Chapter 6

6

A dam forced himself to remain still.

All he wanted to do was advance on her and pin her to the wall, her rules be damned.

This goddess from the moorlands was certainly a handful. She had barged into his study like a whirlwind, demanding he explain himself. He had not been commanded like that by anyone since he was a child.

Laura would like her . They have the same spirit.

"Firstly," the pixie demanded, "I want to get to ken ye before we proceed with this plan. I dinnae wish to be married to a stranger if the plan fails and we have to wed for real. I am nae leavin' one villain to end up with another."

Vicious satisfaction flooded him as he heard her describe Stewart as a villain. She was open to marrying him, then. That would make things easier.

"Very well," he said, stepping toward her, his body acting of its own accord. "But we willnae need to get to ken each other well."

"And why nae?"

"Because we will be livin' separate lives, lass." Her brows lowered over those captivating emerald-green eyes, and he cleared his throat. "I need to find me sister. I need to kill that bastard, and I need me maither and the council off me back. I dinnae need a wife. If we do marry, ye can have yer own castle and do whatever ye want with yer days. I willnae trap ye into a marriage just because I wish to."

After his speech, she was silent. She didn't speak for so long that he thought she was about to go back on her word.

Perhaps I should chain her up in the dungeons like I planned. Or to me bed.

"And what do I get out of this arrangement?" she asked eventually. "Laird Orkney had offered me much the same. He told me that if I married him and gave him an heir, he would spare me family. Ye have me imprisoned in yer castle—what more will ye do to make it worth me while?"

Losing the battle with himself, he advanced on her, satisfied to see her back away from him. He towered over her, looking down into those beautiful eyes to make his meaning clear.

"Ye willnae compare me to that shite," he said threateningly. "Ye want to ken what I offer which he doesnae? Freedom. Safety. For ye and yer precious family. Nae to mention if we marry, Clan Wilkinson will be tied to one of the most powerful families in the Highlands."

They were so close now that he could see her long eyelashes brushing against her cheeks. Her breath was coming faster, and he wanted to lift her to his level, pin her to the wall, and force her to follow his every command.

As the tension built between them, his gaze flicked to her lips. He wanted to kiss her, to own her. Even the thought of James Stewart touching her made him rage. He leaned forward slowly, gauging her reaction. But as he neared her, she pulled away, walking to the fireplace and putting distance between them.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart.

"Are ye sure that yer plan will work?" she asked dubiously.

"Certain."

Her hair was loose and falling about her shoulders in wild curls. A long lock of it tumbled over her breast, almost down to her waist. His eyes followed it, enjoying her figure.

"Alright," she said quietly. "I accept yer offer. But I stand by what I said. Separate lives or nae, I still need to trust ye. We need to spend time together, real time, at least once a day."

"Fine," he muttered. "We'll have dinner together each night. Is that good enough? We can start tonight. Go and change," he said forcefully. "I never want to see ye wearin' that thing again."

He hated the wedding gown. It didn't suit her complexion, and it taunted him with the Stewart house colors. He was desperate to rip it off her body—perhaps even to set it on fire.

He stepped forward and lifted the top layer of the dress between his fingers. It was stained black from the marshes, and there was blood on the hem from her injured knee.

He only realized how close they were when she looked up at him.

"Why cannae I simply have it cleaned and wear it on our weddin' day?" she asked as his ire rose again. "There's nay need for ye to buy a new one for a sham marriage."

"Och, nay, little one," he said, taking her chin in his thumb and forefinger. "I dinnae plan to marry ye in a dress made for another."

He leaned toward her, tempted once more to capture her lips with his own, but at the last second, he checked himself and pulled away.

"Go and change. Me servants will make sure that ye have everythin' ye need."

I'll need to watch meself around this wee pixie. Nay laird of this clan will be led astray by a woman again.

Emily left the study and closed the door behind her, feeling exhausted and confused. She leaned against it for a few minutes, steadying her breathing and trying to understand what had just happened.

It almost looked as though Adam had intended to kiss her, but he changed his mind at the last second. She could see the lust in his expression—and to her shame, she could have mirrored it with her own.

Smoothing a hand down her dress, she grimaced. She'd forgotten how filthy it was. Her hand was now caked in black mud and grime from the moors, and she longed for a bath.

She pushed off the door, wondering how she would find her room, when she spotted Lady MacNiall standing at the end of the corridor.

Adam's mother was incredibly beautiful, with an almost regal look about her, but her eyes were cold. Emily took in a deep breath, preparing herself for a confrontation as she walked a few paces down the corridor and stopped before Lady MacNiall.

She made sure to match the lady's glare and waited to see what she would say.

"I wish ye welcome!" Lady MacNiall exclaimed.

Emily tried hard to keep the skepticism from her expression.

Lady MacNiall turned around, looking down the corridor. "Olivia!"

At her shrill cry, a young maid hurried forward and curtsied to Emily.

"See that Lady… what was yer name, me dear?"

"Emily Murray," Emily replied.

"Olivia, see that Lady Emily has a bath drawn up." Lady MacNiall's eyes raked over Emily's filthy dress. "I have a dress ye can wear," she added finally. "It will hardly fit ye—ye are a wee thing. But it will be better than that monstrosity."

Emily blinked, taken aback by the woman's bluntness. But she would not allow a sham mother-in-law from a sham marriage to confound her.

She laughed. "Aye. Everyone in this castle is unreasonably tall," she said with a smirk as the lady's eyes narrowed.

I willnae be intimidated by ye, so ye can keep yer judgment to yerself.

"Aye, and ye're goin' to have to learn how to be assertive and rule over them," Lady MacNiall remarked pointedly.

"Maither, ye shouldnae speak to her like that."

Behind Lady MacNiall appeared another tall woman. She had a riot of red hair tumbling over her shoulders and warm brown eyes, with spectacles perched on the tip of her nose. Without a word, she came to stand beside Emily.

"She has been through enough for one day, do ye nae think?"

"Perhaps she shouldnae have tried to steal away me daughter's groom, then," Lady MacNiall hissed. All pretense at civility evaporated, and her hard stare softened beneath a wave of grief. "Me poor Laura…"

Her skin reddened in the dim torchlight, and tears glistened in her eyes. Emily noted the genuine emotion on her face—pain only a mother could feel.

So, the Laird has lost one sister, and I stand beside the other. I wonder which is the owner of the green ribbon tied around me knee.

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared back at Lady MacNiall. She felt sympathy for her,but she would not be accused of actively stealing anyone's groom without standing up for herself.

"Is that what ye think has happened?" she asked.

If Lady MacNiall thought James had been destined to be Laura's husband, it was no wonder she was so angry.

"Pay nay attention to me maither," the young redhead said beside her. "She hasnae slept since Laura disappeared. None of us have. I'll show ye to yer chambers."

"We have maids for that, Freya," Lady MacNiall protested.

Freya rolled her eyes and gave Emily an endearing smile. "Let's go," she continued. "And after dinner, I'll show ye the library." She lowered her voice. "Maither never goes anywhere near a book, so we will be safe there."

Emily was grateful for her kindness, and as Freya turned to walk up the narrow corridor, she had no choice but to follow her.

Now that she had a chance to observe it, the castle seemed immense. They moved through long, narrow passages that snaked endlessly past countless doors.

The ceilings were much higher than she was used to, and well they might be. This was a family of giants. She felt very small as she watched Freya walking ahead of her.

Adam's sister was a beautiful woman. She had soft, feminine curves, and her face was long and handsome like her mother's. Her wild hair fell all about her face and down her back. It was much thicker than her own, and Emily found herself rather envious.

They descended some stone steps toward her chambers, and as Freya opened the door, Emily stopped in amazement, looking around her approvingly. The walls were lined with wooden paneling, and the bed was wide and elegant, with a white and yellow blanket laid over it.

The rain was pelting the windowpane, and the wind howled loudly. Yet, the fire was crackling merrily, and Olivia was pouring a jug of steaming hot water into a bathtub before them. It was the coziest room Emily had ever seen, and she was more than happy to spend time in it until the wedding.

Perhaps this false marriage willnae be such a hardship, after all.