Page 110 of Princess of Pride
“You will stand out like a golden crown in the village. This shoulder is a temptation.” He brushes my hair back enough to kiss my skin. My heart hammers with part fear, part anger, and part desire. The last one makes me furious with myself.
“Everyone will stare at you. Some men might flirt. No onewill touch you or I’ll have their balls. If you want their hearts to remain in their chests, do not flirt back.”
I resist the urge to shove away and put on my best performance to date when I paste on a sultry grin that makes my stomach riot. “You’re the only one I want to flirt with.”
Before he can kiss me, I turn away and head for the door, my narrow hips swinging.
He grunts. “Still testing me.”
Just wait.
Lachlan gets a call from Rory on the way. They go over the security details he put in place. I have no idea if this weak escape plan will work or if I should even bother trying. Maybe I need to take my time and come up with something better. This is my only chance to leave the castle grounds though.
Lachlan has this place protected like it holds the crown jewels. Cameras, guards, drones. This is my only chance; I have to try.
The roads are as dark as night except for the headlights. I have no idea what’s around us other than night. After about thirty minutes, the soft glow of streetlamps appear ahead, revealing a small village—or rather, a short row of connected, cottage-like buildings. They stretch along the road for two blocks, with nothing but thick darkness across from them.
“Is this it?” It’s much smaller than I expected.
“There’s another parallel street with businesses.” He points behind the buildings.
I have no idea how I’m going to call for an Uber from here. Casually, I check my phone. I have bars. Shocking. Lachlan must pay to have good internet here.
“Expecting a call?” Lachlan teases, and I tense.
“Just making sure it’s charged.”
“You’re safe. I promise. No one can get you here. No one would dare try.”
Safe from everyone but you—the person I need protected from the most. I tuck my phone in my small purse as Connal pulls the SUV up to the front of a corner building. A burly man who looks seven feet tall stands near the door. A sconce lights up half of his bearded face and a hanging sign that reads,The Old Inn.
Lachlan opens the car door and holds out his hand. “Your first pub experience awaits.”
I try not to look as nervous as I feel. If he thinks I’m scared, he’ll only watch me closer.
Once again, I give him my best fake smile—one I learned to produce after years of practice having to fake happiness when meeting people of importance to my parents at many of their events.
“Lead the way.” I take his hand.
To the man, Lachlan says, “Connal will park at the end of the building and wait in case we need him. No one in after this.”
The man nods.
There’s no way I’m escaping here. I follow Lachlan inside and am momentarily distracted by the warmth and music radiating from inside. It’s like I stepped back in time—or perhaps this is modern day living to them. The place is crowded with people at a long wooden bar, booths, and tables. Scottish music plays that doesn’t sound new or alternative like what Rory played in the car on the way to the distillery.
No one notices us at first, then slowly, one or two heads turn followed by several others. Silence falls over the place, except for the music. I’m used to being on display on occasion at my parents’ parties, but these people are staring with an odd curiosity I’m not used to. Whatever they’re thinking doesn’t show on their stoic faces. These people have a weathered look about them, like they work harder than anyone I know.
Lachlan’s grip tightens on my hand. “Breathe,” he murmurs, and I do reflexively, having grown accustomed to him instructing me to work my lungs.
Rory rises from a crowded spot at the bar and stands on his chair, a huge pint of beer in his hand. “The lord and lady of Duhnill Castle,” he teases in a toast.
The crowd joins him cheering and drinking merrily. Some people return to their conversations while others watch as Lachlan leads me to a booth in the corner and sits on the side with a view of the front entrance. He stands out as much as I do—both he and Rory with their piercing eyes and gorgeous faces and bodies.
I notice two young women flanking Rory as he lowers back onto his stool at the bar. Both are pretty and natural—one with dark chestnut hair and the other is auburn. I wonder which one he’s hooking up with. Maybe both.
A middled-aged woman in jeans, a t-shirt, and a waist apron carries to pints of beer and sets them on our table. “Scotch ale for ye.”
“Thank you, Alice,” Lachlan says.
