Chapter 1 #2
Passing through the line of soldiers, she spotted a tent pitched at the base of a tree. As they approached, a tall, broad-shouldered man ducked out of it. Straightening up, he stared at her as if looking at a ghost.
The first thing that Skye registered, with distinct discomfort, was that he was more handsome than she’d expected. She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d imagined. Some hulking, slab-faced man with a flat nose and yellow teeth, perhaps.
Firstly, Laird Bryden was younger than she’d expected. He had dark hair hanging around his shoulders and sharp, slanted green eyes, like those of a cat.
His angular face was set in a grim scowl, his thin black eyebrows drawn together. When his gaze fell on her, his eyes widened, and his jaw slackened enough to reveal white teeth, not the yellow ones from her imagination.
“Skye,” he breathed, breaking the silence.
She pursed her lips.
Nae even Lady Skye, eh? He’s too forward.
He looked untidy, too. She let her gaze drag over his wrinkled shirt, tucked haphazardly into a rough wool kilt. Was that a knife hilt poking out of the top of his boot? Weapons were heavily frowned upon at the Leanan Festival. Why would he jeopardize their new arrangement?
He hadn’t shaved, either. Beards were common, naturally, but men generally either wore a beard or kept clean-shaven. Laird Bryden, however, had rough, untidy black stubble coating his cheeks and chin, making him look a little too bedraggled.
Despite the untidiness, he was good-looking, with that strong profile and that thick, glossy dark hair. And those eyes, bright and penetrating, the greenest irises she’d ever seen.
A twinge of familiarity rippled through her, and she frowned, trying to think of where she might have seen him before. Nothing came to mind.
It’s nae about looks, she reminded herself. Besides, this could have been worse.
“Laird Bryden,” she said smoothly, plastering a polite smile on her face. “It is good to meet ye at last.”
He gawped. “What?”
“Have ye met me cousin yet? Laird MacColl will want to see ye, to iron out the details.”
Laird Bryden blinked slowly at her, like a cat. Then he gave a rough, disbelieving laugh.
In two paces, he’d closed the space between them, seizing her by the wrist and pulling her toward him. He stretched out his arm as if about to fold her into a tight embrace.
Skye squeaked in alarm.
“What are ye doing?” she cried, thrusting her hand out in front of her to prevent being crushed against his chest.
Her palm rested against him, mostly by accident. She could feel the thrum of his heart against her hand. Warmth slipped easily through the thin linen shirt, soaking into her. His body heat turned into a tingling sensation that crept up her arm, and she hastily dropped her hand.
Frantic, Skye glanced around at the silent soldiers and attendants surrounding them. Were they really going to stand there and watch their master take such liberties with a woman he’d just met?
Apparently so.
Nobody’s going to help me, then.
Clearing her throat, she lifted her chin, meeting his eyes squarely.
Show him ye arenae to be toyed with. Show him that ye can stand yer ground.
“That’s improper, as ye well ken,” she stated crisply. “I am the daughter, sister, and cousin of lairds. Any mischief done toward me while I am in yer care will have serious consequences. Watch yerself, sir.”
He just stared at her with that same disbelieving look in his eyes. At last, he cleared his throat, his tongue darting out to touch the corner of his mouth.
“Have ye lost yer mind, wife?” he said, his voice clear and entirely unmistakable, his fingers still curled around her wrist.
His grip was not tight or uncomfortable, but Skye had a feeling that if she tried to pull away, she would not manage it.
“I… What?” she stammered.
He was not reacting in the way she’d expected.
“Ye heard me. Have ye gone mad? Do ye truly think that ye can play such games? The futures of our clans are at stake. For God’s sake, yer cousin is on the brink of declaring war. He’s wild with fury, and I have no answers for him.”
Skye blinked up at him. Was it possible they were having two entirely different conversations? Nothing of what he had said seemed to have anything to do with what she had said, or had anything to do with their conversation at all.
“What are ye talking about?” she managed.
He barked out a short, mirthless laugh. Abruptly, he stepped forward, his hand lifting. She flinched, not sure whether he was going to seize her chin or deliver a slap.
Instead, he gently brushed the curve of her cheek with his thumb. It stung where he’d touched. She must have had a scratch or a cut there.
“I burned down four villages on the shore looking for ye, wife,” he whispered, more tenderly than the situation called for. “Are ye hurt? Hungry? Thirsty? I’ll find somewhere quiet for ye to rest, and ye can tell us what happened. I have questions, but they can wait until ye are more yerself.”
She gave a faint, strangled cry, jerking her chin away from him. He dropped his hand as if stung.
“Are ye mad?” she hissed. “Ye cannae put yer hands on an unmarried woman like that, let alone a laird’s sister. Are ye trying to ruin this treaty before it even begins?”
He blinked. “What?”
“And… And why are ye calling me wife? This is our first meeting, and we arenae even officially betrothed!” She gave a brief, scoffing laugh.
“Ye cannae possibly be so full of yerself. Do ye believe that I am yers already? I would like to return to me cousin now. Creighton will protect me, and we can talk under his watch.”
She turned to go, fully expecting him to release her. After all, he’d have to, wouldn’t he? The treaty was important. The MacColls and the Brydens needed an alliance.
Then why is he acting so strangely?
Laird Bryden was said to be a good laird and a clever, insightful man. So why on earth was he acting so strangely?
He didn’t release her. However, he shifted, and the side of his finger brushed against the inside of her wrist, hovering over her pulse point.
Skye tightened her jaw against the intimate touch, ignoring the tingles that spread across her skin. It was just a touch, nothing more. And once their betrothal began, there would certainly be no touching.
But can I trust him? If he acts this strangely now, then perhaps he will get worse once I am in his keep. But I cannae turn back now, can I?
“Skye,” Laird Bryden said, choosing his words with deliberate care, “what day is today?”
She blinked.
Oh, he is mad.
“Ye cannae have forgotten,” she said with a short laugh. “Look around us. It’s the Leanan Festival.”
“Aye, I ken that. Why are we here?”
“Have ye been drinking?” she whispered, leaning forward and taking a tentative sniff. She had expected to smell whiskey or ale or some other liquor on his breath, but instead there was nothing.
“Just humor me, lass.”
At least he’d stopped calling her wife. That was one less insult, at least.
She let out a long breath. “Today is the day of the lass swap. I am to go back with ye to Keep Bryden, and whatever lass ye have selected will live with me cousin Creighton for a year. At the end of the betrothal year, we’ll likely go our separate ways.
Nobody thinks that this wee experiment will end in marriage,” she added tightly.
For a moment, Laird Bryden remained perfectly still. His eyes closed briefly, as if in pain.
“Oh,” he whispered.
“Laird Bryden, let me go. I would like to return to me cousin.”
“Evander. Me name is Evander.”
“Evander, then,” she tried, offering a weak smile. I cannae go back with this man. He’s mad. “Let me go. We’ll find Creighton, and then we will talk.”
“Creighton isnae here.”
“What?” She gave a tense laugh. “Of course he is. This is the Leanan Festival, and—”
“He chose nae to attend this year. Riders have been sent for him as soon as ye appeared. But he’s angry, angry at me. Skye, there is a reason why I call ye wife.”
“I daenae understand,” she stammered.
At long last, she managed to pull her wrist free and drew her arm to her chest, holding her other hand protectively over it. He had left no marks, no bruises, but she could still feel where his fingers had rested on her skin.
Laird Bryden—Evander—gave an exhausted smile. “I call ye me wife because it is the truth. We have been married for a year, love.”