Chapter 14

14

T he crackling hearth was the only sound filling the great hall, where Erin sat nursing a cup of mead, her eyes following her husband's tall, broad-shouldered figure as he moved with purposeful strides across the room. Magnus, the laird and her unexpected spouse acted as though the wedding bed they had almost shared just nights ago was a distant memory—a fleeting duty rather than a union of passion.

Erin sipped the sweet liquid, feeling its warmth slide down her throat, much like the simmering frustration that heated her blood. She was determined to shatter the facade of indifference he wore like his clan's tartan. The firelight danced in her blue eyes, reflecting a silent challenge as she stood, setting her cup aside.

"Ye seem to have forgotten somethin' important, me lord," she said, her voice carrying the lilt of the Highlands, tinged with an impatience she seldom let show.

Magnus turned, his piercing gaze meeting hers. "And what might that be, me lady?" he asked, his tone guarded.

"Yer wife."

She closed the distance between them, her hips swaying with a grace that belied her inner turmoil. Erin reached for the silver brooch pinned at his shoulder, the intricate thistle emblem catching the light. Her fingers brushed against the wool of his plaid, grazing his chest underneath. The contact was brief, but she saw his jaw tighten, the only sign that he was not made of stone.

"Does it nae warm yer heart to see me wearin' the tartan of yer clan?" she teased, letting her hand linger longer than necessary.

"Aye, 'tis a bonny sight," he conceded, his voice low, a hint of the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior.

"Then why do ye keep yerself at arm's length from me, Magnus? Am I nae yer wife in more than name?"

"Erin, we are bound by duty, naught else." His words were clipped, but his eyes betrayed him, darkening with a need he fought to control.

"Perhaps," she countered, stepping closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. "But even a marriage of convenience can benefit from... warmer relations."

His breath hitched ever-so-slightly as she rose on her tiptoes, her lips hovering mere inches from his. Erin could feel his resolve wavering, could sense the beast within him stirring. It was dangerous ground she tread upon, tempting the wounded soul behind the hardened facade.

"Ye may act the part of the unmovable mountain, laird, but even the mightiest peaks cannae resist the wind's caress." Her whisper was a feather across his senses, a challenge wrapped in velvet.

"Erin..." His voice was strained, and she thought she had him for a moment.

But then, as though snapping from a trance, Magnus stepped back, putting space between them again. "Duty is all there is," he said, yet his eyes held a stormy sea of conflict.

Erin watched him retreat behind his wall of stoicism, her heart pounding in her chest. Aye, he was every bit the beast, and she the unwilling beauty, trapped in a dance neither knew the steps to. But as Erin stood there, the fire crackling in the hearth, a spark ignited within her—a determination to climb that mountain, to brave the winds, and to awaken the man behind the beast. She had seen the man inside, and instead of wanting to run from this situation, she longed to unearth the man hiding under the cold, gruff exterior.

As Magnus disappeared through the doorway, Erin's resolve hardened. She would not let this be the end of their tale. She would find a way to reach him, to bind their fates with duty and desire.

And with that final, defiant thought, Erin turned away from the empty hall, her skirts whispering secrets of the battle yet to come.

Erin's footsteps were silent as she navigated the cool stone corridors of the keep. The walls, adorned with tapestries that told tales of ancient Scottish valor, seemed to whisper secrets of bygone eras. Her mind was a tumultuous sea, caught between frustration and an unresolved yearning for her husband—Magnus, the stoic Laird McCormack who had become her tormentor and protector.

The crisp scent of heather and earth greeted her as she emerged into the open air. The sprawling grounds of the clan's territory unfolded before her, shrouded in the misty veil of early morning. There, amidst the rugged beauty of the highlands, she noticed two figures locked in heated discourse.

Magnus stood like an immovable force, his broad shoulders squared against the older man before him—Reggie Hogg, councilman and thorn in Magnus's side. Their voices carried on the wind, but the words were indistinct, blurred by the distance and the low rumble of men at work in the nearby fields.

"Something's amiss," Erin murmured to herself, her brow furrowing as she watched her husband's jaw tense with each word Reggie spat out.

"Ye have sharp eyes, me lady," came a voice from behind her, smooth and unsettling. Caelan Ward, the charming yet duplicitous man-at-arms, approached with a wolfish grin that never reached his cold blue eyes.

"What troubles them?" Erin asked, keeping her gaze locked on the distant argument. She could feel Caelan's calculating presence beside her, a reminder that not all dangers were clear as day.

"The crops," Caelan answered, his voice carrying a note of feigned concern. "They've been poor this season. Some think the laird hasn't done enough, that he's too busy with other... distractions." His implication hung heavy between them, and Erin's cheeks flushed with anger and shame.

"Distractions?" she challenged, turning to face him, her pride pricking at his insinuation.

"Aye, lass. Ye ken what folk say. A new wife can turn any man's head from his duties." Caelan's smirk widened, but his eyes remained as calculating as ever.

"Then they know nothing of the man I married," Erin retorted, her voice laced with ice. Magnus was many things—cold, distant, even harsh—but neglectful he was not.

"Perhaps," Caelan conceded, watching her with an unnerving intensity. "But perception is often stronger than truth. And right now, the clansmen are displeased."

Erin's gaze drifted back to Magnus, who now stood with his hands clenched at his sides, the muscles in his jaw working silently. He was indeed a beast, but one whose burdens were many and whose scars ran deeper than the flesh. Yet beneath that rugged exterior, Erin sensed a flicker of something more—a fire that matched her own.

"Thank ye, Caelan," she said curtly, dismissing him with a nod before setting off towards her husband and the councilman. With every step, her determination grew. She would stand by Magnus and show the clansmen the strength of their laird and his lady united. And perhaps, in doing so, she could chip away at the fortress around his heart.

His glare sharpened as Reggie caught sight of her approach, but Erin met it with the grace and defiance of a true Highland lass. She would not be cowed.

"Is there trouble, me husband?" she called out, letting her concern show as she neared the pair. However, the underlying current of her words spoke of solidarity, of unwavering support in the face of disagreement.

Magnus's gaze met hers, and for a heartbeat, she saw the tempest raging within him. But then, it was gone, shuttered behind the mask of the laird. Reggie turned and stomped away, leaving a palpable tension in his wake.

"Trouble always finds its way, lass," Magnus replied, a low rumble of thunder echoing across the glen. "But we'll weather it together, as we must." Magnus gave a nod to his wife and continued on his way.

Erin watched Magnus, his broad shoulders set against the highland breeze that tossed his long black hair. His presence was a beacon of strength to their people, yet the trouble brewing like a storm on the horizon was plain to see. She felt the weight of expectation upon her as she considered her role in this new life, bound to a man whose heart seemed as untamed as the land he ruled.

"Ye ken, me lady," Caelan's voice cut through her thoughts, smooth as the loch's surface on a windless day. "Times such as these, the folk need somethin' to unite them. A celebration of sorts."

Erin turned to face him, intrigued. "A celebration?"

"Aye. Tartan Day." His eyes sparkled with cunning. "An opportunity to show the people who their new lady is. Ye could plan a feast, games, perhaps a bonfire. 'Tis an ancient tradition, and it might just bring everyone together."

The idea sparked something within Erin. It was more than just a distraction—it was a chance to weave herself into the fabric of this clan, to earn their respect and affection. An opportunity to stand beside Magnus not just as his wife in name but as a partner in truth.

"Thank ye, Caelan," she said, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest. "I believe I shall take yer advice."

Without waiting for a response, Erin strode towards Magnus, her tartan skirts swishing around her ankles. As she reached him, she fought the urge to reach out, to offer comfort through touch. Instead, she stood close enough for him to feel the warmth of her, her gaze locked onto his.

"Ye look troubled, me husband," she said, letting her concern color her words.

Magnus regarded her with those deep brown eyes, the eyes that seemed to hold centuries of sorrow. "Aye, the blight has taken much from us. It's our people I'm thinkin' on."

"Then let us give them something to celebrate," Erin countered, her voice laced with determination. "Let us host a Tartan Day. A day to forget their worries, to come together as one. What say ye?"

She watched his stoic exterior wavered, a muscle twitching in his jaw. Erin held her breath. Here she lay bare her intent to bridge the distance between them, to become more than just another duty for him to manage.

Magnus's following words would either open the gates to a shared future or reinforce the walls that kept them apart—the silent moments stretched between them, taut as a bowstring.

"Perhaps ye are right, Erin. We'll give them a day to remember," he finally said, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly.

Her heart leapt at the victory, small as it might be, and she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to stand with Magnus truly, united before their people. But even as hope flickered to life, Erin knew the path ahead would be fraught with challenges—challenges they would have to face together.

They stood together, watching out across the moors towards the village. Erin's gaze followed Reggie Hogg's retreating figure as he stalked away, his glare still burning into her like the searing touch of a brand. She could feel the weight of his disapproval, as tangible as the Scottish mist that clung to the highlands. Even the air around them seemed charged with tension, ready to ignite at the smallest spark.

"Reggie does not take kindly to change," Magnus remarked, his voice low and resonant. She knew his statement was an understatement, but it did little to ease the knot of apprehension in her stomach.

"Nor do those who challenge his authority," Erin added, her eyes still tracking the councilman's departure. Turning to face Magnus, she saw something in his expression, a fleeting shadow that spoke of his burdens. She wondered if Reggie's harsh words had struck deeper than Magnus would ever admit.

"Ye have a way of seeing beneath the surface, lass," Magnus said, almost as if he read her thoughts. His gaze on her was intense, stirring a warmth that she found both unsettling and exhilarating.

"Someone has to," she replied with a hint of playfulness, trying to lighten the mood. "The land reflects its laird, Magnus. If the people are discontent, it reflects their leader's spirit."

"Ye think me a poor leader then?" His question was direct, almost challenging, but she heard the undercurrent of vulnerability beneath the gruff exterior.

"No, I think ye're a man who's been dealt a difficult hand and has played it as best he can." Erin stepped closer, her heart pounding in a wild rhythm. This close, she could see the fine lines etched around his eyes, marks of responsibility and strife. "But sometimes, showing strength is not just about wielding power—it's about offering yer hand."

"Is that what ye propose? To offer me hand to the farmers?" Magnus tilted his head, curiosity lighting his dark eyes.

"Exactly." Erin nodded, her resolve strengthening. "We should visit the farms, listen to their concerns, show them that their laird and his lady stand with them. Let them see the man I see—one who cares deeply for his clan."

Magnus considered her words, the setting sun casting a warm glow over his scarred features. For a moment, Erin thought he might refuse, retreating behind the walls he had built around himself. But then, slowly, he nodded.

"Aye, we'll go to them," he agreed, his voice firm. "Together."

Erin's breath caught in her throat at the significance of that word—together. It was more than a gesture; it was a commitment, a step towards something neither of them fully understood, but both desperately needed.

"Tomorrow, at first light," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Tomorrow," Magnus echoed, sealing their pact.

As they stood there, two souls bound by duty and an emerging, fragile trust, Erin felt the ground shift beneath her feet. Tomorrow's journey would either forge their bond stronger or shatter it completely. And as the shadows lengthened, wrapping the world in twilight's embrace, Erin knew that come sunrise, nothing would be the same.