Chapter 7
The days passed by in a blur.
Skye continued to be tormented by erotic dreams, often waking up with her sheets twisted around her and her shift hiked up.
In a panic, she would shove the fabric down, her hands brushing softly across her inner thighs.
Once, she almost gave in to temptation, but then lifted her hands and set them atop the blankets.
She could not lose herself. It was improper, even if Dougal was to be her betrothed for a month.
When the day came to leave, Freya insisted on helping her dress. Skye was surprised. Her sister had been against it from the start, but over the past two days, she had begun to change her mind.
Skye believed that Freya had finally realized that she intended to go through with it, and there was no changing her mind.
If Freya wanted the two of them to remain close, then she needed to be there for her. Skye would never allow distance to grow between them, but she appreciated her elder sister’s support.
“This one.” Freya held up a deep green gown to Skye’s cheek. She had always been better at this than Skye. Then again, she was better at a lot of things. “It suits ye. Brings out the color of yer eyes.”
“It’s too fine for a fake betrothal,” Skye reminded her. “I daenae think we need to go to all that effort. I shall be back in a month, remember?”
Freya scoffed, ignoring her and going back to studying the gown she was holding up. “Aye, this one will do.”
Skye sighed. “Freya, are ye even listening to me?”
No response, much to her annoyance.
“Nothing is too fine for a laird’s castle,” Emily piped up, draping a second dress over the back of a chair. “Even a false one. Ye’ll want to look as though ye belong there, whether ye believe ye do or nae. Freya is right.”
“I doubt I’ll belong anywhere near that man,” Skye whispered.
“Mm.” Emily exchanged a knowing look with Freya over Skye’s head. “Ye blushed something fierce when he came looking for Kaden the other day. I’d say ye belong there just fine, whatever ye tell yerself.”
“That means nothing. He has that effect on people,” Skye argued, wishing Emily and Freya hadn’t witnessed that. It was bad enough that Dougal had seen it, but now the two people she cared about most would tease her about it mercilessly.
“Does he now?” Freya folded her arms, unconvinced. “And what effect would that be, exactly?”
Skye resisted the urge to blush again. It would not help her case if she did. “Making a room go quiet and every lass in it forget her own name. It isnae personal.”
“Sounds rather personal to me,” Emily quipped, smirking, and dodged the pillow Skye threw at her. “I am merely speaking the truth, Skye. Why are ye trying to shoot the messenger?”
“I daenae agree.”
In the end, Skye packed the green gown, along with three others Freya insisted on despite her protests, and told herself firmly that she wasn’t choosing any of them with a certain man in mind. She mostly believed it.
She was beyond nervous to leave her home. She had never spent time away from the castle, but she had committed to this, and it was what she was going to do. The carriage would arrive soon to take her to Dougal, who was “eagerly” awaiting the arrival of his betrothed.
A month, Skye. It is only a month.
She changed into the gown Freya and Emily had insisted she wear for her first meeting with everyone at MacKinnon Castle. She was tired of arguing, so she decided to let them have their way. After all, it was just a month.
For some reason, she felt the need to keep reminding herself of that.
Dougal heard the carriage wheels on the gravel before he saw them, and dropped his sparring partner flat in the dirt without so much as a backward glance despite the man’s groan of protest.
His betrothed had arrived.
He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and crossed the yard at an unhurried pace, watching her step down from the carriage and watching her eyes land and linger on him a moment longer than propriety strictly allowed.
“Me Lady.” His lips curled into an unashamed smirk. “Enjoying the view?”
“I was merely… I was looking at the castle.” Color rose to her cheeks.
“Of course ye were.” He offered his arm. After a moment’s hesitation, she took it. “I’ll have the maids prepare yer room. A warm bath as well. After all, ye’ve had a long journey and look in sore need of one.”
“How charming of ye to say so,” she said dryly.
“I’m occasionally charming. Ye’ll learn to recognize the rare moments.”
He led her toward the front doors, aware of every eye in the yard tracking their progress.
Let them watch. There was going to be a lot more of that the longer Skye spent here, so she was going to have to get used to it.
When Skye came down for dinner later in the evening, she found Dougal cutting Lily’s food into small bites. She paused, confused.
“Forgive me. I didnae mean to interrupt.”
Dougal glanced up from cutting the meat. “Ye’re nae interrupting. Sit.”
She sat, studying the little girl with open curiosity.
Dougal imagined the questions rattling around in her head. There had never been any mention of his daughter, whom he did his best to keep a secret. Not because he was ashamed, but simply because he was trying to protect her.
“Over there is me maither, Kenna, and this is Lily.”
Kenna smiled. “Good evening.”
Lily grinned. “Are ye the lady Da’s marrying?”
“So I’m told,” Skye said carefully, glancing at Dougal, who fixed her with a smoldering look that almost had her squirming in her seat.
No one noticed, but he did, and that was enough.
Lily puffed out her cheeks. “Da says it’s political. Is it true?”
“Lily,” Dougal warned gently.
“But Da, it’s true! Ye said it yerself the other night!”
Skye smiled, holding back her laughter. “I suppose it is.”
“Do ye like animals?”
The question seemed to take Skye by surprise for a moment, but she then smiled again. “I do love animals.”
Lily’s face lit up. “I have a cat named Blossom. She’s black and very clever. Da did promise me a goat but still hasnae gotten me one.”
“Lily, that is enough about the goat.”
“But it’s the truth,” Lily protested.
Kenna snorted a laugh.
Skye laughed herself.
Kenna set down her cup, studying her with open interest now that the introductions were behind them. “So, ye’re the lass who’s caused such an uproar in the Highlands.”
Skye nearly choked on her bread. “I suppose I am.”
“Daenae look so frightened, lass. I mean it as a compliment. It takes a certain kind of woman to write what ye write and still sit here so composed, under me son’s roof, eating supper as if nothing were amiss.”
“I’m nae certain composed is the word I’d use,” Skye admitted.
“Ye’re doing a fine job of it regardless.” Kenna’s eyes flicked briefly over her gown, her hands, the careful way she held herself. “Good posture. Kind eyes. And ye laughed at Lily’s nonsense about the goat rather than looking put out by it. That tells me plenty.”
“The goat isnae nonsense,” Lily interjected, her mouth full. “It’s a promise. Da promised it.”
“I said I’d consider it,” Dougal corrected.
“That’s the same as promising.”
“It isnae.”
“Grandmaither, tell him it’s the same.”
Kenna held up both hands, laughter in her eyes. “I willnae get between a lass and her goat. That’s a battle yer faither must lose on his own.”
Skye smiled into her cup, watching the exchange unfold like something out of a story she hadn’t written yet.
“Do ye have any sisters?” Lily asked suddenly, turning her full attention to Skye.
“I do. An elder sister called Freya, and a braither called Kaden.”
“Is Freya nice?”
“Very nice. Though she’d deny it if ye asked her.”
“I’ve got no sisters,” Lily said, matter-of-fact. “But I’ve got Blossom.”
“Blossom sounds like an excellent substitute.”
“She isnae a substitute. She’s better.” Lily paused for a moment, then leaned forward. “Do ye think ye and Da will have more bairns? I’d like to have a sister.”
The table went very still.
“Lily,” Dougal chided.
“What? It’s a fair question.”
“It’s nae the sort of question ye ask at supper.”
“When is it appropriate to ask, then?”
Skye pressed her lips together, fighting a laugh she knew would only encourage the girl further. “I think that’s a conversation for another day, sweetling.”
“That’s what grown-ups say when they mean nay.”
“Sometimes,” she allowed, “it means we simply daenae ken yet.”
Lily seemed to accept that, nodding sagely before returning to her meal as though she hadn’t just upended the entire table.
Kenna caught Skye’s eye across the candlelight, something warm and knowing passing between them. “Ye handled that better than most would.”
“I’ve had practice. Freya asks worse.”
“I like her,” she announced to no one in particular, though her gaze landed pointedly on her son. “I like her very much.”
Dougal said nothing, but Skye caught him watching her over the rim of his cup, something unreadable in his eyes, something that lingered a moment longer than it needed to before he looked away.
Dinner continued until he turned to Lily. “It’s time for bed, little one.”
“Already, Da?” Lily groaned.
He nodded. “Aye, it is time for ye to get to sleep. Let’s nae argue.”
“But—”
“Ye can talk more to Skye tomorrow.”
Kenna was already standing and moving towards Lily.
Lily was pouting, but clearly the pout was not working that never worked on her grandmother. Dougal always found it amusing.
“Let’s get ye to bed, Lily. Yer da and his betrothed have a lot to discuss.”
“Like what?”
“Bed, Lily,” Dougal said, more firmly.
It was important to put his foot down when it came to Lily. It was too easy to give her everything she wanted. But that didn’t mean it was right.
He bid his daughter and mother goodnight before turning back to his nearly empty plate.
Skye was eating slowly, but her mind seemed to be elsewhere. He imagined she was trying to figure out how Lily came to be and how he had managed to keep her existence secret for so long.
But he would tell her the truth. Some of it anyway.
Should she ask, he would tell her that Lily was not of his blood. But for now, they sat there in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts.
The first night of their arrangement was surely awkward.
Kenna's footsteps faded down the corridor, Lily's sleepy chatter trailing after her, and then it was only the two of them, the candles burned low, throwing more shadow than light across the table between them.
Neither of them moved to leave.
Skye told herself she should rise, should bid him goodnight before the silence grew any heavier than it already had. But she stayed rooted to her chair, achingly aware of him across the small distance, of the way his eyes had darkened in the low light.
"Ye're staring, lass," Dougal said, without looking up from his cup.
"So are ye. Ye have been all evening."
His gaze lifted to hers, slow and deliberate, dragging a path she felt everywhere it touched — her mouth, her throat, the place where her pulse had begun to hammer. "Aye. I have."
She should have had a clever reply. She usually did. But her thoughts had scattered somewhere between the heat pooling low in her belly and the memory of his hands from two nights past, of what those same hands might do given the chance.
He reached for the wine, and his fingers brushed hers as he refilled her cup. The touch was brief, barely anything, and still it sent a shiver clean through her, her breath catching audibly enough that his mouth curved at the sound.
"Careful," he murmured, low and rough, "or I might mistake that for an invitation."
"I daenae ken what ye mean." The lie came out breathless, unconvincing even to her own ears.
"Nay?" He leaned forward, just enough that she caught the warmth of him, the faint scent of leather and woodsmoke. "Because I find meself wanting badly to misunderstand ye tonight, lass."
Her whole body went taut, waiting, wanting, terrified of what she wanted.
Neither of them moved. The fire cracked once, sharp in the quiet.