Chapter 7

7

“Ye’re lucky I dinnae have you killed on the spot!”

Arran’s voice crashed off the walls of his study, as Kiernan and Mary stood before him and Amelia. Mary could barely lift her head to look at her sister, sure that she would be met with a glower for dragging her out of bed in the middle of the night.

And that was not even considering what it was she had been caught in the midst of.

Gregory had raised the alarm, letting everyone know that Kiernan had been skulking around the Keep—and, worse, that he’d been found with Mary. The two of them had swiftly been guided to his study, while the corridors came alight with whispers and conversation about Mary, about what she had been doing with such a brute of a man, she was sure.

“And why don’t you, Arran?” Kiernan replied with a near-relaxed tone to his voice. Mary shot a look at him out of the corner of her eye. She did not much care for the idea that he was trying to bait Arran into doing something. She’d heard the way Arran had talked about him before, and she knew that he carried no care for the Fraser family in his heart.

“Because I’m no’ the kind of bastard your father was,” he snapped back, running a hand through his hair. Amelia reached for his arm, giving it a light squeeze, and he closed his eyes for a moment, as though he was drawing himself back down to Earth before he continued.

“If you’ve hurt her,” Amelia cut in, her voice dropping as she glanced over at Mary, but Kiernan let out a chuckle. Mary saw a flash of anger cross Arran’s face at the sound of it, as though he could hardly believe he would be treating this with such lightness.

“Does she look hurt to you?” he demanded, gesturing to Mary. His hand moved close to her, close enough that she could almost feel it grazing her skin, and a shiver rushed down her spine. Though it had landed them in all kinds of trouble, she could still recall, all too easily, how delicious it had felt to give herself to him like that, how badly she ached to do it all over again, no matter how foolish it might have been.

Arran rose to his feet and closed the distance between him and Kiernan. Mary had never seen such fury in his eyes before, and she found herself drawing away from him nervously, worried that she might find herself at the wrong end of it, if she wasn’t careful.

“You Fraser men have tried time and time again to cause trouble in my Keep,” Arran snarled at him. “But if you think I’m going tae stand by and let you defile my sister-in-law…”

“I did nothing of the sort,” Kiernan replied smoothly, not letting his voice crack for a moment.

“Gregory said that the two of you were in the stables together,” Amelia protested. “What were you doing, alone in there with her?”

“Perhaps you’d like tae tell them, Mary,” Kiernan remarked, shooting a look over at her, his eyes blazing with a playfulness, like he was challenging her to come out and say it. She felt her cheeks heat up as she drew her gaze away from him, loathing herself for making her desire so obvious.

“Dinnae try and deny it,” Arran continued, stabbing his finger in the air at Kiernan furiously. “You came here to…”

“I came here to make my intentions known,” Kiernan replied without missing a beat. “Though I suppose Mary and I found oursels’ somewhat… caught up in the moment.”

“Your intentions?” Mary whispered. She hardly knew what to expect from him as she waited for an answer, but she was sure, in that instant, that it would change everything, everything that had happened when he was close to her. He seemed to undo whatever certainties she had built up about herself, and tear them down for good.

“Aye,” he replied, as though it should have been obvious. “My intentions to marry ye, lass.”

The whole room fell silent. Amelia drew in a sharp breath, and Mary felt her knees shaking beneath her, her breath stuttering in her throat. Could he really have meant that? Could he really… was this some twisted game, some way to force himself into the Aitken keep, just as Arran had warned her?

Or was it about her? About her and him? And them? She found herself shifting towards him slightly, something in her crying out for his touch, no matter how wrong it might have been.

“Marriage?” Arran exploded. “Dae you think fer a moment that we’ll allow a Fraser like you…”

“I’m no’ asking what you think of it,” he replied, cutting off Arran mid-flow. “But, since you seem to think I’ve defiled her already, you should be grateful that I’m ready to do as any man should and become her husband.”

“You can’t—she’s too young for that!” Amelia cut in. Mary bit down on her lip hard, containing the response she wanted to blurt out at her sister. She knew that Amelia was just trying to help her, just trying to look out for her, but she was far from too young to get married—at least, that’s what their own father had decided. He had chosen to marry her off, and the only way she was getting out of it…

Was if she accepted the offer that Kiernan had laid on the table for her. No matter what his reasons for it, no matter if she could trust him or not, she could not risk the possibility of going back to her father as an unwed woman, and having to face the horror of whatever husband he had chosen for her.

“I’ll marry you.”

Everyone in the room turned to look at her; all of them, except Kiernan, seemed surprised.

“You will do no such thing!” Amelia protested as she sprang to her feet and Arran put an arm around her protectively, pulling her close. It was clear that she knew well of Kiernan’s reputation. Arran had probably told her more than he had even shared with Mary, and perhaps it should have frightened the girl to see her own sister so angry at the prospect.

“Amelia, I’m a grown woman,” she argued. “I can do as I please. If this man wants to marry me, and I him, then who are you to stand in the way of it?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Kiernan added, his voice smooth and confident, his dark blue eyes sparkling with amusement. Arran fired an angry look in his direction, and Amelia hurried over to Mary, taking her by the elbow and steering her towards the door.

Mary allowed her sister to lead her out into the corridor, though she knew that whatever she had to say would not sway her from the decision she had already made. She could not tell Amelia about what their father had planned for her, or else she would stress herself into illness trying to make it right. No, this was the most sensible solution for everyone, and Mary intended to see it through.

As soon as they were out of earshot of the men, Amelia began to speak, the words tumbling from her mouth so fast it was as though she could hardly control them.

“Mary, please, think about what you’re agreeing to,” Amelia begged her. “You have to consider the kind of man Kiernan is—he’s dangerous. He’ll be no good for you as a husband.”

“I think I should be the one to make that choice,” Mary replied, her voice as stern and steady as she could keep it. In truth, the thought of being married to him sent a thrill of excitement through her body for she knew, if they were wed, that they would have to share a marital bed, that whatever had started in the stables would continue into something more… carnal. She pressed her thighs together beneath her dress, trying to stem that thought before it got the better of her, and returned her attention to her sister.

“You don’t understand, love,” Amelia pleaded, lifting her hand to her sister’s cheek and cupping it there. “You’re so young. You don’t know what makes a good husband, or…”

“And you did, when you married Arran?”

The words stopped Amelia in her tracks.

“What on earth do you mean by that?”

“There were those who called him a barbarian,” she reminded her. “Those who thought he was some wild man who would… well, I won’t repeat the stories of what I heard of him after he carried you off to be his bride.”

“But that’s Arran,” she protested. “He’s different. He’s…”

“He’s different because you gave him the chance to be different,” she replied. “And perhaps… perhaps Kiernan deserves that chance too. Don’t you think he does?”

Amelia’s eyes were clouded with doubt as she gazed at Mary. Mary’s heart was hammering in her chest as she wondered whether she had done enough to convince her sister that this was the way to go forward. She had no doubt that Arran would dig his heels in and try to find some way to stop the union before it came to pass, but she was a grown woman. If she wanted to marry this man, then she would do it.

She would give herself to him, as she had in those dark dreams, for so long.

“Arran doesn’t trust him,” Amelia warned her. “And he knows this place well, he knows the people who live in this area, he knows the Frasers and what they are capable of…”

“He knows what his father was capable of,” she countered quickly. “He doesn’t know Kiernan. He’s made no effort to.”

“Because of everything he’s done.”

“And Arran hasn’t done much of that himself?”

Amelia fell silent. She had told Mary of the daring escape Arran had allowed her from the grips of the man who wanted to make her his bride, and she knew it had been a bloody, violent affair. Of course, it had been so she would end up in the arms of a man she adored more than anything in the world, but she must have been able to see the contradiction there.

She gazed at her sister for a long moment, taking her hand and giving it a tight squeeze. She always knew when she had lost with her little sisters, when she had to concede the argument to them. Mary was rarely the one who dug her heels so deeply, but she refused to allow her sister to talk her out of this. If she did not marry Kiernan, her father would wed her to some ancient old man who’d make use of her body in ways that made her ill just to think of. Kiernan might have been frightening, in some ways, but at least she desired him, the way a wife should.

“Are you sure?” Amelia asked softly, and Mary nodded.

“I’m sure.”

She pulled Mary into a sudden, tight hug, pressing her face into her shoulder and holding her close for a moment. Mary supposed that the birth of her son had left her feeling more maternal than she once had. Mary squeezed her back, grateful for her love for her but knowing, deep down in her soul, that she had to see this through. She had to be with this man. Even if something about the thought frightened her, the thought of going back to her father and allowing him to use her as chattel to pay off his debts was even worse.

“I’ll tell Arran you’ve made your mind up,” Amelia promised her, brushing a strand of hair back from Mary’s face.

“Do you think he’ll take it well?”

Amelia let out a chuckle, and shook her head.

“I expect he’ll be furious. But I’m his wife. I can get him to see anything from my point of view if I try.”

“You’ll have to teach me your ways,” Mary joked, her voice slightly shaky. “I’ll need to find some way to make Kiernan respect me the same as Arran does you.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” Amelia replied as she turned to head back into the study. For a moment before she stepped inside, she paused, and just looked at her sister for a long moment.

As Mary gazed back at her, she could tell that a thousand thoughts were rushing through Amelia’s mind in that moment, and she felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that she’d been the one to put them there. But she quickly brushed them aside. This was her choice, and she would stand by it. If it would save her from the marriage to Lord Whitecombe, then she would take it.

And if it meant that she and Kiernan could finally be alone together in the way she truly craved… then even better.