Chapter 5

5

T he next few hours of travel were quiet.

The horse lumbered on over the endless grasslands. The wind picked up even more, and there was brine in the air. A storm was coming. Adam could feel it in his bones.

As the castle came into view, his companion seemed relieved by its dark silhouette. She might not know what awaited her within those walls, but she would be more comfortable inside than exposed to the elements.

"That's MacNiall Castle. We are almost there," he said, feeling relieved himself.

He wasn't used to having a woman pressed against him for such a long ride. Keeping his hands to himself had taken a great deal of strength.

She didn't speak for a little time and then turned to glance back at him in the saddle. "If I'm goin' to live with ye and go along with this plan of yers, then we need to establish some rules to keep me and me family safe."

Adam found himself amused by her demands. She looked like a fairy but spoke like a banshee.

Nae a fairy. She is far too mischievous for that. A pixie, perhaps? One of the Fae, to be sure.

"Och, aye? And what rules did ye think of?" he asked.

"Never ye mind just now. But I will think on it, and we'll agree."

"Will we?" A spike of irritation shot through him. "Let's get one thing clear, lass. Any rules will be made on me terms. Ye dinnae have authority here, and ye'll do as I say if ye ken what's good for ye."

She sighed. "Do I need to remind ye that I wouldnae even be here if it werenae for ye?"

"That's as maybe, but ye're here because I have a score to settle. Once it's done, ye can return to yer life, and we willnae have to trouble each other again. Until then, ye do as ye're told."

He expected an angry retort, but as he glanced down at her, he noticed her eyelids were fluttering shut. She was struggling to stay awake.

Still covered in mud, her skirts plastered to Buck's back, she had been through quite an ordeal. The horse was breathing hard with his heavy load, and Adam glanced up at the sky. Black clouds were rolling in from the east, and they might just beat the rain if they hurried.

He kicked his heels into Buck's flanks, not relishing the dressing down Freya would give him for abusing her horse for so long.

As Buck increased his speed, the woman in front of him appeared to forget where she was, and, bit by bit, she leaned more heavily against him. Her body came to rest against his chest, and he tightened his arm around her.

"Do ye nae even wish to ken me name?" she asked sleepily.

Adam felt a small smile curve his lips. "If ye're willin' to give me a real one, aye, lass."

"Esmerelda," she said with a wide yawn.

"I dinnae believe ye," he said, a genuine smile tugging at his lips against his will.

She yawned again, her body becoming heavier. "I'm Emily," she muttered. "And ye're Adam."

In the next few moments, she was asleep.

Emily.

They kept moving, and Adam tried to dispel the contentment he felt as she slept in his arms.

As they trotted through the castle gates, Emily woke up with a start. Adam pulled on Buck's reins as he saw a familiar figure barreling toward them.

His mother's face was drawn and tense. She was wearing a dark blue gown that looked like a turbulent ocean. Her red hair was tied in a long braid down her back, and her expression was bleak and unhappy.

Adam dismounted and then helped Emily do the same. His mother did not even greet him before she spoke.

"Where have ye been?" she asked angrily. "Yer sister has written."

She thrust a white envelope under his nose, and everything else was forgotten immediately as he snatched it from her and tore it open, desperate to know that Laura was safe.

Brother,

I cannot return. I am too ashamed.

I am safe. I will write again soon.

Laura.

He turned over the paper twice, frustration warring with relief. There was no mention of where Laura was, who she was with, or what she meant by ‘safe'. She could be anywhere, and her tone concerned him. He did not care about what she had done; all he wanted was to have her home again.

He cursed himself inwardly as he stared at the word ‘brother' at the top of the letter. He had not been much of a brother to Laura of late. If he had paid more attention when she first met James Stewart, he might have prevented all of this from happening.

He glanced back at Emily, who was looking around her with interest. His sister's letter changed nothing. He would still follow his plan and bring that bastard to justice. James Stewart would pay for what he had done to his sister, and Adam would have his vengeance.

"What does she say?" his mother asked.

"She is safe," Adam replied, handing her the letter.

His mother's face relaxed considerably.

"But we still dinnae ken where she is. What if she had to take refuge with people who willnae care for her?" Adam scowled, trying to imagine where his sister might have gone.

"Excuse me," an irritated voice interrupted his thoughts. "What about me ?"

His mother turned to Emily, her eyebrows rising and her eyes narrowing. "Dinnae speak to the Laird that way," she chided. "Who are ye, and what are ye doin' in me castle?"

Adam rolled his eyes. "This is me castle, Maither. And ye will treat me future bride with respect," he said sternly.

His mother blinked at him in confusion, her eyes darting between them madly as she took Emily in.

Lady MacNiall was a proud woman and didn't like surprises. Her gaze fell on the tiny woman before her as though Emily were a spider she wished to crush with the heel of her shoe.

Adam watched Emily carefully, but her gaze was steady and sure. She was respectful to his mother but not intimidated by her anger.

"Yer what?" his mother asked, finally finding her voice.

"Me bride. The weddin' will take place in a week."

Emily's mouth hung open like that of a fish as Adam dismissed them both without another word and walked into the castle. She stood awkwardly beside his mother, who seemed as happy with her arrival as she would have been with a bout of influenza.

They stood in silence until there was a loud rumbling of thunder above their heads. The storm clouds that had been gathering all afternoon finally broke, and the rain descended in a torrential downpour. There was a flurry of servants all about them, and a lady's maid approached Emily to show her to her room.

If MacNiall thinks he can get away with this so easily, he has another thing comin'.

With a swift curtsy to Lady MacNiall, she turned on her heel, marching through the rain in search of the second man she had been betrothed to in as many days.

By the time she entered the castle, she was soaked. The mud had already blackened her brown wedding dress, and now it was soaked with the rain, too.

As she looked around her, the castle's interior surprised her. Wilkinson Castle was built from much darker stone and had a gloomy feel to it when the weather was bad. MacNiall Castle, on the other hand, was brighter. The MacNiall banners adorned the walls in the entryway, a pleasant mix of navy blue, yellow, and white. The crest in the center: a ship and a lion side by side.

"Can I help ye?" came a voice from behind her.

Emily turned around to find a tall man before her. He had graying hair, a long nose, and elegant features. He was tall but not as broad as Adam, and his gray eyes assessed her suspiciously.

"I am looking for Laird MacNiall."

His eyebrows rose, and he tilted his head to the side. "And who might ye be to be searchin' for him?"

"Emily Murray," she said. "He kidnapped me durin' me weddin' this mornin'."

Instantly, the man's demeanor changed, and, to her astonishment, he gave her a low bow.

"Lady Emily," he said. His gaze was much more friendly than Lady MacNiall's had been. "I wasnae aware ye had arrived yet. Me name is Theodore Wells, the Laird's man-at-arms."

Emily looked over his lithe frame. He put her in mind of a dancer rather than a warrior, but she bowed in return.

"Do ye ken where he may be?"

"His study, I would presume. I can show ye the way," he said and held out an arm for her to follow him.

The man moved with a grace that even she struggled to emulate. His gait was straight and sure, his head held high. Emily thought of the days in her youth when she learned etiquette, keeping her back straight as she walked with a book on her head. This man's posture would rival that of many of the women she knew.

They walked together down long, pale corridors. There were tapestries and portraits everywhere, and Emily found herself quite overwhelmed with the finery on display. Wilkinson Castle was drab by comparison.

After a short walk, Theodore stopped and turned around, gesturing theatrically to a door to her right. He gave another bow.

"Shall I announce ye?" he asked carefully—Emily's hand was already on the door handle.

"I can manage, thank ye," she said, and he gave her a knowing smile before departing.

Once he was out of sight, Emily burst into the study without hesitation, slamming the door behind her and fixing Adam with a glare.

The Laird was sitting behind his desk, re-reading the letter from his sister. He glanced up as she entered, evidently uninterested in her presence.

"What exactly are ye plannin'?" she asked sharply.

Laird MacNiall's only answer was to place the letter on the desk and fix her with a long, penetrating stare.

She wanted to demand that he answer, but shelost her nerve. Sitting at a desk, his form was even more imposing—the very picture of authority.

He had dispensed with the furs and sash about his shoulders, but his arms were still bare, exposed to the faint light of the dying fire, and his long hair cascaded over the leather tunic he wore. The tunic hugged his frame so tightly that it was almost indecent.

Emily wondered what his body looked like beneath all those layers. Considering the size of his arms, she suspected that the rest of his body was muscular. She already knew of his impossible strength from the way he had lifted her onto his horse.

Her mind shifted against her will to other scenarios where he might be inclined to toss her about. His large hand rested on the desk, and she could not shake the image of his fingers touching her skin.

She shuddered.

He still had not answered her, and she held back the urge to stomp her foot. Subdued by that steely, brooding gaze, she tried a different tactic.

"Ye have brought me to yer castle, but I still dinnae understand what it is ye want from me," she said cautiously. "Will ye nae explain it to me, now that we are here?"

He stood up, straightening his tunic as he did so, and made his way over to the fireplace. Lifting the poker from its stand, he jabbed at the coals and threw on some more logs as the flames began to lick at the dry wood.

Straightening, Laird MacNiall remained where he was, his back to the fire. His eyes were glassy for a little while, and then, as he turned to her, they sharpened. It was like looking at a peregrine falcon before it dove from the sky to capture its prey.

"I want to drive Stewart mad."

Emily shivered as his deep voice reverberated through the room. It was like thunder, shuddering through the air.

"To what end?"

"He needs to believe that we're gettin' married. I ken him of old, and he willnae be able to resist attackin' me. Losing his bride in such a manner is an insult he willnae let slide. It'll be easier to defeat him on me own soil."

Dismay and relief warred within her as she considered the implications of his plan.

"Why did ye nae tell me it wouldnae be a real marriage?" she asked. "If ye just meant to lure him here, then I wouldnae have fought ye so much."

"Hold yer horses, lass. This marriage will be very real."

Putting her hands on her hips, Emily huffed irritably. "I dinnae understand."

"It has to be real—he has to believe that it is, or he willnae come. Stewart is many things, but he isnae stupid. We'll have a real priest on our weddin' day. It'll make him mad with jealousy."

"James Stewart doesnae care enough about me to be jealous," she replied, but something in the look in his eyes made her uneasy.

"Dinnae underestimate yerself, or him, lass. He doesnae like losin'. Whether it be a battle or a bride, he'll fight for what he believes belongs to him."

Emily studied his dark gaze with interest. Laird MacNiall didn't seem unaffected. His eyes roamed over her body, and the heat in them intrigued her.

"If we are to do this," she declared, "then we need to set some rules, just as I told ye before."

It felt strange to comply so easily, but the idea that the marriage might not even take place had calmed her. If she had to be the bait that led Laird Orkney to them, then she would happily play the part. It would mean she could get back to her family, where she truly belonged. Nothing else mattered but that.

Laird MacNiall folded his hands behind his back and widened his stance before the fireplace. He looked like a warrior about to hear the terms of engagement.

"I'm listenin'."