Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

“ W as that truly necessary?”

Cillian couldn’t help the urge to roll his eyes at Archibald for even asking such a question. If he were honest, he would have to say that no, perhaps it wasn’t necessary, but in the heat of the moment, he had completely lost his temper, and he didn’t think he should be blamed for it when it was his so-called betrothed who had spilled all that ink all over his precious documents.

Hours of work, gone in a few seconds! The top papers, the most important ones that Cillian had been perusing for hours, were now completely unreadable, soaked all the way through with ink. Not only had Lady MacLeod been entirely too careless around his belongings, but she had also shown no remorse or embarrassment for what she had done.

She even had the gall tae tell me I should have copies!

Had he been given the chance, Cillian would have made copies. But Lady MacLeod had entered the room before he ever got the time, waving her arms wildly around like a beast.

When informing Cillian of the king’s choice for him, his council had assured him his betrothed was not only a beautiful woman, but one who was intelligent and capable. How could this be the match the king had arranged for him?

I suppose it doesnae matter tae him if she is simple. He must think looks alone will sway me.

For it was true that Lady MacLeod was a beautiful woman, but what good was that if she was infuriating?

“Come on, Cillian. Ye treated her terribly yesterday an’ ye treated her terribly today. An’ then ye sent her away an’ told her she isnae welcome here again. Ye didnae have tae be so cruel.”

Cillian couldn’t deny the truth of Archibald’s claims. He had, indeed, been awful to Lady MacLeod when she had first arrived at the castle and he had done nothing to make her feel welcome, so perhaps she felt that she owed him nothing.

She wouldn’t be wrong if she did, he thought.

A pang of guilt pierced through him at the thought of how he had treated an innocent girl. She was as much a victim of circumstances as Cillian was, the two of them forced to wed each other when neither knew anything about the other. If anything, it was likely worse for her. As a woman, she must have been raised with ideals of love and duty, and now that she had come to Jura to find her betrothed was the kind of man who had not even given her a proper welcome, she had every right to be upset with him.

“I’m sure she’ll forgive ye if ye apologize,” said Duncan, as he swirled his wine in his cup and took a sip. “She seems like a sweet lass. A little… too sweet, perhaps.”

Sweet was clearly not the word Duncan wanted to use to describe her, but he said no more when Archibald turned to glare at him. Cillian had noticed tensions running high between the two men lately, though he couldn’t say for what reason, and ultimately, he decided it wasn’t an urgent enough matter for him to consider along with everything else. Both Archibald and Duncan were grown men and, sooner or later, they would figure it out on their own.

“Fine,” Cillian said, mainly so he could put an end to the conversation. The entire matter was starting to become tedious and a headache was quickly spreading behind his eyes at the mere thought that he would have to fix the first bad impression he had made on the girl. “I’ll speak tae her. I’ll apologize.”

“Good,” said Archibald. “Thank ye. It is only the proper thing tae dae.”

Cillian waved a hand dismissively, eager to change the subject. “Aye, aye… tell me more about the villages now. Ye said there were supply issues?”

As Archibald began to give Cillian his report, Cillian’s attention shifted to the matter at hand. At the back of his mind, however, the thought of Thora remained like a thorn in his side.

Enya was more than happy to spend her hours alone, lounging in the drawing room with a book and a tray of tea and snacks prepared by the maids. Much like the rest of the castle, the drawing room was grand, with settles covered in plush cushions and imposing portraits on the walls—every piece of furniture and decoration speaking of wealth. A row of windows covered the wall that overlooked the front of the castle, letting in as much light as possible and looking out into the courtyard where the servants and the soldiers went about their day. The storm had not quite passed yet unfortunately, as she would have liked to go out for a walk.

Before arriving at Jura, she had feared she would have to spend a lot of time with the laird, but so far, he had kept far away from her, which was both welcome, considering how much she would hate spending any time with him, and an obstacle, since the more time they spent apart, the fewer chances she had to annoy him.

She would take the small victories. At least this way, she could have some hours of peace.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, though, it became clear to Enya that any peace she had planned was bound to be short-lived. When she looked up, she saw none other than Laird MacDonald coming to a stop near the entrance to the drawing room with a hesitation that seemed unlike him.

Enya didn’t bother standing from her seat, nor did she put down her book. Instead, she only looked expectantly at Laird MacDonald as he parted his lips but said nothing, looking more uncertain by the second.

When he spoke, it wasn’t what Enya had expected to hear.

“Forgive me. I must admit I havenae been a good host.”

An understatement. But it is a start.

It was then that Enya put the book aside and sat a little straighter, smoothing down her dress as she blinked up at the laird in surprise. Had he been sent there by Archibald, she wondered, or had he come to the conclusion that he should apologize alone?

When Enya didn’t give him a response, Laird MacDonald added, “I have only kent ye fer a day an’ I have already apologized twice tae ye. I truly hope I have nae reason tae dae so again.”

“Why is that, me laird?” asked Enya, just to be difficult. “Is it a chore tae apologize?”

She could see the moment the laird regretted ever approaching her in the first place. A muscle in his jaw ticked as he gritted his teeth and his hands curled into fists before he concealed them behind his back. All in all, she counted it as a big success.

“Nay,” said the man, forcing the words out with some difficulty. “I simply hope I willnae dae anythin’ tae offend ye again.”

“It is in yer hands,” Enya said. The smile the laird gave her was more like a baring of teeth.

“O’ course,” he said in a strained voice. “Well, tae make amends, I thought I could perhaps introduce ye tae Skye, our healer. I saw yer men as they brought yer belongings in an’ noticed that ye have books about healin’ with ye.”

It was a touching gesture, and Enya could hardly believe the laird had even noticed the books when he had hardly noticed her at all when she had arrived at the castle. There was a problem, though, one that only occurred to her now that the laird had mentioned her interest in healing.

She was the one who enjoyed it, who had the healing powers. Thora had no interest in the art at all.

Enya had managed to pass off the books in her belongings as a mix-up between her things and her sister’s, but how was she going to explain this to the laird?

Well, I willnae speak o’ it. If everythin’ goes accordin’ tae me plan, he will never even meet Thora.

“Thank ye, I would like that very much,” Enya said, figuring it was best to go along with it. If nothing else, perhaps she could make a friend while in MacDonald Castle, someone with whom she could spend her free time. “Is that all?”

“Nay,” said Laird MacDonald. “I wished tae inform ye that there will be a formal dinner tonight. Everyone from me council will be in attendance an’… they are very traditional men.”

Enya raised a curious eyebrow at that, uncertain of what it was, precisely, the laird meant. “Traditional? How so?”

“They will expect ye tae look proper an’ tae dress accordingly tae yer future role as the Lady o’ the Clan,” Laird MacDonald said. “An’ they will expect ye tae speak when ye are spoken tae.”

Enya could understand the first request; after all, her governess had made sure to drill the importance of making a good first impression in her from a very young age. What she couldn’t understand—or condone, for that matter—was staying silent until she was allowed to speak.

Of course, Laird MacDonald didn’t need to know that.

“They are old men. Narrow-minded,” he continued, perhaps feeling the need to make an excuse for them while at the same time removing himself from their group. “It will be best if ye follow me fer the night an’ dae as I dae.”

Only ye dinnae wish fer me tae dae as ye dae. Ye wish fer me tae act as a puppet.

But again, Enya said nothing. It would be to her advantage if Laird MacDonald thought she would obey him so easily, and so she merely smiled and nodded.

“O’ course,” she said. “As ye wish.”

Her easy agreement seemed to please the man. For the first time since Enya had first set foot in MacDonald Castle, the laird gave her a genuine smile, one that softened his harsh features and strict countenance until he almost resembled a pleasant man.

Such a shame fer someone tae be so handsome an’ so terribly rude.

“Good,” said Laird MacDonald, nodding to himself. “Excellent. If ye need anythin’ fer the dinner, the servants will provide it. All ye need dae is ask.”

“Thank ye, me laird,” said Enya and this time, she decided to play a little nicer, standing from the settle to curtsy as the man left the room. The moment he was gone, though, she fell back down on it with a sigh, grabbing the book and covering her face with it as she leaned back.

It was bound to be a long and unpleasant night.