna need protection from her husband,” he pointed out.
Immediately, her thoughts flew to the bruises that she’d seen on her friends. They were almost always formed at the hands of their husbands. “If ye believe that then perhaps ye doona understand much about the institution of marriage.”
“Lady Sloane.” Slowly, he walked toward her. She had half a mind to flee into her chambers, but as she’d just pointed out, it would hardly protect her from him, so she lifted her chin and met his gaze. When he stopped just in front of her, his eyes blazed with anger.
“Perhaps I should make myself verra clear here. I doona manhandle the women of my keep and I wouldna manhandle my wife. I doona know what ’tis like on Fenton lands, but I doona have the patience for men who beat those weaker than themselves.”
Her heart pounded in her chest. “I doona mean to offend ye, Laird MacFarlane. I simply want to point out that when ye do marry, perhaps ye should try and see things from her point of view. A lock gives her power, even if she never uses it. Have a good evening.” Before she said anything else that might get her in trouble, Sloane opened her door and fled inside.
It was a full minute before she heard Lachlan’s footsteps fading away.