Chapter 10

10

E mily couldn't sleep.

Her thoughts were spiraling wildly in her head—she was unable to get their kiss out of her mind. The whole experience had left her shaken in a way she had not expected.

She had lost her mother at a very young age. Her brother and father had been loving in their own way, but she had never been told about the things that happened between a man and a woman.

She could still feel a pulse of arousal between her legs whenever she thought of Laird MacNiall pinning her to the wall. The raw strength and authority in everything he did had made her almost mad with need. She felt ashamed of her wanton actions—how she had ground her hips against him, moaned for him. Yet, she shuddered with pleasure at the idea that she had made him lose control.

The way they parted suggested he might have been just as shaken as she was.

Lingering in the gardens for some minutes after he had departed, she could not understand what he wanted from her. Everything had become so confusing. She thought he was using her as a means to an end, and then he touched her like that, contradicting everything he had said before.

There was something intoxicating about the effect he had on her. Her mind became blank and empty whenever he commanded her. It should have made her angry—to be so overcome—but instead, she found it freeing. So much of her life had been rooted in decisions, tasks, and responsibility. When Adam told her what he expected of her, it was a release to allow him to make her choices for her.

She sighed, pulling the covers off her and slowly getting out of bed. Her knee throbbed, but a fresh bandage had been placed over the wound, and she could bend it without much pain.

She walked to the window, looking out at the inky blackness of the night.

The storm was passing, and she could see the palest tendrils of dawn on the horizon. She had been tossing and turning in bed for hours.

Realizing that she would not go back to sleep any time soon, she decided to tire herself by walking around the castle.

After all, if this is to become me home, I should ken how to navigate it.

She pulled on a long silver robe that was hung over the back of one of her chairs and walked quietly to the door. She did not know why she tiptoed about so carefully, but she was fairly certain it wasn't seemly for her to wander the castle alone at night.

She was going to do it all the same.

She pushed open the door, looking down the long corridor. It was absolutely quiet.

The torches placed at intervals along the walls helped her find her way. She was rather enjoying the darkness. The wind still howled at the windows, but she was safe and content. It was a strange feeling to be so at ease in a place that could have easily become a prison.

As she walked, she began to feel as though she had been in this corridor before. And sure enough, as she continued, she was already anticipating the decorations on the walls. After a few moments, she stopped before the door to Adam's study.

She looked around, but she was quite alone.

An idea came to her mind, and she placed her hand on the handle and opened the door very slowly. She was both thrilled and terrified to see if Adam was inside. Yet, when she slipped through the small gap, she found the room empty.

The fire had long died down, and it was bitterly cold. As she scanned the room, she smiled as she saw what she was looking for.

On the desk were several blank sheets of parchment and a quill. A full bottle of ink stood beside them. The quill had been made from a peacock's feather, and the eye at the top watched her accusingly.

I am nae goin' against his orders, she told herself. I am nae writin' to me faither, and that is what he told me nae to do.

She merely wished to send word to Ceana. Surely, he could not object to that.

Ceana was her closest friend, and Emily had been writing to her regularly up until her wedding to James, lamenting the turn her life had taken. Ceana had not been able to travel for the wedding, as her father was gravely ill, but she had sent many letters of sympathy before the event took place.

They had never gone more than a few weeks without writing to one another, and Ceana was likely wondering what had become of her.

They had met a few years ago, when Ceana's father had sold whisky to Laird Wilkinson. Emily had been surprised to find a woman attending a business deal, and Ceana's lively and friendly personality had endeared Emily to her immediately. They became close friends before the negotiations had even begun.

Emily felt a twinge of sadness when she thought of Ceana's father. She only hoped he was recovering. She did not wish to tell her friend of her own woes, only to find Ceana's situation was worse than her own.

At least I can assume me faither is alive . I can only pray that Mr. MacLean's health is improvin'.

Making her way to the desk, she sat down and pulled a sheet of parchment to her. She did not write much, only the details of where she was and the situation she now found herself in. It was cathartic to confide in someone else about her predicament. Somehow, the act of writing it out on paper took some of the burden off her shoulders.

She wished she could light the fire. Her fingers were almost numb by the time she finished penning the short note, and she was just folding it in half when a heavy voice from the door made her jump about a foot in the air.

"I thought I told ye nae to write to yer faither," Adam snarled as he entered the room.

He closed the door behind him with a loud bang, careless of the many people sleeping above them.

Adam wasn't sure whether to be furious or impressed.

How the devil did she find her way to me study on her own at five o'clock in the damn mornin'?

As he looked at her shocked expression, remembering how her lips had tasted in the gardens, the heat of arousal shuddered down his spine again.

But she still needed to accept that he was in charge, and he intended to remind her.

"If ye are goin' to be mine, then ye must learn to obey ," he commanded as he advanced on her.

"I didnae write to me faither," she countered indignantly.

He came to stand before the desk, and there was a brief stalemate as they glared at each other.

"Why are ye awake?" she asked suddenly.

"I rarely sleep much these days," he confessed. "And ye arenae helpin' matters."

Her robe had fallen open, and he could see her thin nightdress beneath it. His mind wandered to her taking off her sodden dress once she had gotten back to her room, and he felt himself harden beneath his kilt.

"Let's see how obedient ye can be, oh bride of mine. Go to yer chambers."

She rose, folding the letter and putting it in her pocket. He would have to get it from her later or have a servant steal it. He could not let any word about her situation reach Clan Orkney.

Emily rounded the desk and came to stand before him, glaring at him defiantly. He could see she was shivering from the cold air in the room, and the same protectiveness flared inside him. He glanced at the fire, which had long turned to ash in the grate. He needed to fix it, to make her warm. The need was almost overwhelming.

"Go to yer chambers," he barked again.

"And what if I dinnae?" she challenged him.

"Do ye really wish to find out the consequences?" he asked, only too aware of their proximity.

She was inches from him, her porcelain skin almost touching his own. He was desperate to feel her lips on his again. He wanted to hear her moan—make her repeat the sound until they were both mad with lust.

He straightened, trying to get his thundering heart under control. "Give me the letter," he commanded, and after a slight hesitation, he was pleased to see her comply.

She handed him the letter, watching him warily as he read her words. He raised his eyebrows, noting the lack of flowery prose and gushing emotion. Emily had stated everything bluntly and clearly—this Ceana was obviously someone she trusted and knew well.

He lowered the letter, their eyes meeting over the top of the paper.

"Is it to yer satisfaction? I havenae told her anythin' important."

"So I see. Barely worth writin' at all."

She pursed her lips and snatched the letter back. He itched to grab her again and command her to obey him, but he held back. Visibly gathering herself, she moved even further away from him. Tightening her robe around herself and still shivering from the cold, she finally fixed him with a rebellious glare.

"Good night, M'Laird," she said softly. Her tone was so at odds with the fury in her expression that it quite surprised him.

She walked to the door, opening it softly and closing it behind her with a quiet click.

What new madness have I allowed into me life?

He realized he was disappointed she was gone and snarled in irritation. Walking to his desk, he poured himself a large measure of whisky and settled down to watch the dawn.