Chapter 5

Abigail had been uncharacteristically quiet ever since Billie had returned to their room at the inn the previous night, after fleeing the tavern. Billie could hardly blame her sister for it, though.

MacAuley Castle was no different from any other castle Billie had seen in her life. All of them had the same impressive walls, built out of stone, the same expensive furnishings, the same kinds of people. She and Abigail were waiting in the great hall along with their guards, and for a short while, Billie busied herself with the decorations, taking in the rich tapestries with their hunting scenes and gilded motifs.

It was warm in the large, almost cavernous room, sunshine warming it through the windows in the hours since dawn. The summer had been kind to them so far, giving them warn days and nights that were only a little chilly, though there was something about the atmosphere that made Billie tighten the cloak around her shoulders, an echo of how she had fled that room the previous night.

Though nothing had truly happened between her and the man, in the few moments they had spent in each other’s arms, he had managed to make good on his promise. Heat crawled up her body at the mere thought of him, shivering when she recalled how he had touched her so shamelessly, giving her a glimpse of the pleasure he could have offered her had she stayed.

“Dae ye think it’s bigger than our castle?” Billie asked Abigail, just to distract herself with some small talk. When Abigail didn’t respond to her, Billie turned to look at her with a sigh and found her glaring, her lips pressed in a tight, thin line.

Abigail had hardly spoken a word to her ever since she had shown up in their room, and any word she had said was to scold her for disappearing. Though Billie couldn’t fault her for being so worried by her sudden disappearance, she wished her sister would at least speak to her now that she had already apologized a dozen times for it.

Waiting for Laird MacAuley to greet them was nothing short of torture. Billie’s heart had nestled in her throat and the nausea that she had carried with her all those days they had spent travelling now threatened to overtake her entirely. It took all her willpower to remain calm—or at least appear as though she was, since she didn’t want to show any weakness in front of people she didn’t know.

If Laird MacAuley turned out to be cruel like his father, that weakness could cost her.

After a short while, a man appeared by the large wooden doors that led to the great hall. He was tall and lithe, his blonde hair shining under the morning sun, his clothes immaculately tailored and embroidered with gold thread. He seemed cheerful, a small, kind smile adorning his delicate features.

Is that Laird MacAuley?

Billie exchanged a curious glance with her sister, though neither of them dared to say anything in his presence. The man looked nothing like what Billie had expected. In fact, he looked nothing like his father, from what Billie had heard about him from her sisters.

Before long, another man followed him into the great hall. He, too, was tall but broader, and as Billie’s gaze fell to his face, her heart stopped beating.

She knew that man. And he knew her, too.

Domnhall had had a strange night. After the woman’s sudden change of mind and her following disappearance, he hadn’t been in the mood to bring another girl to his rooms. Instead, he had gone to sleep, waking up very early that morning just so he could return to the castle and prepare to meet the lass he would soon be marrying.

It had baffled him at the time, how that woman had put an end to everything before they could properly even start, though he figured it was because she truly was as innocent as she seemed, after all. Perhaps she hadn’t known what she was getting herself into by following Domnhall to his rooms, and when reality dawned on her, she was too scared to do anything other than flee without even an explanation. Domnhall preferred that to the alternative, which was sleeping with the girl only to have her regret it. He supposed that, at least with her leaving, she had avoided making what she considered a mistake.

He could have never guessed his future bride and the woman from the previous night could be the same person, but when he walked into the great hall, following Hugo’s steps, he came face to face with her, stopping dead in his tracks.

“It’s ye,” Domnhall said. It was all he could say in that moment, all his brain would allow him to think.

How could it be?

Hugo, apparently oblivious to Domnhall’s shock, presented the two women to him. “Miss Billie Robertson and Miss Abigail Robertson,” he said with a bright smile.

There had been no doubt in his mind that the one he had met the previous night was the one meant to be his wife, since she looked like the oldest of the two, but Hugo’s introduction only confirmed it. She seemed just as shocked to see him, her grey eyes wide and fearful as they settled on him.

He could hardly believe Laird Robertson had tried to trick him like this. To send him a daughter who would fall into a man’s bed so easily was disgraceful. Was he not aware of what his daughter was doing? Somehow that seemed even worse, the notion that he couldn’t even stop her from giving herself to men other than her husband.

“I willnae marry her,” Domnhall said, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. However, he would have still spoken them. It needed to be said; he couldn’t marry that woman. “The youngest. I will have her.”

The two sisters had almost identical looks of shock and terror on their faces, though Billie’s expression was quick to turn to anger. Her cheeks heated, not unlike they had the previous night, but this time there was a fire behind her gaze, too, something that betrayed a newly formed fury inside her. The younger one, Abigail, reached for her sister’s arm seemingly without knowing it, her alarm so palpable it was like a living thing between them.

Hugo, too, as well as everyone else in the room who had heard him, had turned to look at him in shock. It was such a strange thing to do, he knew, declaring so brazenly that he would marry the other sister, that it was bound to surprise everyone, to say the least.

“Domnhall…” Hugo said quietly, walking up to him, surely to try and placate him and ask him what was wrong. Domnhall didn’t want to have such a conversation, though, especially not in front of everyone.

No matter what Billie had done, he wasn’t going to embarrass her like this.

“I made me decision,” Domnhall insisted. “Write tae Laird Robertson an’ inform him o’ the change in the plans.”

“Me laird,” Billie said, her voice strained and nothing like it had been the previous night, when she had moaned in pleasure. “May I speak with ye? Alone.”

“I dinnae see why we should have a conversation,” Domnhall said. “I have already made me decision.”

Gritting her teeth, Billie took a few sharp, hurried steps towards him, and for a moment, Domnhall thought she was going to deliver a slap. Instead, she gave him a tight-lipped smile that was more like a grimace.

“I have a letter fer ye from me faither,” she said. “I think it would be tae yer best interests tae hear what I have tae say.”

Domnhall gave Billie a hard, narrow-eyed look. His stubbornness almost got the better of him and he was about to insist there was nothing for either of them to say when he caught Hugo’s gaze, sterner than his own ever could be. For someone who was always so cheerful and unaffected, Hugo could turn surprisingly cold and ruthless when he wanted to.

If he didn’t speak to the girl, Hugo would never let him hear the end of it, and neither would she.

“Fine,” he said, just as tense as she had been. Without another word, he turned around and started walking towards his study, expecting Billie to follow him.

Her steps, quick as she tried to catch up with him, were the only thing that could be until they were behind the closed door of his study. Domnhall felt safer there, more at ease, the familiar, cozy room with its soft rugs and tapestries and the piles of books around him reminding that this was his turf. Billie had no power there.

The moment the door was closed, Billie asked, “What dae ye think yer doin’? Ye cannae refuse tae marry me.”

“I willnae speak about this,” Domnhall said, though he had expected the question. He could be just as headstrong as she was. Extending his hand to her, he said, “Hand me the letter an’ let us put an end tae this.”

“There is nae letter,” Billie said, her flat tone making it clear she thought it foolish of him to believe there had ever been a letter in the first place. “I only said that so ye would speak with me in private.”

Domnhall ran a frustrated hand through the strands of his hair, his frown deepening when his fingers tangled in a newly-formed knot. He paced up and down the room as he tried to find a way to get out of this situation, but in the end, he thought maybe didn’t need to. They were alone now. He could tell Billie precisely what he thought of her.

Coming to a halt in front of her, he pointed an accusatory finger, jaw clenching before he spoke. “What else dae ye expect me tae dae? Ye are nae only willin’ tae give yerself tae any man who asks, ye’re also a liar. Look at ye… did ye ever think I would agree tae a marriage with a lass like ye? I dinnae wish fer me wife tae be tainted.”

The more he spoke, the more Billie’s shock turned to hatred. Her face was a mask of rage, her delicate features twisted into something fierce that made her look much more mature than her years. This wasn’t the rage of a petulant child—it was the rage of a woman scorned.

It didn’t stop Domnhall, though perhaps it should have. “How many men have touched ye?” he asked when Billie said nothing.

Billie looked at him as though she was trying to calculate something in her head. When she spoke, what she said was the last thing Domnhall expected to hear.

“If ye dinnae marry me, I will tell everyone yer maither told ye ye’re a bastard.”

Domnhall’s mouth snapped shut and he took a step back, physically recoiling as if Billie had struck him. He looked at her in disbelief, but there was nothing about her attitude or her words that betrayed she was bluffing.

“Ye dare tae threaten me like this?”

“Ye dared be terribly rude tae yer guests,” Billie pointed out. “How many women have ye had in yer bed, Laird MacAuley? I’m certain ye cannae even count them. So perhaps it would be best if we both forget everythin’ about last night and continue with our plan.”

There was no hint of hesitation in Billie, and though Domnhall wanted to challenge her, to tell her he didn’t fear her or her threats, he knew he couldn’t. No one but Hugo and Billie knew that he was perhaps a bastard, that his claim to the lairdship was much weaker than anyone thought. He couldn’t let the rumors spread. Besides, he didn’t want to sully his mother’s memory like that.

“If ye provoke me, I will make sure ye regret it,” he warned her.

“I can say the same tae ye, me laird,” said Billie without missing a beat.

Once again, Domnhall turned around without another word and headed back to the great hall where everyone still waited, Billie walking close behind. He could hardly see his way there, his body moving out of instinct, his vision muddied with rage. He couldn’t believe he had been so careless as to reveal his biggest fear to someone he didn’t know at all. He couldn’t believe Billie would be so bold as to threaten him, a laird, like this without any reservation.

At least she’s nae meek.

When he made it to the great hall, everyone turned to look at him, the whispers dying out within seconds. He put on his best, most convincing smile, though it hardly reached his eyes.

“There has been a… misunderstandin’,” he said. “I see that now. The letter Miss Robertson gave me explained everythin’.”

As he spoke, he turned to look at Billie. Her smug smile only served to infuriate him even more, though, so he turned his attention back to everyone else.

“The weddin’ will take place as planned,” he continued. “Me servants will show ye all tae yer chambers an’ ye can rest until supper. We shall discuss this further then.”

The relief that washed over the entire room was palpable. Even the servants, those who had heard what had happened and still lingered in the room to see the aftermath, had been holding their breaths. Hugo’s usual smile was back, and Abigail sagged with relief, as if the mere thought of marrying Domnhall was too terrible to bear.

He didn’t even have the energy to be offended by that. He was more concerned about his secret and the fact that it surely wasn’t safe with Billie. She could hold it over him for the rest of his life now and there was nothing he could do about it.

It would only take a few words from her lips to destroy him whenever she pleased.

As everyone walked out of the room, the servants showing the Robertson party the way, Domnhall and Billie lingered. He walked up to her and leaned close, just like he had the previous night. Her hair was still just as fragrant, her skin soft and radiating warmth, but all Domnhall could feel was revulsion.

“Congratulations,” he said. “Ye’re nae only me betrothed now, but also me enemy.”