Chapter 3

3

" O h, Olivia, we have been here for not even a whole hour, and it already feels like an entire eternity!" Hannah whined to her sister, behind the closed doors of the chamber that was to become hers in the frightful unfamiliarity of McCann castle.

"Two hours more and ye shall be officially betrothed," Olivia reminded her, much to Hannah's displeasure.

"Two hours before life as I ken it ends," Hannah sighed.

Hannah kept pacing about the room nervously, like a caged animal, refusing to look at herself in the looking glass, although the gown she had purchased for the occasion was something even the queen herself could envy her for. Adorned with delicate lace around the sleeves and rows of pearls around the neckline, the gown's peachy hue complemented Hannah's complexion to perfection.

"Ye shall make a hole in the floor pacing about like that," Olivia tried to tease her, to ease her sister's nervous state of mind. Fortunately, it helped.

Hannah smiled. "It has just become me own chamber, has it not? If I wish to change it, I shall."

"Will yer husband approve?" Olivia wondered.

"Approve?" Hannah frowned to such an extent that her nostrils flared up in defiance.

She and her sister were alike in face only, but in character they could not have been more dissimilar. Olivia had always been the more romantic of the two, the one who actually believed that the happy endings in the romance novels she enjoyed reading were actually possible in real life. Hannah, on the other hand, relished those romances as well, with the distinction that she knew life could never be that idyllic. It was simply impossible.

"Ye ken what I mean," Olivia reminded her lovingly.

Hannah inhaled sorrowfully. Of course, her sister did not mean anything by it. "Aye."

Olivia walked over to her sister and wrapped her arms around her. "It will be all right, dear Hannah."

"I would like to think so," Hannah admitted, returning the embrace. She welcomed the soothing sensation of inhaling the familiar fragrance of her sister's hair. Everything in this house was somehow offensive to the senses. The candles were too bright. The smells were too strong. The sounds were too loud.

When her sister released her from her embrace, Hannah's gaze traversed the entire distance of the room, and landed on a big pillow in the corner, just underneath the window. Her three dogs, Rosebud, Luna, and Haggis, were lying nestled on it, and between them, a small kitten, Shire, was almost invisible, lost between the two of them. "At least I was able to bring me friends here."

"And we shall also visit ye as often as we can," Olivia reminded her.

"As much as I appreciate that, ye are to live yer lives," Hannah corrected her sister. "Mine has taken a… different turn." She meant to say wrong, but she altered her statement at the last minute.

"I cannae believe that the laird dinnae welcome us himself," Olivia pointed out. "I ken that Hunter explained we were to arrive, get settled and after everyone had freshened up, the evening festivities would commence with the official introduction, and everythin' would proceed from there on."

"I daenae understand the need for all these rules," Hannah admitted to her sister. "If ye were to ask me, I woulda come here without all this pomp and preparation. If we are to get married, why is there a need for everyone to be present?"

"They all want to meet ye, of course! Ye are to become a new member of the family!" Olivia exclaimed joyfully. She obviously had much more hope and optimism regarding this marriage than Hannah did. She wished it were contagious.

"Oh, but that is what I am so afraid of," Hannah admitted. "Becoming a member of a family I dinnae ken."

Olivia seemed to understand her sister's predicament. "Try to look at it all positively, Hannah. Ye are marrying a laird, after all."

"Is that what usually happens in yer romance novels?" Hannah teased.

Olivia chuckled. "Aye."

"And they all live happily ever after, I suppose?" Hannah added, still teasing, although there was no ill-will behind her words.

"Of course," Olivia confirmed importantly.

Hannah smiled. "I wish life had a way of turning out to be like one of yer romance novels."

"Ye know, in those romance novels, it is never life that is different," Olivia spoke wisely. "It is always the people who dare to do somethin' different, somethin' they never even dreamed of. They dare to do it and their life turns upside down… in a good way," she said, causing both girls to burst into a chuckle. "I always considered ye to be a brave lass, Hannah. Braver than anyone else I ken."

"Thank ye, Olivia," Hannah felt touched. "Yer words mean more to me than ye'll ever ken."

The sisters continued to talk for the next two hours, when finally, the time had come for everyone to meet in the Great Hall. Hannah wanted to run. She felt as if she had been drained of every bit of blood from her body, and this was the only thing preventing her from escaping: a complete lack of strength to do anything about the way in which her life was to be altered forever.

She met up with her brother in the grand hallway, and from there on, he was to lead his two sisters into the Great Hall, where everyone was waiting.

"Are ye ready, Hannah?" Hunter asked under his breath, but both his sisters heard him.

She was not nearly ready, but she didn't say that. There was no point in revealing how she truly felt about any of this, when it would change nothing, and make Hunter feel even more guilty than he already was.

"Aye," she smiled with as much courage and confidence as she could muster.

Then, the three of them started walking. Hannah felt like her legs were made of glass, as if they might break at any moment. But she kept on walking, nonetheless. As soon as the doors to the Great Hall opened to allow them in, everyone stopped talking. All eyes were on them, staring, inspecting, dissecting.

In fact, her own eyes were inspecting the room, in search of her betrothed. Her gaze seemed to traverse miles and miles, elbowing its way through the crowd of people, some of whom she knew, and some of whom were complete strangers in this even stranger place.

Finally, when two men, one older and one younger, moved to the side, they revealed a man who could have been no other than her betrothed.

"Laird McCann," Hunter was the first one to speak, "may I introduce me lovely sister, Hannah Winbury."

Her eye immediately recognized him as the laird, because his clothes denoted him to be one. Everything about him was shiny, glistening. Her gaze traveled from his elongated, strong legs upward, invisibly feeling the coarseness of the rich leather he was wearing, which only seemed to accentuate his muscular stature.

Her gaze kept extending upward, passing his broad shoulders and a height any man would be envious of. She could instantly see that this was a man who didn't need to demand attention. It was easily given to him because of his stature and his build.

Then, her eyes befell a tuft of thick dark curls that framed his face to perfection… a face she knew!

"Laird O'Neill, welcome," the man spoke in the same manner in which the heavens spoke through thunder. "Miss Hannah, pleased to meet ye."

Her breath hitched immediately upon realizing who this man was. There was no mistake about it. This was the man who refused to leave the confines of her thoughts for the past seven days, ever since he had the nerve to talk to her about Haggis in such a manner. An instant flicker of recognition could be seen in his eyes as well.

Hannah slowly lifted her head, wanting to make some sort of a motion, so this man would not make the erroneous assumption of thinking that he was to marry Olivia instead, who stood on Hunter's left side.

"The pleasure is mine, Laird McCann," she spoke, ignoring her burning cheeks. She curtsied as nicely as she could, offering him her hand. He took it and brought it to his lips. The kiss was quick. She barely felt it.

"What a good, polite lass ye are," he mocked her as he spoke softly, assuring that only she would hear those words.

Rage slowly boiled underneath the very surface of her skin. She thought if someone touched her now, she would turn to nothing but ashes. The man standing opposite her did not seem to notice. At least, he pretended not to notice, for he knew who she was as well. There was no doubt about it. And that made it even more unbearable, his need to pretend.

"It is a pleasure to have ye all in me home," he continued, now addressing everyone, almost as if everything was perfectly normal. "Please, eat, drink and be merry!"

A loud roar of clapping echoed throughout the room, and the moment the man stopped talking, music blasted off from somewhere in the corner. Hannah's eyes widened in shock. She did not even see the musicians there. The music made it almost impossible to talk, but that didn't seem to stop the man.

Alistair Peterson. Laird of Clan McCann.

His name reverberated inside her mind like a conviction. She wondered what she would be expected to call him. Alistair?

That did not matter. What mattered was that this insufferable man was to be her husband. Whatever she chose to call him would not diminish her level of exasperation. However, before she could say anything to Hunter, she felt Alistair pull her by the hand and take her to the very center of the Great Hall, where he positioned her for a dance.

His hand gripped at her forcefully, with the message he was sending to everyone. She is mine.

"Ye are supposed to ask me to dance first," she scolded, staring straight at him.

"Ye mean, ye daenae wish to dance?" he wondered, sounding too amused.

"I daenae wish to dance with ye ," she corrected his statement, which only seemed to amuse him even more.

"Did ye bring yer damned dog with ye?" he suddenly asked, grinning, as they slowly moved to the sound of the music that echoed all around them. His voice was heavy and sickly sweet, as if laden with too much honey.

"Aye, I was forced to," she replied, shooting an icy glare in his direction. This caught him off guard, but only for a moment. He regained his composure quickly.

"Why is that?" he wondered.

"Because Haggis needs to protect me from the likes of ye," she pointed out. "If that is the only lesson that dog learns, it shall be more than enough."

The way in which their eyes locked for a moment, almost made her burst out into a chuckle, but she managed to resist the insane temptation to do so. Instead, she remained grave, staring right at him, refusing to be the one to look away first. It would show weakness on her part, and she was damned if she would show weakness at a moment like this.

There was no weakness in a woman like this. Alistair could immediately tell. The feisty lass he was holding in his arms now was more than he had bargained for.

“Ye think ye need to be protected from men of me kind?” he teased, unable to resist. She was on the verge of a smile, but she was fighting it. He had no idea why, but he wanted to do anything to see her smile. Anything.

“Sometimes, a dog is better at seeing a man’s true character,” she said, surprising him. “Human eyes lie. The eyes of a dog never do.”

He swirled her about, releasing her from his embrace for only a moment, then he welcomed her back into his arms once more. Her words stuck with him.

Human eyes lie. The eyes of a dog never do.

That was what he believed as well. Sometimes, he preferred the company of his hounds, who had been with him for the last ten years, to the company of other men. He had to admit that he wasn't expecting her to speak so wisely. A wise woman was a dangerous creature. Especially one who was so enthralling as well.

As his hand rested on her waist, he caught himself pulling her a little too close. Obviously, his body was quick to recognize the presence of a beautiful woman in his surroundings, and that was yet another dangerous thing. He was playing with fire. He could not allow this woman more chances to prove herself worthy of a man's love. His love.

"Ye ken, lass," he suddenly remembered, once again wishing to prove to her that he could have the upper hand at any moment. "It isnae the eyes that lie. It is the lips."

She tilted her head as if to take a more introspective look at him. "I couldnae agree more," she said, much to his pleasure, only to shock him once again. "That is why I wish ye to stop speaking. I shall do the same, of course. After all, we havenae anythin' of importance to say, so why speak?"

She looked at him defiantly. Her final statement signaled her victory in this conversation. Whether he chose to say something back or not was irrelevant. He had lost. Yet, he didn't mind that much that he lost an argument. He minded that he lost it to her, his future wife.

"I can hardly imagine a woman being silent," he mocked, the desire to keep talking to her far outweighing the desire to be silent.

"Or a man admittin' that a woman said somethin' that made more sense," her words struck him again. He almost chuckled aloud, but he bit his tongue in time to prevent this.

"Ye are not very obedient, are ye?" he reminded her of their first conversation.

"I am who I am," she said indifferently. "Some may like it, some may not. Isnae it the same with ye, Laird McCann?" Her mesmerizing eyes dared him.

"Aye," he had to admit. "A good laird is not to be liked. He is to be feared and respected."

"Why feared?" she asked, sounding enthralled.

"Because that is the only way some people understand respect," he told her, uncertain how their conversation took a turn in this direction. "Like disobedient wee lasses."

He thought that he might have crossed the line. He had no intention of frightening her. He was merely happy to remind her of a few things she might have forgotten.

"Respect is earned," she said defiantly, when the music brought them face to face again, her eyes unwilling to look away even for a second. "Not frightened into."

"Well said, lass," he had to admit with a grin.

Surprisingly, she smiled at his confession, and he couldn't help but smile back at her. She was mesmerizing. Her beauty was truly beyond compare, something he was only now coming to realize. She was dangerous. More than he could have anticipated.

At that moment, the final chords of the music were heard, and he hastily released her from his grip, as if she scorched him.

"Thank ye for the dance," he said as cordially as he could, bowing in front of her. "Perhaps ye wish to rejoin yer family now."

He made sure to accentuate the phrase her family. He couldn't tell if she noticed. If she did, she made sure not to show it. He was learning much about his future wife just from the two short times he had seen her. And he didn't like a single thing he had learned.