Page 5 of Bride of the Beastly Laird

Arran wasted no time weaving his way through the tables and heading up the stairs. The denizens of the tavern hardly bothered to throw a glance his way. Obviously, they were used to the sight of a wench slung over a man’s shoulder being lugged upstairs to bed. He chuckled to himself. His threat had worked and there wasn’t so much as a peep out of Dahlia until they entered the room.

He lowered her onto the bed in the corner of the tiny room, where she lay, arms akimbo, glaring up at him. Her dress and lady’s riding outfit lay across the chair in the corner where she’d discarded them earlier, along with the leather satchel containing more of her clothing. In the corner was a large copper tub filled with hot water, cooling now. He’d ordered it earlier so she could bathe after their two-day ride and prepare for the journey tomorrow, when she would be presented to Laird Mackinnon.

He could restrain his ire no longer. “Ye’re a foolish, spoilt lass,” he bawled at her, “who cares naught fer the ones who’ve been tasked tae guard ye, whose lives depend on bringing ye safely tae Castle Mackinnon.” He was intent on impressing on her the futility and selfishness of any escape plan she might yet contemplate. He would have gone on, but he was held back by the sense that she could not be trusted to know the inner workings of his heart and the knowledge of the hold Bairre Mackinnon had over him and his overriding fear for the wellbeing of his precious mother, Emilia.

Dahlia huffed, levering herself into a sitting position. “Ye may shout at me all ye wish, Arran Mackinnon. I dinnae care a fig fer ye and yer kind, who’ll dae the bidding of a monster like yer laird.” She scowled at him and he felt his heart miss a beat. “And, nay matter what ye say, I’ll scream me heart out if I so wish.”

Masking his concern for her, he glowered, shaking his head. “Stop yer caterwauling. There is nay one here tae come tae yer yells. Ye’re nae in yer brother’s castle now with all the servants at yer beck and call.”

Instead of having the desired effect of silencing Dahlia’s tirade, his words seemed to spur her on to greater heights of rage.

“Ye’re a pestilent, vindictive knave,” she jeered loudly, tossing her head back, fixing him with an unwavering glare. “Ye’re unscrupulous, dishonorable, false, worthless…” Looking around the room as if searching for something bad enough to name him, she turned her pretty lips into a sneer, spitting out her next words with a vehemence that set him reeling. “Ye’re nothing better than a… a… jack-in-the box, doing the bidding of an evil, contemptible, loathsome…” She gasped in a breath, “…fiend.”

Although her words stung, his annoyance dissolved as he took in the sight of her, chest heaving, her glorious breasts half exposed over the fabric she’d used to disguise them, her hair dishevelled as if she’d only just risen from his bed after a bout of lovemaking. And the boy’s britches she had on only accentuated her womanly waist and hips rather than disguising them.

He bit down the urge to laugh. She really was a most delightful creature. Her cheeks were flushed a deep pink, her hair falling in ringlets over her shoulders most fetchingly, and her eyes, of the deepest periwinkle-blue, were alight with a wildfire that set his pulse racing and ignited his desire. If only they could shineforhim, not with fury as they were now, but with passionate desire.

But she was never meant to be his. Her fate was to be taken by the Laird to be his plaything, to do with her as he wished.

The darkness in his soul grew even blacker at the thought of the Mackinnon laying his hands on that pearly white skin, crushing her delicate lips under his cruel mouth and ravishing her soft body.

This is madness. I cannae allow mesel’ the indulgence of such thoughts. Me task is clear. I must deliver the lass tae Castle Mackinnon. Nay matter how much it pains me to dae sae.

“Enough,” he muttered in a voice that made it clear he’d brook no further complaints or resistance. “Ye’ve said yer piece and I’ll listen tae nay further griping, nor will I tolerate any further attempts on yer part tae leave me care.”

She pshawed loudly, frowning up at him from the edge of the bed where she perched cross-legged. “Yer care?At least ye could be honest and admit ye’ve naecarefer me. If ye cared even a jot ye’d nae be taking me tae a wedding that is a match with the devil himself.”

“So, ye’ve nay wish tae marry me… master?” His heart lifted a little. Mayhap she hated the man as much as he did.

She shrugged. “Ye’d be a fool tae think aught else when I’ve been at such pains these past hours tae leave ye and return tae me family. I’ll dae all in me power tae avoid marriage with Bairre Mackinnon.” She turned her gaze to a blank space on the wall somewhere beyond his shoulder. “Even if it should lead me tae a deathly fate.”

“Nay lass.” He reached over to envelop her small, elegant hand in his. “Ye mustnae think such thoughts. The king has commanded that ye should wed and bring peace tae the war between our clans. Can ye nae consider it yer duty?”

Gazing up through her long dark lashes she seemed to be assessing him. A ripple of something unsettling rattled through his veins. It was as if she could see into his soul and understand the darkness haunting him. He wanted nothing more than to trust this woman and to earn her trust in return. Yet to trust her could lead to his own deathly fate.

Tonight was not the time for such dangerous thoughts. Insofar as they were both concerned, he was to take her to Mackinnon Castle, where she would take part in the preparations for her wedding to the laird. There was no space for any other thinking. He must subdue his desire and treat her coolly, hide his empathy for her plight, focus only on what he’d been tasked to do to ensure she arrived at the castle.

Above all, he had to carry out his duty to ensure the safety of his captive mother, whose very life hung in the balance. She was ironically at the mercy of a man without mercy, Bairre Mackinnon.

“The king doesnae ken what he’s asking of me family. I am the third he has commanded tae wed. Me braithers are happy with their wee wifeys but I will find nothing but heart-sorrow and sadness in the castle of the Mackinnon.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Whatever yer fate melady, I think ye’d be better tae face it sweet- smelling instead of with the rank stench of ale that’s soaking ye now. Why, me nose is fair twitching at the scent of ye.”

Her lips gave a tiny quirk that could have been the beginning of a smile.

“Och. Ye’re right, I reek like the ripe inside of an unwashed tankard.” She glanced up, arching a dark brow. “Mayhap if I greet yer laird as I am he’ll nae be sae eager tae wed me.”

“On the contrary, lass. The Laird Mackinnon is bound tae fancy ye even more if ye carry the scent of a brewery. He fair minds his ale, does Bairre.”

He watched her face fall and her shoulders slump and his heart ached for her. He was under no illusion that Bairre would treat her well. He was a violent brute who thought nothing of delivering a cruel beating to anyone who displeased him, whether they be a lad or a lass.

“I’ll pay a visit tae the kitchen and find us something fer our supper. I’ve had naught tae line me belly since midday and I daresay ye’re hungry too.” Looking Dahlia up and down he ignored the forlorn shake of her head. “There’s still warmth in the water in that tub. When I leave the room, strip off those stinking, wet clothes, untie that pointless strip of cloth from around yer… er… chest, dip yer body in the water and cleanse yerself.”

With that, he swivelled toward the door. “I’ll expect ye tae be sweet-smelling and sweet-tempered when I return.”

He stepped through the door, pulling it closed on the sound of her loud “harrumph,” turned the key in the lock, pocketed it, and headed down the stairs without waiting to hear what curses she might be laying at his head.

After ordering leek soup and a venison pie from the kitchen he made his way back to the table he’d previously been seated at. Most of the tavern’s customers had departed, leaving few to occupy the now quiet place. He sat with a tankard before the fire, reviewing the events of the day, praying quietly to himself that by the time he returned to Dahlia’s room she would have seen reason. He was confident she could not escape from the securely locked room. Its small, high window was far too tight a squeeze for even the slenderest lad to fit through.

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