Chapter 3
Dew glimmered on the heather, and the cold air brought the scent of peat smoke drifting from unseen crofts farther north.
Merith sat before Locke once more upon the horse, though the nearness of him felt somehow different after the quiet intimacy of the night before.
She remained painfully aware of the warmth of his chest against her back and the strength of the arm resting lightly around her waist, yet now another awareness threaded through it all.
She knew he watched everything. Not merely the road, but everything.
Every rise in the hills. Every distant rider. Every crofter they passed.
It unsettled her how alert he remained even while speaking easily with Shona about whether rabbits tasted better roasted with thyme or onions.
“Onions,” Shona insisted firmly from atop her mare. “Only an eejit ruins good meat with herbs.”
Locke looked scandalized. “Ye wound me deeply, lass.”
“Aye, well, ye’ve survived brigands,” she countered. “Ye’ll survive honesty too.”
The humor between them softened the memory of the previous day’s horror, though not entirely. Now and then Duncan’s face still rose without warning before her eyes, and guilt squeezed through her chest.
Yet each time silence threatened to grow too heavy, Locke somehow scattered it again with another tale or remark.
“How many places have ye traveled?” she asked as they crossed a narrow stream glittering gold beneath the morning light.
“Enough tae learn that folk are mostly the same wherever ye go,” Locke replied with a chuckle.
“And what does that mean?”
“That rich men enjoy boastin’, poor men enjoy gossipin’, and everybody lies when romance is involved,” he replied.
Shona laughed loudly and Merith tilted her head.
“That sounds rather cynical,” she said.
“Aye. Experience often is.”
She glanced back enough to catch the faint smile touching his mouth, though his blue eyes remained watchful upon the road ahead.
“You speak as though ye’ve had terrible luck in love,” she remarked.
“Och, nay,” he replied. “I avoid luck entirely. Safer that way.”
“Coward.”
The word escaped before she thought better of it. For one second, silence fell between them. Then Locke laughed softly.
“There she is,” he said.
Merith frowned. “Who?”
“The lass who climbed towers and frightened her tutors,” he replied.
Heat crept into her cheeks. “I didnae frighten them.”
“Did ye no’? I imagine clever women terrify half the kingdom.”
Shona groaned dramatically. “Please dinnae encourage her. Lady Merith already believes herself invincible.”
“I do not,” Merith snapped, looking toward Shona.
“Aye?” Shona lifted a brow. “And who once attempted tae leap from the east wall with bedsheets tied roon’ her waist?”
Locke nearly choked laughing behind her.
Merith closed her eyes briefly. “I was twelve.”
“And nearly died,” Shona said.
“But I didnae.”
“Purely because ye landed in sheep dung,” Shona replied, grinning at the memory as she turned her eyes back to the road.
Locke’s shoulders shook with laughter behind her. The sound warmed something deep inside her chest in a way she did not entirely understand.
As they went along, the rough Highland road gradually widened into better-kept paths lined with stone walls and grazing sheep. Smoke curled from cottage chimneys nestled among the hills, and small fields were golden beneath the sun.
“There,” Shona said, pointing ahead.
Merith lifted her gaze. A village rested within the glen below them, tidy cottages clustered around a broad green where several children chased one another laughing through the grass. Women hung wool blankets from wooden lines while men worked the nearby fields with sturdy Highland ponies.
Beyond it all rose what she guessed was the Carnegie Keep upon a rocky hill, its gray stone towers standing proud against the sky.
Merith’s breath eased slightly. The place looked prosperous and peaceful.
Not at all like the grim, dark fortress she had imagined while listening to whispered rumors of Murdoch Carnegie’s ambition.
“It seems pleasant enough,” she murmured.
“Aye,” Locke replied. Yet something in his tone made her glance back slightly.
His gaze lingered not upon the keep but upon the village itself. Upon the cottages and the workers and the guards stationed subtly near the roads.
“What is it?” she asked quietly.
“Nothin’,” he replied, turning his eyes away.
“That was not a convincing answer.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “Ye’re learnin’.”
Before she could press further, Shona suddenly straightened. “Och heavens.”
“What?”
“My hair,” she said, gasping.
Merith blinked. “Your hair?”
“We’re arriving at a keep and I look like a half-drowned goat,” Shona replied, bringing a hand up to smooth out her locks.
Locke laughed outright and Shona pointed accusingly at him.
“Dinnae mock me,” she warned. “Ye arenae the one who must face servants lookin’ like a bog creature.”
“I assure ye, lass, the bog creatures would object tae the comparison.”
Shona gasped in outrage while Merith struggled unsuccessfully not to laugh. However, the sound escaped anyway.
Locke went very still behind her for one moment because there it was again. That impossible warmth in her voice that made him forget, dangerously, why he had come there.
By the time they reached the outer gates of Carnegie Keep, clouds had gathered once more overhead. Two armed guards stepped forward immediately, hands resting upon sword hilts.
“Halt there.” The sharper of the two guards frowned heavily at the sight of them.
Two mud-stained women accompanied by a stranger whose clothes still bore traces of dried blood.
Merith straightened at once.
“I am Lady Merith Donalson,” she announced clearly. “Daughter of Laird Donalson. We were attacked upon the road.”
The guards exchanged startled looks. “Lady Merith?” The older man repeated. “The laird has been waitin’ fer yer arrival since yesterday.”
“Aye, well,” Shona muttered. “We encountered difficulties.”
The younger guard eyed Locke suspiciously. “And who’s this?”
Before Locke could answer, Merith said firmly, “The man who saved our lives.”
The guard’s posture shifted at once, though caution remained in his expression. “Wait here if ye please.”
He disappeared through the gates while the others remained tense.
Merith became suddenly aware of how disheveled she must have appeared. Her dark blonde hair had escaped its pins during travel, loose strands curling widely around her face. Mud stained the hem of her blue wool gown, and exhaustion tugged at her limbs.
This was hardly how she had imagined arriving to meet her future husband. Beside her, Locke seemed maddeningly unconcerned.
“Do ye always arrive at keeps lookin’ like ye’ve survived war?” she murmured beneath her breath.
“Och, usually worse,” he said.
At that, she smiled.
Then the gates opened again and a tall man strode through the courtyard toward them with confident steps, dark hair stirring lightly in the wind. He wore a deep green doublet embroidered with silver thread, and authority seemed to follow naturally in his wake.
Murdoch Carnegie. Her betrothed.
Merith’s breath caught faintly. He was undeniably handsome. Broad-shouldered and commanding, with sharp dark eyes and the polished ease of a man accustomed to obedience.
Yet, it was not his appearance that struck her most. It was the immediacy of his concern.
“Lady Merith.” Relief crossed his features as he approached. “Thank god ye’ve arrived safely.”
His voice was warm and smooth and rich with charm. Murdoch Carnegie reached for her hands at once after Locke helped her dismount.
“When ye failed tae arrive yesterday, I feared somethin’ terrible had occurred,” he confessed.
“It did,” Merith admitted quietly.
At once his expression darkened. “What happened?”
She explained the ambush as briefly as she could manage, though her voice faltered slightly at the mention of Duncan’s death.
Murdoch’s jaw tightened appropriately. “I am sorry fer yer loss, my lady.” Then his gaze shifted toward Locke. “And this is the man who aided ye?”
“Aye,” she replied, nodding quickly. “Locke Reid. Had he not arrived when he did…” She could not finish the thought.
Murdoch stepped toward Locke and extended his hand without hesitation. “Then Carnegie owes ye a debt, Master Reid.”
Locke accepted the handshake easily. “I merely happened to be on the road.”
“Even so.” Murdoch studied him carefully. “Most men wouldnae have intervened.”
Locke smiled faintly. “Aye, well. I’ve long suffered from poor judgment.”
To Merith’s surprise, Murdoch laughed. It was a genuine laugh.
“I already suspect we shall get along,” he said.
Something loosened slightly inside her chest. Perhaps this marriage truly would not be terrible.
Murdoch turned back toward her at once. “Ye must be exhausted. Come inside immediately. Food and warm rooms await.”
“That is verra kind—”
“Nonsense. Ye are tae be mistress here soon enough.”
The words should have startled her. Instead, after the horrors on the road, they sounded strangely comforting.
As servants hurried forward to take the horses, Murdoch glanced once more toward Locke.
“And ye, Master Reid, must remain as my guest while ye recover from this ordeal,” he said to him.
Locke opened his mouth politely. “That is generous, but unnecessary—”
“Och, I insist,” Murdoch said smoothly.
To Merith’s surprise, she heard herself add. “Please stay.”
Locke’s eyes darted toward her instantly. For one strange moment, something unreadable passed between them. Then he smiled lightly.
“Well,” he said. “Since both laird and lady command it, I’d be foolish tae refuse.” His words visibly appeased his host.
Inside, Carnegie Keep glowed with warmth after the bleak Highland roads.
The Great Hall stretched beneath heavy oak beams darkened by age and smoke.
Rich tapestries lined the stone walls, depicting hunting scenes and what Merith assumed to be old clan victories.
Firelight danced across wooden tables while servants moved swiftly, carrying trenchers of bread and steaming broth.
Merith could not help staring slightly. Her father’s keep was respectable but smaller, much smaller. Murdoch noticed at once.
“Does it meet with yer approval, Lady Merith?” he asked, smiling at her.
She smiled back faintly. “Aye. ’Tis beautiful, my Laird.”
His eyes softened with obvious satisfaction. “I am pleased tae hear it.”
As they walked deeper into the keep, Murdoch pointed out various chambers with pride he didn’t bother hiding.
“The kitchens were rebuilt last winter after a fire damaged the old ones,” he informed them. “The south tower houses the library, though I spend less time there than I ought. Beyond the courtyard lies the armory.”
“A library?” Merith asked, surprised.
Murdoch glanced toward her. “Ye enjoy readin’?”
“Very much,” she replied truthfully.
“Then perhaps ye shall improve my habits.”
The flirtation was gentle. It was polished and appropriate. Yet, Merith found herself noticing that Locke, walking slightly behind them, had fallen silent now.
He merely watched. Always watched.
When they reached the upper corridor, Murdoch stopped before a carved wooden door. “Yer chambers, my lady.”
A maid hurried forward immediately to open it.
Warmth enveloped Merith at once as she stepped inside. A fire crackled brightly within the hearth, sending golden light across wool blankets dyed deep burgundy and carved oak furnishings. A copper basin steamed gently near the bed, clearly prepared for washing.
After the cold road and open moors, it felt impossibly luxurious.
Murdoch lingered near the doorway. “I hope ye shall be comfortable here.”
“I already am. Thank you, my Laird,” she admitted softly, turning to him. Locke stood a few paces behind him, pretending not to be interested in the room she had been given.
“Good.” Then, with a courteous bow, he added, “Rest now, Lady Merith. We shall speak more this evening.”
Once he departed, the chamber seemed suddenly quieter. Especially without Locke in its vicinity.
Shona immediately collapsed upon a nearby stool with a dramatic groan. “If another horse carries me anywhere today, I shall perish.”
Merith laughed softly while removing her gloves.
Shona watched her a moment before narrowing her eyes knowingly. “Ye like him.”
Merith blinked. “Who?”
“The laird.”
At that, heat rose into her cheeks. “I scarcely ken him, Shona.”
“Aye, but ye expected some terrible brute instead of a handsome laird with manners,” she reminded her.
Merith moved toward the hearth, staring into the flames. Murdoch had been gracious. Attentive. Everything a future husband ought to be.
But annoyingly, another face kept intruding upon her thoughts. Blue eyes. A crooked smile. A rough voice laughing softly beside a campfire.
Shona sighed dramatically. “Och, dinnae look like that.”
“Like what?”
“Confused.”
“I am not confused.”
“Aye, ye are.”
Merith sank slowly into the chair beside the fire, exhaustion weighing down her limbs at last.
Outside the window, shadows from the clouds expanded slowly across Carnegie lands while distant bells rang faintly through the glen below.
For the first time since leaving home, Merith felt dangerously hopeful. Perhaps this marriage would not trap her after all. Perhaps Murdoch Carnegie truly might prove kind.
And perhaps the strange ache she felt whenever Locke Reid smiled at her would fade soon enough once she remembered exactly who he was.
A charming rogue. Nothing more.