Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

"The Mackie lad has accepted the invitation," his mother said as she skimmed over the letter that had arrived in the late afternoon. She turned, looking at him expectantly, but Caelan had no response. "Well?"

"What do ye wish for me to say, Mother? I'm happy that her former betrothed will be there?" Admittedly, he was. Though he did not know Ewan Mackie, he did know enough of his reputation.

A man built from nothing was admirable, of course, but a woman like Leona deserved a man with a rooted history. And he hoped that Ewan Mackie knew that as well when he watched them bound their clans and their souls.

That is if she'd have him.

It had been two days since she had come to his study, and since then, she had seemed to avoid him, and when she couldn't, it was as if she wanted to hide away. It was the kisses . He was almost certain. Everything had changed after that. The tension between them wasn't the playful banter he had enjoyed but something heavy that he did not completely recognize.

When he had seen her in the hallways, he couldn't help but inwardly beg her to look his way. But if she did, Leona would quickly turn her head or walk in the opposite direction. He was determined now to ensure that she would speak to him so that he could fix this between them.

Beside him, Jamie skimmed over more letters– some responses to invitations and others having to do with clan affairs. With a sigh, he leaned back and tossed the parchment onto the table with the rest.

The stack was massive and ever-growing. Caelan had expected some guests to agree to come, but not this many. Lairds from shore to sea had agreed to come celebrate, some he had never heard of, and some he never imagined would even consider joining in.

"Our clan has deep roots, and this conflict with the MacLoughty's has had its effects on many men," his mother told him when he voiced his surprise. "Nay one could have foreseen that ye would be marryin' the daughter of Bram Ainslie, Caelan."

"Perhaps they all just wish to see if it becomes a bloodbath," Jamie chimed in.

"James Nimmo, guard yer tongue!"

Jamie gave her a shite-eating grin. "Aye, forgive me. But 'tis true."

He wasn't wrong. Even some of his own men were surprised by the betrothal; some equally outraged. No one dared to voice this, of course, but word tended to spread like wildfire within the castle walls.

Jamie tore through another letter and cursed as his finger sliced on the parchment. He brought the tiny wound to his mouth and glared at the delicate writing before tossing it into the pile.

"Ye've never been one for such things, James." his mother said as she watched his man-at-arms throw his head back and groan. It was true; he really was not a fan of anything to do with literature in any form and had barely touched the surface of his own pile. "Is there somewhere ye could make yerself more useful?"

Jamie shrugged and closed his eyes. "I offer moral support, m'lady."

Caelan felt about the same. He himself grew tired of reading and writing replies. He was half tempted to have his sister, his soon-to-be wife, and their friend come and do it all. But he didn't have the heart to put Leona in that situation, not with her avoiding him so plainly.

His mother stood from her seat and turned to him, her eyes narrowing. "I will be at Gleann Cloiche makin' the arrangements," she then shot a look at Jamie. "Ye both will do as I've instructed. This must go flawlessly."

"Aye," Caelan nodded.

She turned for the door but seemed to hesitate. For a moment, she seemed as if she was about to say more but thought better of it. The instant she was out of the room, Jamie straightened and turned to him with a frown.

"Ye ken, I think of ye as a brother," he said as he raised his brows expectantly.

"Aye? And?"

Jamie took a deep breath. "Tell me the truth this time, Caelan. Are ye marryin' her to piss off yer dead father?"

This again.

Caelan shook his head, his mouth open in shock. "Are ye bein' serious, lad? How many times do ye plan on comin' out with this nonsense?"

"Aye, more serious now than before. Ye need to let it go, Caelan. He's dead and cannae see ye; if he can, well, he cannae do much. But I daenae think that he would be watchin' from hell."

"As a brother ye may be, but daenae test m'temper."

"Ye got yerself a bonnie wee lass, and ye're nae doin' her any favors by holding onto a dead man's actions," Jamie was unphased, unabashed with his words. This was both his best and worst quality, the things that Caelan could love and despise at the same time.

I've had enough of it.

Caelan shook his head. "James Nimmo, I am warnin' ye–"

"Nay, ye stubborn shite. Ye need to hear this."

"Ye willnae tell yer laird what he needs."

"Yer father–"

"The man tortured me, Jamie," his voice was a rumble, but it was wasted on his friend. Jamie had seen enough of his anger to know when it was enough to steer clear of, but this was not one of those times, and it irritated Caelan more than words could describe.

He wanted the subject dropped and locked away; he would be happy never thinking of his father again in his lifetime. "So what if marryin' the MacLoughty lass would make him twist in his grave? And what if I like the thought of it?"

"Ye're torturin' yerself," Jamie frowned in a matter-of-fact tone. "And I daenae wish to sit here and watch it. Figure out how to get over this before ye make a mistake. Daenae marry that sweet lass for the wrong reasons."

At that moment, the door to the study creaked just loud enough that it drew their attention. Both men turned and waited, expecting someone to burst through. Jamie moved towards it, swinging the door open quickly to reveal no one there. Jamie turned to look over his shoulder, his face reddened with anger. "Think on this," he said before walking out in a huff.

Caelan sat there, watching the door as it slammed shut. Curse him. He wasn't sure what he was more cross over, the fact that Jamie had spoken and continued to speak out of turn or because his man-at-arms was absolutely right.

Cursing under his breath, Caelan stood up. He grabbed the empty bottle of whiskey sitting untouched on the table and heaved it at the mantle. It shattered into a million pieces, crumbling to the floor.

He stormed out of the study a short time later. Frustration and anxiety seemed to have a grasp on him, refusing to let go. The preparations for the wedding were taking a toll on him, but even more so, it was that Jamie had been right, and Caelan did not know how to address it.

His father was a man that he had always come to despise in life and in death. But that was just it. He was dead and on the ground. His spot was marked by a stone, so why did he have such a strong hold on him still?

As he walked, his mind was a whirlwind. He knew he wanted to marry Leona, but so much was holding him back. There were things about him that he should have already told her, and now time was spilling from his hands like fine sand.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost didn't notice her. But then, he saw her, Leona, standing in the courtyard with his sister and their friend. She was radiant, laughing, and smiling as if nothing in the world could bring her down. The sight of her stopped him in his tracks, and he couldn't seem to tear himself away.

He wanted to be the reason she glowed like this.

As if sensing his eyes on her, she turned her gaze towards him. Her smile changed; it was still there, but he could feel the difference. She became subdued, her bright eyes darkened slightly. It was as if the colors that made up her soul were drained by the mere sight of him.

Was this all because of the kiss?

"Caelan," her voice was soft and tender as he approached.

He shot his sister and their friend a look, one that demanded they leave. As Maisie and Isobel excused themselves, leaving Leona and himself alone, he could see her discomfort bloom.

She tried to hide it, but it was obvious from the look on her face. As much as she pretended, there was no mistaking it. She was not as good at hiding her emotions as she seemed to think.

"Excuse me," she whispered, rushing past him. Surprised, he reached out, catching her by the arm and pulling her back gently. She looked up at him now, her eyes narrowed as her annoyance and temper came to the surface.

I just need to explain. I need to understand.

"Leona," he said urgently, wanting to understand what was bothering her. "If I have done something to offend ye; I apologize. I daenae mean to. Just tell me, lass."

Her eyes rolling only deepened his confusion and set off the embers of his temper. "'Tis nothin', me laird. Now please, let me–"

He tightened his grip on her arm. He wouldn't allow her to brush this off so easily. Caelan was tempted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she smartened herself.

"I am to be yer husband. Ye will answer me and give me the attention I deserve." He sounded childish; he felt childish. But there was nothing else he could think of, nothing he could do to keep her focus.

"Oh aye, I ken I will have to do that someday," she snapped, her voice turned hard. What did she mean by that? Leona jerked back on her arm, struggling against him, but he did not falter. "And someday I'll be expected to give ye bairns while ye run off with some–"

"Bairns? God, Leona. I have barely kissed yer sweet mouth. and ye're worried about makin' wee bairns?"

"Of course! We're to be wed soon. Is that nae me purpose?"

"It's nothin' to do with bairns, lass. None of it."

"Then what is it about?"

"I am to be yer husband," he said in a firm, matter-of-fact tone.

"Aye, I am aware."

"I just wish for ye to look at me, lass. I daenae want ye to turn tail and run when I come for ye. Ye're meant to want me, nae just be tolerant of m'presence."

She snorted, pulling back on her arm. "Why does m'opinion of ye matter so much, Caelan? Will it still matter after we've wed, and ye're free to do as ye please?"

"Daenae test me, lass," he warned, growing tired of her fit.

Leona jerked at her arm, cursing and calling him names that only seemed to fuel his annoyance more. They certainly were not words meant for a lady. She glared up at him, her green eyes narrowed and shimmering.

God, she's beautiful even when she looks like she might bite me head off .

"Stop, Leona."

She scoffed. "And what will ye do if I don't–"

He pulled her close, showing her the difference in strength. She had been tugging and wrenching her arm, but he had allowed it. Now, he had her where he wanted her most, and she couldn't do a thing to escape.

"Ye will stop this, Leona."

Her resolve did not falter. "How will ye make me?"

Leaning forward, his mouth was close to hers, so close that he could feel her hot breath against his lips as she struggled to maintain her composure. His eyes held hers, promising silently to make her . He wanted her. He wanted to kiss her, to silence her, and let her protests fade into his mouth.

"This is yer last warning," he promised.

Her expression washed away as she turned soft against him. Leona's breaths were uneven, shaking her core. More than anything, he wanted to kiss her and take away whatever doubts she seemed to have.

"Excuse me, me laird. Another guest has arrived."

Caelan took a step back, his eyes locked on Leona's before turning to the owner of the voice. He frowned when he saw her. Flora stood watching them intently. Something about her expression caused a sharp hint of static within him. What perfect timing.

"Leave us," he said to her in a firm voice.

Leona was watching the maid. Her expression, which had only a few moments ago had been challenging and almost pleading, had changed. She took a deep breath and straightened herself.

"I daenae ken what is going on between ye," Leona said with a frown, her voice hushed and only meant for his ears.

He frowned, unsure about what she meant.

"But I deserve yer respect. And if ye're to treat me this way, do so more subtly, at least."

Caelan reached out, but as his hand brushed her skin, she jerked herself away and out of his grasp. He looked on as she walked away with the energy of a storm.

His hand, still stretched out in an attempt to stop her, almost willing her to turn back around and return to him, dropped. He opened his mouth to call, but she was gone.

With a sigh, he looked over to Flora, whose brown eyes were on him, her expression seemingly blank. Whatever was going through her mind, he could not be sure, nor did he truly care enough to ask. She had disturbed a tender moment, tearing away at his chance at redemption.