Page 15 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander
Doughall forced himself to focus on the tasks that were awaiting him inside, but there was a nagging feeling he could not quite ignore—the sensation of eyes on his back.
He did not look back, but he knew just who was watching him.
5
“There he is!” Flynn Robertson’s voice echoed through the hall.
The familiar space was illuminated and warmed by the flickering fire and candles. Shadows danced to a soundless melody across the stone and paneled walls. The long oak table was made for more private events, and this was one such occasion.
“How was the journey, Nephew?” His aunt Isla’s voice was lilting, sweet. It did not suit her, by any means. She was a mischievous, meddlesome woman who was usually anything but quiet.
His aunt and uncle were already seated at the far end of the table, as they often were during these small dinners. His uncle, Flynn, sat close to his wife, their closeness made only more obvious by the way their shoulders almost touched. There was more than enough room for both of them, but they seemed to prefer it this way. Why? Doughall could not be sure.
As he sat at the head of the table, his gaze turned to the door. Doughall wasn’t sure why he was so fixated onherarrival, but he found himself unable to look away. The younger, quieter twin of Adam’s sisters had never caught his interest before.
In truth, he had barely noticed the girl in all the years he had known her brother. She had always lingered in the background, a timid presence that he could barely recall. But now… something had shifted. He could feel it and see it. There was more to her than met the eye… and he could not complain about what met his eye, either.
“The journey was well enough,” he answered.
The door creaked open.
Freya wore a simple gown, green with darker shades that accentuated the fiery strands of her hair. But she still appeared unassuming. She did not dress to impress, but the gown still suited her in ways that made his gaze linger for too long.
She did not look at him immediately.
She was alone, which was a surprise. But not an unwelcome one.
It will be easier without Moira here.
Doughall rose from his seat and moved around the table, stepping toward the new arrival. Her gaze snapped to him when he stood before her, holding out his hand to her. He could seethe flicker of hesitation in her eyes, but it was quickly masked. She stared down at his open palm, saying and doing nothing at all.
“Freya, love,” he said, his voice softer than it had ever been. “Allow me to introduce me aunt and uncle.”
She blinked as if he had pinched her, rather than referred to her with such a term of endearment.
Do as ye were told,he willed her with a slight flex of his fingers.
With a loud gulp, she took his hand. Her skin was warm and soft, her hand so small in his, a stark contrast to the calloused fingers that curled around her own.
Doughall guided her to the table, setting her on his right side. His hand brushed against her arm for a brief moment, and he was almost tempted to let it linger.
Freya gracefully dropped her hand and then turned to Isla and Flynn, curtsying. “It is a pleasure to meet ye both. Doughall has told me so very much about ye.”
Ye little liar.
She was better than he thought she would be after that first hesitation.
The meal was served quickly, platters of glistening, roast meats and buttery vegetables filling the table and the air with mouthwatering aromas. But Doughall found himself without much of an appetite. He served himself a small helping from each platter and then picked at his food, feeling her eyes on him.
He ignored her stare.
The table was quiet, save for the subtle prodding of his aunt and the encouragement of his uncle. Freya answered their questions, but she did not do more than what was expected. She seemed so in place, looking bonny and agreeable, and yet he swore he could hear the discomfort in her voice.
When he looked up, she was no longer staring at him. Rather, she wasglaringat him, her gaze hard.
“When we finish, will ye show me the castle?” she asked, her voice laced with a challenge.
It wasn’t a question—it was a demand.
