Chapter 9
The Next Day…
He shouldn’t have Hannah in his study while he was conducting his Laird affairs, but it was to make a point.
She needed to see that he wasn’t some villainous man, and the people of the clan needed to get used to their new Sassenach Lady.
Magnus wasn’t naive enough to believe that it would go smoothly, especially when so many of the people were leery of the English, not to mention a Sassenach with a scar on her face.
But it was a bandage he was ready to rip off.
They were never going to move forward if people didn’t accept her, and if she continued to think he was just some brute.
The morning had been filled with complaints that felt boring and mundane to the war-worn Laird, but he took each matter seriously because he knew these matters weren’t trivial to the people.
And so he would listen to each in earnest, no matter how much it bored him out of his mind.
It wasn’t at all surprising to him when a servant said the line of people wanting an audience with the Laird was down the entire length of the corridor.
Who knew when their grievances had last been heard, with Alan in charge?
His eyes flickered to Hannah in between hearing about yet another field ruined by the rain, and the next lad who would probably have the same grievance or talk about his need for work.
She sat politely next to him in a wooden chair with her hands folded in her lap.
It stirred things in him it shouldn’t at a time like this, to see his English wife in traditional Scottish garb.
She wore a simple gown in a light green, but the fine details, the trim on her sleeves and neckline, were the clan tartan.
Her hair was down with just two braids on the front that were draped to the back of her head and pinned into place.
Her expression was neutral, not at all showing the usual disdain she wore around him.
What a fascinating woman.
The next person to come in was an old man whose back was permanently bent slightly forward, no doubt from a lifetime of tending his fields.
He didn’t even bother to sit down across from Magnus and instead stood there, with a hand to his back and his face in a scowl.
“About time I finally get seen. Can ye nae allow us old timers to be seen first? That wait is too much for my back,” he snapped.
Magnus held in a sigh. “My policy right now is that it is first come, first served. Get here earlier next time if ye wish to be seen earlier. Now, go ahead and tell me what it is ye have come to talk about.”
The old man grunted and shifted his posture to cross his arms. “I need to be compensated by the clan. I’m too old to be harvesting my fields any longer. And if ye want my grain, ye’re to pay for it and pay for the harvesting.”
Magnus bit back a scoff. This old man couldn’t be serious. He was no expert at being Laird but even he knew that was a ridiculous request. “Ye want me to harvest yer grain, and pay ye for it at the same price as if ye had done it yerself?”
“Aye,” the man said defiantly. “The clan needs the grain since so many fields were ruined with the rain, and I need the coin. What’s so hard to understand?”
Magnus’s eyes darkened instantly. While he was a man that had grown up with traditional values, like respecting his elders, he wasn’t about to let anyone condescend him.
“Why not source workers?” Hannah spoke up, her gaze on the farmer.
Magnus looked to her in surprise. She hadn’t said a word all morning other than greetings to those who greeted her first. The fact she was weighing in on a matter took him by surprise.
Not a bad proposition, either. His eyes softened a bit as he watched her, curious as to how she would navigate this issue.
For the life of him, he couldn’t imagine a Sassenach from London giving sage advice about the logistics of farming and harvesting—but he wanted to hear what she had to say.
Her eyes flicked to him, as though asking for permission to continue. She knew well enough that she couldn’t speak over him as a Laird, and she was being respectful of it. It seemed there were more layers to his wife than just disdain. He gave her a single, firm nod.
She went on, “There have been many young men in here just this morning, asking for help finding work. Even something as simple as letting others know you need help would solve your problem, I think. We could help you figure out what a reasonable percentage of the crop would be appropriate to pay the workers—”
Her voice of reason was cut off by the old man. “Dinnae speak on the affairs of men, Sassenach. Ye really think ye’re something because ye’re English. It’s enough ye’ve corrupted our clan. Ye ken nothing of this clan. Keep yer useless words to yerself.”
“That’s enough,” Magnus snapped, his voice cold as ice.
He stood, his eyes narrowing at the farmer.
“Ye will treat yer Lady with the respect she is owed.” The old man sneered and looked ready to argue more, but Magnus cut him off.
“Ye are to do exactly as she suggested. Hire yer own workers, and we will be willing to help ye figure out a reasonable wage to pay them if ye need. Now, thank my wife for solving yer simple problem for ye.”
The word simple was loaded with venom, wanting to point out how ridiculous it was for him to come to the new laird and demand the clan itself manage his fields. It shouldn’t have taken Hannah to solve his problem but the fact it did and he was treating her poorly made Magnus’s blood boil.
“Ye want me to thank a Sassenach for interfering with my business?” the old man scoffed.
“I dinnae want,” Magnus barked. “I expect ye to.”
The threat hung in the air that Magnus wasn’t going to let this go peacefully until the farmer thanked Hannah.
Some might think he was taking things too far, especially when the man was so old, but Magnus didn’t care.
He wasn’t about to allow anyone to get the impression that they could come in here, make demands, be condescending, and talk to Hannah any way they pleased.
The old man should think himself lucky that Magnus wasn’t cruel enough to make an example out of him.
The farmer stiffened, his gaze bouncing between Magnus and Hannah. But Magnus’s eyes didn’t follow, his gaze staying locked on the farmer with a stern expression. There wasn’t going to be anything else said until the farmer thanked her.
And then, the old man straightened—the curve to his back that Magnus thought to be permanent, gone. The old man reached to his side and there was a flash of metal that caught Magnus’s eyes. He braced himself for attack, ready to disarm the man the moment he came his way.
Magnus was caught off guard when the man lunged forward, but not right at him—to the side. To Hannah. Hannah’s gasp spurred him into motion.
Within a single heartbeat, Magnus stepped in front of Hannah, keeping her behind him.
The old man swung the blade high and Magnus gripped his wrist. The man thrashed around, desperate to sink his blade into something.
Without hesitation, Magnus gripped the blade with his bare hand and slung it to the corner of the room.
His palm bled as he reached for the man’s collar, his eyes dark.
“Ye dare attack my wife?” he hissed.
“My… My Laird,” the old man stammered.
Magnus barked toward the door and Angus rushed into the room. “See to it this man spends his retirement in the dungeon. And seize his land. We’ll take care of yer fields after all, farmer,” he spat with venom.
Angus didn’t hesitate to take the old man from Magnus’s hold and dragged him toward the exit. The farmer hollered back at him, “Dinnae do this, Magnus! I am but an old man!”
Magnus glared. “Ye think ye have the right to call me by my name, as yer Laird? After attacking my wife?” He spat at the floor toward the man, showing his disgust at the magnitude of his audacity.
The old man’s face shifted and his gaze dropped to something deadly and twisted.
“Ye’re nay laird of mine. Ye filthy usurper!
Ye stole this clan from yer brother and cursed us all with yer wretched bride!
” the farmer shouted as the guards opened the door and dragged him away.
“We will fall to ruin because of ye and yer Sassenach pet! Ruin! Clan Black will be ruined because of ye!”
Magnus wasn’t fazed by his harsh words, but he noticed the way the people standing in line just outside the door, how their faces fell into something like anxiety and worry.
“Listen nae to the ravings of a vile old man,” he said to them firmly.
And with a nod to the guard posted by the door, the door to the study was shut again to grant him privacy with Hannah.
He turned to her, his eyes dark with worry and anger that someone had attempted to hurt her.
And to think, the farmer came in there with his back hunched like he could barely walk right, just to trick him.
And the embarrassing thing was, it had worked.
Magnus had been treating the problem like a disabled old man who needed help, but Hannah had seen through him.
She had known he could handle this matter himself, and essentially called him out on it in the most diplomatic way imaginable. Magnus was honestly impressed.
He turned on a heel and crouched down in front of the chair that Hannah was still sitting in, his uninjured palm cradling her face.
“Are ye alright?” he asked softly. Her eyes were round with alarm, her breathing a touch uneven.
A worry of his own panged in his chest, worried that somehow in the scuffle, she had gotten hurt.
Had he somehow mismanaged the situation?
“You’re hurt,” she said weakly, looking at his cut palm.
“I’m fine,” he sighed. “Now answer me.”
Hannah’s eyes finally found his and he could see what was ailing her—the panic.
Her time in the dungeon where violence had been a certainty was on the forefront of her mind.
His thumb gently stroked the skin of her cheek.
“Dinnae be afraid, Hannah. I’ll never let my people hurt ye,” he assured her, his voice gruff but quiet.
She studied him, almost looking puzzled. “You’re the one bleeding and you’re worried about me?”
He only answered with a nod. A cut on his palm was nothing to him. Hell, if it was a day on the battlefield, it would be considered a good day to only come back with a minor cut like that.
“Thank you, my Lai… husband,” she breathed.
In the wake of those words, a tension bloomed between them. The same tension that had driven him nearly to the point of losing control the night before. And the moment he witnessed her eyes flicker down to his mouth, Magnus couldn’t stop himself from leaning in.
Their lips crashed together like stars bound to one another’s orbit, violent in a beautiful sort of way.
A beauty and a destruction that you never wanted to look away from.
She tasted like her morning tea still, and Magnus had never cared for tea.
But on her lips, on her tongue, it was like he couldn’t get enough of the mildly sweet, earthy flavor.
His lips parted against hers, his tongue licking her bottom lip before thrusting into her mouth.
Needing more of that tea flavor, more of her.
And the soft sounds of pleasure that escaped her only made him all the more hungry for it.
A hand pressed to his chest and Hannah pulled back. He drank in the sight of her breathless with her lips swollen from his kiss. “We need to get your hand treated,” she said weakly.
Magnus found himself smirking. My, my. Could it be that he was already getting under his bride’s skin—and in more ways than just physically? He didn’t think she would care about his measly cut.
What a fascinating woman, indeed.