Chapter 6
It had never been Skye’s intention to get caught eavesdropping on her brother, but after Emily distracted Freya, she was able to sneak to the room and press her ear against the door.
She hated her terrible luck that Dougal himself decided to open the door, stopping her from falling face-first on her face.
That would have been terribly embarrassing in front of the man who was to become her betrothed, even if it was only for a month.
She urgently motioned for Kaden to leave before he could embarrass her further with whatever he’d been about to say. He sighed but gave a slight bow of his head.
“I apologize for me braither,” she said once the door clicked shut behind him. “He means well. He’s only ever been protective. The same goes for me elder sister, Freya.”
“No need to apologize.” Dougal folded his arms, studying her with an unreadable expression. “Now, let’s discuss the terms of our little arrangement, since they’ll bind us for the better part of a month.”
“Terms?” She lifted an eyebrow. “I thought ye’d simply expect me to follow whatever ye said. Have I got it all wrong?”
“I’m nae quite that tyrannical, lass. Though I confess the thought has its appeal.”
Skye couldn’t stop herself from blushing. The man had a talent for flustering her, and a small part of him seemed to enjoy it.
“Go on, then. Tell me yer terms.”
“Ye’ll see things in me castle that might surprise ye. Things people whisper about, and rightly so in some cases.”
“Like the heads of yer enemies above yer fireplace?” Skye joked, despite the rumors swirling around him.
Dougal didn’t answer, but his mouth curved dangerously close to a smile. Closer than she’d seen it all evening at the cèilidh.
“Ye’ll give me yer word that ye’ll tell no one what ye see within me walls. And certainly nae write about it. It is all I ask.”
“I accept yer terms.” She studied him for a long moment, curiosity winning out over caution. “Though I must ask—if ye truly wanted a bride, why suggest a false betrothal? Me braither would never have refused ye outright. I wouldnae have been able to say no to ye, nae with the alliance at stake.”
“Do ye dream of a practical match, then? Land, title, security?”
“Nay.” She said it without hesitation. “I dream of love, foolish as that may sound to a man like ye.”
Skye had dreamed about it since she had come into her womanhood. To be wooed and swept off her feet by a man who adored her. It was her dream. An unreachable one, it seemed for so many.
Freya had warned her off having such dreams. They were, after all, just dreams.
“I daenae dream of it at all.” Dougal’s voice flattened, the humor draining out of it. “Love is messy, lass. It costs people things they cannae afford to lose. I need stability, nae emotions.”
“And yet no practical lass would come to ye willingly, given yer reputation,” Skye reluctantly pointed out.
She was not trying to wave the rumors that had persisted in his face, but it was the reality of his situation.
“Precisely. Which is why I’d never force a hand, even if I wanted one.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “I’m still dragging ye back to me lair. I hope ye understand that.”
She felt the words more than heard them, a shiver she couldn’t entirely hide.
“Since this is fake,” she said, recovering her composure with effort, “I have a condition of me own to add to yers.”
“And what is that?”
“No kissing.”
Her cheeks burned as she spoke. Dougal seemed to take note of it, for he smirked, slow and infuriating. “All right. No kissing. Unless ye ask. Nicely. Then I’ll consider kissing ye, lass.”
Skye clasped her hand to her chest, gasping. “I’ll never ask, so ye had better get those thoughts out of yer head.”
“We’ll see, lass. We’ll see.” He turned toward the door.
“Nay, we willnae see,” Skye insisted, straightening up. “I hope ye understand that.”
He smirked. “Aye, I understand ye well, lass, but things change.”
Skye didn’t have a response to that, or rather chose not to.
“I’ll send the carriage in a week. Bring whatever ye need, ye’ll want for nothing at me castle but the freedom to walk out of it whenever ye please.”
Skye made a noise, and when he turned to look at her, she only nodded, that captivating blush still staining her cheeks.
“See ye in a week,” she said.
Dougal nodded. “See ye in a week, lassie.”
The moment Dougal was home, he gathered the household in the Great Hall. He announced, without much fanfare, that his new betrothed would arrive within a few days.
The news rippled through the room, servants exclaiming in surprise. His mother was the most shocked of all, but even she did not dare question him publicly.
Judging from the deep frown on her face, she would have quite a lot to say when she had a moment to speak to him in private.
Lily tugged at his sleeve once he finished speaking. “Da, will she like to sing?”
“I daenae ken, little one. I daenae ken her very much, ye see. This is just political.”
She puffed out her cheeks. “So ye daenae like her?”
“I daenae ken her well enough to say either way.”
“Da, that’s silly!” she giggled.
He chuckled. “Do I nae ken that.”
“It’s silly to be betrothed to a lady and ye daenae even ken if ye like her!” Lily insisted.
His smile grew. “That’s how it often works, lass.”
Lily giggled again and ran off to the kitchens.
It was moments later that his mother found him, not long after Lily’s giggles had faded down the corridor and the rest of the servants had gone back to their evening duties.
“A betrothal within a few days. Did ye nae think to mention this to me before ye left?”
“I’m telling ye now, Maither, as I said I would.”
“Aye, after announcing it to every soul in the castle first.” She shook her head, exasperated. “Dougal Grant, I wish ye had told me before, but now ye need to tell me about this mysterious betrothed of yers.”
“Skye MacLeod.”
“Of Clan Muir?”
“Aye.”
Kenna didn’t look convinced in the least. It wasn’t surprising, given how hard-headed she could be. He did get it from somewhere.
“And does the lass ken what she’s getting herself into by marrying into this family?”
“It’s only a betrothal,” Dougal reminded her.
“Anything else I should know about the lass?”
Dougal paused. “She’s the writer of the Lion in the Highlands.”
“Is she?” Kenna repeated, humming thoughtfully. “And she is the lass ye is taking as yer betrothed?”
“Aye Maither, as I’ve said.”
When he retired to his study, Stephen was already waiting. His man-at-arms told him what had happened while he was gone and congratulated him on his betrothal.
His thoughts drifted to Skye when she mentioned her condition—no kissing. The more they talked about it, the redder her cheeks seemed to become.
Despite behaving like a proper lady, she had quite the wild imagination. He could tell just by looking at her.
But it didn’t matter. He would be able to get through a month.
A month was nothing for a man like him.