Chapter 14

14

E mily stormed out of the hall and walked swiftly back up to her room. She wanted to rip all the banners from the walls as she passed them.

What was most infuriating about their exchange was that she felt a familiar pulse of heat between her legs, just as she had in the gardens. His hands on her body had set her skin on fire. She had wanted to lean into his every touch and beg for more. Even— especially —when he had her pinned against the table.

It was infuriating. She knew he had only done it to provoke her and was even more furious that it had worked.

Perhaps I shouldnae have spoken out in the meetin', but he wasnae goin' to get the truth out of that bunch of old men.

As she continued on her way, she realized she had inadvertently taken a wrong turn. She found herself in a long pale corridor with suits of armor set up at intervals along its length.

The ceilings were high and pale, with ornate paintings running down the columns at the sides, but she had no idea where she was.

Emily was startled as a figure rose from a bench down the corridor and Theodore Wells walked toward her, putting his spectacles away as he nodded to her, a book held in his hand.

"Good day, Lady Emily," he said politely. "I often come here to enjoy the solitude. I see we are of the same mind."

Emily glanced around her. It was very quiet; the tapestries along the walls softened any other sounds in the castle, and the beige stone was oddly calming.

"Nay, I am sorry. I didnae mean to disturb ye. I made a wrong turn somewhere," she said, embarrassed.

"May I show ye to yer chambers, M'Lady? Is that where ye were headed?"

Emily glanced behind her, but there was no use refusing him. She was quite lost. "Aye, that would be appreciated."

"Do follow me," he said.

To her surprise, he walked in the opposite direction from where she had come. She followed, looking behind her warily. Theo reached the end of the corridor and lifted one of the tapestries to reveal a door behind it.

Her interest sufficiently piqued, Emily stepped up to it. The door handle was in the shape of a snake, and she frowned at it.

"There are many passageways within the castle walls that will allow ye to reach yer destination much faster if ye just ken where to look," Theo said with a friendly smile.

"And why are ye showin' them to me?" she asked.

"Ah. A sound question, M'Lady. Me simple answer is that I believe ye will be with us for some time."

She frowned at him. "But I am nae really marryin' the Laird."

Theodore's answer was the same gentle smile. "Nay, perhaps ye willnae. But I think I will show ye nonetheless."

He opened the door to reveal a similar passage behind it, made of the same beige stone. Several torches lit the way—it was clearly used regularly.

Theodore preceded her into the passage, his hands folded elegantly behind his back as he waited for her to follow.

What did he mean? she silently wondered as she walked after him. Does he think I will be here for longer than Adam planned?

The air was thick in the tunnels, and the rough stone beneath her feet scraped against her skirts as she followed him. The thick walls all around them muffled any other sounds, and she could not help glancing behind her every now and again at the darkness.

They emerged sometime later beside the door to her chambers. The shortcut had removed almost ten minutes of traveling between rooms in the main part of the castle.

"Yer chambers, M'Lady," he said softly. "Ye are welcome to use these passages whenever ye wish."

Emily frowned at him. "Th-thank ye," she stammered, unnerved by his knowing look.

Theodore bowed to her and continued on his way.

She could not get used to the man. He was unlike any man-at-arms she had ever met.

As she watched him depart, her eyes were drawn to the other side of the corridor, where a large portrait hung. She had not noticed it before, but it was undoubtedly Adam within the frame. She approached it slowly, her head tilted to the side, contemplating its every detail.

Adam stood before a forest, the Highland colors blazing. His foot was raised on a rock, and his hair hung loosely about his shoulders. A dirk gleamed at his belt—every bit the Laird he had become.

Emily frowned up at him, staring into those familiar blue eyes as the anger from earlier slowly rose within her again. His attitude toward her in the council chambers was nothing she was used to.

Her father and brother had always included her in clan matters, and she was accustomed to her opinions being valued, not dismissed. The most infuriating thing was that she felt hurt by it. She wanted Adam to value her thoughts and ideas.

How does he have such a hold on me already? Why does it matter what he thinks of me? After he kills James, we willnae have to be around one another again.

Whirling around and trying to push away the sting of Adam's words, she walked quickly up the steps to her room.

She burst through the door, startling the maid who was seeing to the fire.

"Sorry, Olivia," she said as the girl jumped to her feet. "Ye may continue."

Slowly, Olivia crouched down before the hearth again and nodded toward the bed as she did so. "Those were just delivered for ye, M'Lady," she said cautiously.

Emily turned to the bed to see four boxes had been placed upon it. Interested, despite her angry mood, she went over to the bed and opened the top box.

It contained a beautiful gown. She pulled it out as Olivia exclaimed loudly behind her. The fabric was such a deep blue that it was almost black, and there was exquisite beading all over it. At the base was a scattering of tiny white pearls that looked like the stars at night.

Inside the box was a note, and she pulled it out, her lips curling into a reluctant smile as she read it.

These will fit your wee legs better.

A.

Despite herself, she could not help the laugh that escaped her throat.

"Damn the man," she muttered, laying the dress out before her and admiring it.

"Would ye like to change, M'Lady?" Olivia asked. "Och, it is so bonnie. Are they all dresses for ye?"

Emily pulled the lids of the boxes away, seeing the same fine fabric and beautiful designs. They contained golds, greens, and reds, and she loved all of them. The dresses were exactly to her taste and not too ornate.

"Aye," she said, annoyed at how easily she had been won over. "I'd like to change now."

"Have ye forgotten how to aim?" Doughall asked as Adam notched his bow for a second time.

The first arrow he had fired had been so wayward, it had almost hit the steward attending to them.

"Ye can shut yer mouth," he grumbled, raising his bow and loosing the next arrow. It did hit the target this time, but only just.

"Perhaps I should arrange a tournament," Doughall said. Despite his perpetual state of brooding melancholy, he sounded almost gleeful. His next shot hit the center of the target effortlessly. "It was never worth botherin' when ye were the best archer in the Highlands, but ye have clearly lost yer edge. I might even win on me home turf."

Adam sighed irritably as he reached for another arrow.

"What has ye so distracted?" Doughall asked. "Is it yer bride-to-be? If it is, I should send her some flowers."

"Do ye want me to loose the next arrow into yer heart? Because I will."

Doughall shrugged and aimed his next arrow. "I wouldnae care. It'd probably hit me shoulder."

His second arrow almost splintered his first, and Adam threw down his bow in frustration. He signaled to a guard who brought over a tray of swords. Doughall, who had been about to shoot another arrow, looked at him in dismay.

"Are we finished with this already? I'm winnin'!"

"Exactly. We cannae continue, or I shall lose me reputation. Take up yer position—I shall beat ye with a sword instead."

Doughall's dark eyes only hardened further as he lowered his bow, but Adam wasn't fooled. His best friend rarely laughed and was either sullen, angry, or sarcastic on most occasions when they met. But Adam knew his secret—Doughall had a soft heart and usually indulged him when he was in a cantankerous mood.

Doughall chose his weapon and took up a position opposite him, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

"She spoke out in front of the council," Adam confessed as they squared off against one another. "Made me look like a fool."

Doughall cocked his head. "Ye ken what I think of that."

"What?"

"Nay one makes a man look like a fool except himself."

Doughall raised his sword, and they sparred together, their blades clashing. Adam enjoyed the freedom of movement. It was rare that he had an opponent equal to him in strength, and it was nice not to have to hold back.

"Me maither was just the same," Adam continued. "She had free rein when me faither was at war, and she hasnae taken her claws out of the council since."

"And ye believe Lady Emily will do that too?" Doughall asked as they practiced some low blows.

"Nay. But she has a mouth on her."

"Ye'll suit each other then," Doughall muttered and defended himself quickly as Adam struck more heavily in a wide arc.

"I cannae be seen ruled by a woman. Me faither lived at the whim of me maither, and look how that turned out."

"Is Lady Emily makin' ye go to war too?"

Adam scowled at him. "It isnae a joke."

"Who said I'm laughin'? But ye are makin' her out to be the same as Lady MacNiall, and ye have nay proof of it. She has come here, despite yer kidnappin' her, and agreed to yer plan to beat Stewart at his own game. She doesnae sound like she is tryin' to control ye."

"Ye were the one who said she was influencin' me decisions."

"And now she is influencin' yer aim and yer sword arm."

Doughall lowered his sword and approached him, clapping him roughly on the shoulder. "Listen to me for once, man. Women arenae the evil ye think they are. Yer faither wasnae lost to this world only for yer maither's sake—he made his own choices. He could have returned whenever he wished, but he chose nae to do it. Ye make yer own choices, and nay one else."

Doughall's eyes softened as he looked at him, but Adam shook off his hand, his mind flooded with thoughts of his infuriating bride-to-be.

The worst thing about their argument had been her influence on him. That was the real issue. He hadn't been able to keep his hands off her. Worse still, when any member of the council had dared disrespect her, he had immediately put a stop to it.

Emily seemed to want to help him, whereas his mother had always wanted to control him.

But what kind of a laird will I be if I defer to me wife on every issue?