Page 7 of The Cruel Highlander's Bride
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Once the rest of her family walked out of the room, Magnus turned to the woman who might one day be his wife. Her brother’s words rang in his ears. He knew they were meant for the woman, but he took them to heart as well. He really hoped he knew what he was doing.
“Are ye sure about this arrangement?” he asked tentatively.
While he’d been privately pleased that she had interjected, he felt vaguely uncomfortable with the idea of forcing her to marry him in order to end the feud.
The one thing that had been clear through watching their interactions was that this woman was fiercely protective of her sister. And it was apparent that the only reason she accepted was so that her younger sister would not have to endure Magnus as a spouse. The thought was as equally intriguing as it was disappointing.
The lass was wrong when she said Magnus didn’t have a preference. Hehada clear preference, and it was for the raven-haired woman before him. But for some God-forsaken reason, he wanted her to accept because ofhim.
He really needed to forget that idea, and quickly. He had never given much thought to marriage, always assuming it wasn’t something that was meant for him.
So, he should be fine with this arrangement. He came here because he needed to end this feud and protect his people. And if the way to do that was to marry this woman, then whether or not she cared for him was irrelevant.
Still, as he stood in his enemy’s study and counted the freckles on her face, he was not thinking about helping his people at all—he was thinking about helping himself to this woman.
“I’m sure,” she said determinedly.
Her response pulled Magnus out of his thoughts, her baby blue eyes piercing his.
“Yer parents seemed more willin’ to offer the other lass’s hand,” he pointed out.
Why had he pointed that out? He didn’t want the other lass, both due to her crying and the fact that she wasn’t the woman in front of him. But his clan needed him to marry one of them.
“Aye, me sister, Lana,” she replied.
He still didn’t even know this woman’s name, so he raised an eyebrow and looked back at her.
“Oh, aye.” She chuckled. “Ciara,” she said, gesturing to herself. “I didnae even think to introduce meself, but it’s Ciara.”
“Ciara,” Magnus repeated, trying it out. He liked the way his mouth formed her name, and he liked even more the way she turned slightly pink at the way he said it.
Ciara didn’t turn away from him though, even as he continued to stare at her.
“Why did yer parents suggest yer sister first?” Magnus asked.
He had been curious when everyone seemed to immediately disregard Ciara as an option. She was the far better option, in his opinion.
“Are ye betrothed?” he growled.
It would explain it, but the thought filled him with his ever-present rage. Had she offered to marry him when she was promised to another? Magnus might very well have to fight a duel, regardless of how this negotiation turned out. His hands were itching to lay a claim to this woman.
“Nay, and I never intended to be,” Ciara said primly.
That was not the answer Magnus expected. It was surprising. Remaining unwed was a luxury that not many women were afforded, and as a Laird’s daughter, she would be even more pressured to marry. But none of that was what Magnus was focusing on. No, his mind was pointing out that this woman, who had never intended to marry, would be breaking her resolve for him.
Well, for her sister.
“I never wanted to marry either,” he replied quietly.
Ciara was studying him now. “But ye’re a Laird,” was all she said.
“Aye.” Magnus nodded, swallowing down the chuckle that threatened to come out.
“Ye need heirs,” she added before realizing exactly how that sounded.
“Are ye offerin’?”
