Page 55 of Princess of Pride
Desire flashes in his eyes followed by a flare of anger.
What? Why?
“You should play harder to get.” The steeliness in his voice and eyes are a sharp blow to my ego.
I thought this was what he wanted. Me wanting him and his foul-mouthed come-ons.
He focuses on his phone, reading emails and ignoring me in a way only he can. I take that back. My dad reached a master-level of hurting me with disdain long ago. My entire life I was a pest—an annoying fly that deserved nothing more than to be swatted away.
“Fuck you, Lachlan,” I whisper, pain bleeding from my voice like a deep slice to the skin.
His shoulders tense but nothing about his expression shows he cares.
We ride the rest of the hour-long drive in silence with me plotting his death and my escape.
The next thing I know, we’re pulling through massive iron gates that open to a long, deserted road with low hills that stretch for miles on all sides. A stone guard house sits on the left, and the man inside nods as we drive by. I don’t see a castle or anything but green land.
Lachlan stares ahead, but I can tell he’s watching me from the corner of his eye.
We drive over a bridge that covers a long river, turn a few times onto more deserted narrow roads, and even pass some woods. The sun stays hidden behind a thin layer of clouds, but the fog has lifted.
When we clear the woods, the rode splits in three directions, but my gaze stays forward. Large bushy trees sit on two low hills of equal height and line a long driveway. At the far end, in the dead center and framed by trees, stands a white castle four or five stories tall. The windows are all different sizes, which makes it hard to tell. The symmetrical structure has round turrets on each of the four corners that remind me of Cinderella’s castle, but the massive size is more Merida’s castle from Brave. I pictured something medieval. Although this definitely has that vibe with the window shapes, dark wood accents, and large gate door, the two flags anchored at the peak of each front turret makes it more fairy tale.
The closer we get, I notice something else. The castle sits on a cliffside with the ocean spreading behind it as far as the eye can see.
Holy Chanel!
The trees lining the driveway end and two sets of stairs cut into the hills on either side, leading to where, I’m not sure. I can’t see over the hills from here.
We pass between two large lion statues that connect to a wall surrounding the large parking area and castle. There isn’t any landscaping other than grass from here to the castle entrance, but with the ocean backdrop, I suppose it’s not necessary.
I don’t see any gardens or orangeries, just more grass and cliffside that stretches far to the left and right.
I have no idea how old this castle is, if it has a name, and any of the wonderful things that come with a piece of history like this. I would ask, but after Lachlan’s dickish remark, I don’t want to speak to him ever again.
From the looks of this place, my plan to escape is slim unless I steal a car or a boat—if there even is a way down that steep cliff. From here, it seems far too high foreven a set of stairs. More like multiple sets or an elevator. I wouldn’t be surprised if this castle has a bat cave hidden underneath.
Connal parks near the front entrance.
Lachlan has been watching me from the corner of his eye, probably loving my impressed expression—more to fuel his ego.
He turns his head my way, arrogance sparking in those bright aqua eyes, and lifts a hand toward the castle. “Welcome home.”
Welcome to house arrest is more like it. I frown as I stare at the fortress that belongs to my husband. Seeing his ancestral home for the first time could have been a beautiful moment. It should have been. Now this experience will forever be a tainted memory.
“Why isn’t she smiling?” Connal asks, his brutish voice jolting me from my depressed stupor. “Most people smile when they see Duhnill castle.”
“I assume those people aren’t prisoners brought here against their will.” With my eyes on the castle door, I inhale a shaky breath and release it with the same vibration.
I can feel Lachlan’s gaze on my face, the intensity hot like a branding iron. I don’t dare look at him, although from my peripheral vision, I might notice a frown—as unlikely as that seems.
The second I peer his way to glimpse his expression, he looks away and opens the door. He and Connal climb out of the SUV at the same time. I’m about to scoot across the seat and exit through Lachlan’s door when mine opens.
“Mrs. Ashford,” Connal says, rolling therin his Scottish accent.
It takes me a moment to realize he’s talking to me. “Call me Emery.” I climb out. “I prefer it to that other name you just used.” I wiggle my fingers the way my mother does when she shoos me away. Never thoughtI’d mimic her.
You’re not my daughter, plays in my head, the words as slurred as when she said them to me. My chest crumbles inward. You’d think that after years of being labeled as the worst daughter and the least valuable family member, my skin would be as hard as diamonds, but this new ache feels like an amputation. Maybe that’s why it hurts so much. I haven’t experienced it yet, so I don’t know how to ignore it. I’ll learn. If I’m good at anything, it’s pressing on.
