Chapter 4

4

" A re we to leave before nightfall?" He called to the stubborn lass.

Erin gave him a hard look before turning to her brother.

Magnus Black's patience frayed like a battle-worn flag as he stood by the open carriage, watching Erin Gibson prolong her farewells with a tenacity that could rival the ancient Scottish clans defending their territories.

Yet when Erin embraced her mother, a bond of kinship tugged at the edges of his hardened heart, and a secretive, involuntary smile crept onto his lips. He didn't consider redacting his offer of marriage, but perhaps giving the girl a single night to prepare for her departure had been a little harsh.

His own sister had at least known she was to be wed a few days prior to her trip to meet O'Kane. But it was done, and he would not change his plans when they were so close to getting the girl away from the castle. She had bid her goodbyes to almost all the servants and her mother at least seven times.

"Ye'll be missed, lass," Flynn declared, his voice thick with emotion that Magnus questioned even as it was spoken. Was it genuine, or did guilt lace the Laird O'Kane's words?

Beside Flynn, Elizabeth – the English rose who had caused this entire arrangement – clasped her hands together, her blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I'm so sorry for all this, Erin," she said in a low voice.

"Ye needn't apologize, Elizabeth. 'Tis nae yer doin'," Erin replied, her composure as steady as the standing stones dotting the Highland landscape.

Magnus bristled at the exchange. How could Erin forgive so easily when it was Elizabeth's decision to marry Flynn that now forced Erin into this unwanted union? He clenched his jaw, noting the unusual pallor of Erin's cheeks – a stark contrast to her usually rosy complexion – and his resolve finally wavered. He'd give her the time she needed.

Erin glanced at him as she commenced another round of goodbyes, her aim being to frustrate him, but Magnus wouldn't let the lass get under his skin. He waited beside Hayden, comparing the corbie-stepped gables to that of his own castle to make idle conversation.

"Are ye ready then?" Magnus asked gruffly once Erin approached the carriage after what felt like an eternity.

"Ready as I'll ever be," she answered, her voice steady though her hand trembled slightly as she reached for the carriage door.

He extended a hand to assist her. As their fingers brushed, Magnus recalled the heat that had surged between them the previous night when anger and something far more dangerous had flared during their heated argument. For a man who'd planned to remain unwed and unencumbered, the emotions she stirred within him were as unwelcome as they were undeniable.

"Let us depart," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for further delays. He mounted the chestnut mare that had brought him here, turning her to the castle gate as Hayden and the other clansmen followed suit.

The carriage lurched forward, and they settled into a silence. Magnus rode beside the window of Erin's carriage, where she sat stiffly inside, heavy tartan draped over her lap. He stole a glance at her, watching how the light danced in her wavy brown hair.

Unbidden memories of how she'd stood up to him the prior evening invaded his thoughts, igniting a spark of admiration alongside his simmering frustration. Hayden rode on the other side of the carriage, but his attempts at conversation were met with complete silence. Even when he tried describing McCormack Castle to its future Lady, she remained uninterested.

"Does yer conscience weigh heavy?" Erin finally broke the silence, her gaze fixed on the passing scenery behind Magnus as if his gaze was more bothersome than Hayden's words.

"Conscience is a luxury I cannae afford," Magnus retorted, his voice devoid of warmth. "But I am nae without honor. Ye will be treated fairly as me wife."

"Fairly," she echoed.

"I willnae touch ye, unless ye beg me to." His promise hung between them, as weighty and complex as the vow they were soon to make. "Ye have me word."

"Yer word," she murmured under her breath, though whether in doubt or defiance, Magnus couldn't tell.

Their journey continued under the cloak of silence, with the only sounds being the rhythmic clatter of hooves and the whispering wind. It was a fitting backdrop for the tumultuous path that lay before them.

As the group rolled onward to their shared future, Magnus knew one thing for certain: Erin Gibson was no meek bride to be bartered and traded.

She was fire and steel, wrapped in beauty. And she was about to become his wife. It gave him confidence that she would find her place in the castle and find company in Scarlett and Hayden. She had an ease about her when bantering with his brother, which reassured him. They would become as close as siblings, and Magnus would, in time, see her as more of a sister, and life would be good.

With a jolt, the carriage hit a rut in the road, throwing Erin against the wooden frame. Magnus reached forward, instinctively acting to tend to her. His hand touched her shoulder, and a charge zipped through the air, a silent acknowledgement of the attraction neither wished to confess.

"Watch yerself, lass," Magnus muttered as he righted himself, pulling his arm back, ignoring the heat that lingered from her touch. He had vowed not to touch her.

"Perhaps if yer driver paid heed to the road..." Erin started, her words trailing off as she dared not meet his gaze.

"Perhaps ye'll have me line the roads with silks for ye," he snapped, his voice carrying an edge as sharp as a dirk blade.

She flinched, and his gut twisted. He'd sworn never to harm her, in word or deed, yet here he was, using his strength against her. He leaned closer, catching her chin, forcing her to look at him. Her eyes, wide and luminous, held a storm of emotions he couldn't fathom.

"Look at me when I speak to ye," he said.

Her cheeks flushed, and something dark and possessive reared within him before he could suppress it. Magnus released her, breaking the contact as if scorched by flame. His vow was once again broken by unfathomable feelings towards this infuriating lass.

"Forgive me," he rasped, pulling the horse from the carriage to join his brother on the grass beside the road. It was a rough patch of road, and it was easier to ride on the verge, but the center of the road was the only option for a carriage.

Erin remained silent, but her eyes stayed on him—a silent challenge, a whispered promise of the battles to come.

And as nothing but open heathland stretched around them, Magnus realized that whatever lay ahead, Erin Gibson was a force to be reckoned with. The path to their marriage of convenience was fraught with temptation, and the true test of their unlikely alliance was only just beginning.

As the carriage jostled over a particularly rough stretch of road, Erin's stomach let out a forlorn growl, loud enough to be heard over the rattle of wheels and clop of hooves. Beside her carriage, Hayden chuckled, seizing yet another opportunity to strike up a conversation.

"Ye sound like ye've got a wee beastie trapped in there, lass," he teased, his voice a warm timbre against the chilly air seeping through the wooden panels.

Erin shot him a withering glance before turning her gaze to the passing scenery—a blur of greens and browns as the Highland landscape rolled by. "If we speak of beasts, perhaps we should consider the company present," she retorted, flicking an intent look at Magnus who sat across from them, his eyes fixed on the horizon.

Magnus suppressed a smile, the corners of his mouth betraying his amusement over the thinly veiled jab. His brother's attempts at chivalry were always swatted away by Erin as effortlessly as one would shoo a bothersome fly.

"Speaking of which, I'm famished," Erin declared suddenly, shifting her attention to Magnus. "We ought to stop. I havenae had a bite since noon yesterday, thanks to yer abrupt arrival."

"Stoppin' isnae part of the plan," Magnus replied curtly, his focus never wavering from the path ahead. He could sense the challenge brewing between them—a battle of wills that was becoming all too familiar.

"Is it nae customary to provide sustenance to those ye escort?" Erin pressed, her tone laced with sarcasm. "Or does yer reputation as the Beast of the Highlands extend to withholdin' food from a lady?"

"Ye're hardly a lady," Magnus countered gruffly, the insult slipping out before he could rein it in. Yet, even as the words left his lips, he regretted their harshness. She was indeed a lady, whether he wished to admit it or not—a lady soon to be bound to him by necessity.

"Ah, so the laird admits he's a beast, then?" Erin's eyes sparkled with defiance, but beneath the bravado, Magnus noted the pallor of her skin, the subtle tremor in her hands.

"Enough," he said, his voice softening despite himself. "We'll stop at the next tavern."

True to his word, the carriage lurched to a halt outside a modest establishment, its sign swinging gently in the breeze—the Stag and Thistle. Magnus watched her pale complexion as Erin stepped down onto the cobblestone path. She stumbled slightly, her balance off-kilter from the long ride. For a split second, Magnus reached out, steadying her with a firm grip on her arm.

"Thank ye," she murmured, avoiding his gaze, though a faint blush colored her cheeks.

"Let's get ye some food," he said gruffly, releasing her as quickly as decorum would allow.

Damn this lass, why cannae I keep from touchin' her?

Inside the tavern, they settled at a sturdy oak table while Hayden flagged down the innkeeper to order. The scent of peat smoke hung heavy in the air, mingling with the aromas of roasted meats and fresh-baked bread. Once the meal was set before Erin—broth thick with barley and root vegetables, accompanied by a hunk of black bread—she ate with a subdued eagerness, her hunger evident in every spoonful.

"Are ye satisfied now?" Magnus asked, his voice a low rumble as he watched her.

"Partially," she said, her tone noncommittal. She met his gaze briefly before looking away, her expression unreadable.

"Ye'll need yer strength," Hayden taunted in good humor. "Being the wife of the Laird McCormack is no easy task."

"Nor is being the husband to Erin Gibson," she shot back, her blue eyes flashing with spirit.

"Is that a threat or a promise, lass?" Magnus asked, a challenge underlying his words.

"Perhaps a bit of both," she retorted.

Magnus leaned back in his chair, studying her. Their marriage, born of convenience and necessity, was proving to be anything but simple. And as Erin matched his stare with her own steely resolve, Magnus felt the unmistakable pull of something deeper than mere obligation.

"Ye better finish yer meal," he said finally, his tone carrying an edge hinting at more than concern for her well-being.

"Or what? Ye'll force-feed me?" Erin quipped, though her smile wavered, betraying a hint of vulnerability.

"Ye might be surprised at what I'm willing to do," Magnus replied, a dark promise hanging between them as the tension in the room thickened like the gathering storm clouds outside.

"Since when does the great Laird McCormack concern himself with the likes of me?" she challenged, her voice stronger now, even as her heart betrayed her with its erratic beating.

"Since ye became mine to protect," he countered, his words a proclamation that sent an unfamiliar thrill coursing through her.

She ate with a quiet determination, leaving Magnus admiring the strength of her pride and determination. Picturing Scarlett in such a situation brought out his protective nature, but he couldn't deny his respect at Erin's resolve.

"Thank ye," she said curtly, and Magnus had to accept that was all the appreciation his gesture would get.

Magnus merely nodded, a silent acknowledgement passing between them. But her eyes, those deep pools of brown, held a storm within them—a tempest of longing and resistance that mirrored his own inner turmoil.

Erin set aside her empty plate. "There, I'm done," she muttered, eyes cast downward, evading the gaze of the man across from her. The tavern's dim light flickered, casting shadows that danced upon the walls, mirroring the silent ballet of avoidance she played.

"I daenae like to repeat myself, lass. Ye will look at me when ye speak," Magnus commanded, his voice low and gruff, betraying his annoyance. His large hand reached across the table, fingers gently but firmly grasping her chin, tilting her face upward to meet his stormy eyes. Erin's breath hitched, heat flooding her cheeks as an involuntary shiver coursed through her.

"Ye are to be me wife," he reminded her, his touch igniting a tumultuous mix of fear and unbidden desire within her. "It is nae fitting for ye to avert yer eyes as though ye were ashamed."

The intensity in his eyes held her captive; there was a ferocity there, a wildness akin to the untamed Scottish moors that both terrified and drew her in. Erin's heart pounded against her ribcage, a trapped bird yearning for escape yet mesmerized by the very thing that ensnared it.

"Ye ken who I am, Erin. And whether ye like it or nae, ye will respect me." Magnus's voice softened, just slightly, but the order remained clear, brooking no argument.

For a moment, something dark flickered behind his eyes, a glimpse of the tormented soul she'd heard whispers about—a beast of a man scarred by battles unseen. Yet she could not look away, caught in the gravity of their shared destiny.

Magnus released her, withdrawing his touch as if scorched by the contact. Erin's skin tingled where his fingers had been, a silent testament to the vow he had broken, to the barrier he had crossed without permission.

"Forgive me," he said, almost inaudibly, the words laced with a strange remorse. But before Erin could decipher the meaning behind them, he stood abruptly, tossing a few coins onto the table for their meal.

"Come, we must continue our journey." His command echoed through the now nearly empty tavern, leaving no room for debate.

As he escorted Erin back to the waiting carriage, his hand rose to her back. Its aim was to innocently guide her through the crowded place, but he withdrew it, biting into his lip as a harsh reminder of the vow he had made not to touch this lady.

The vow that was becoming increasingly harder to keep.