Page 6 of Married to the Icy Highlander
“I mean to say that if me braither decided that marriage wasnae for him…” he trailed off, walking in a half circle around her, relishing the way she watched him warily. “Or perhaps he didnae agree to the marriage at all? Perhaps he didnae wish to be trapped?”
“Trapped?!” she screeched, whipping around to face him. Her hand flew at the exact same moment.
Bold. But Neil was easily able to catch her hand before it could connect with his cheek. “Careful, lass.”
He expected her fire, her ire, or even more of her temper. Instead, he was met with her tears.
Thathe did not know how to deal with. Even less as she muttered something that sounded vaguely like an apology and fell into a heap on the floor. All of her sass just… evaporated.
“Ye’re right nae to trust me,” the lass said in a shaky voice. She was trying to keep it together, but she was failing miserably. “He was me last chance, ye ken? He kenned what I needed him for, and he… he promised to help me.”
She looked up at him with such soft, pleading eyes. She was begging him for understanding, but he could not fathom for what.
“It would be a white marriage… he’s me friend. If something happened to him…” she trailed off, her shoulders slumping. She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand quickly, as if she didn’t want him to see her crying.
Neil studied her for a good long while before sighing. “And if ye find him?”
She looked up at him. “Then… well, I dinnae ken.”
“If I help ye find him, it willnae be to help ye wed him, lass,” Neil said, surprising even himself with the words that left his mouth.
He crouched down in front of her, eyeing her carefully. He didn’t think she was faking her distress. She truly seemed to be in trouble, and he didn’t have the slightest clue as to what that trouble was. Nor, outside of his capacity as Laird, did he have any reason to care.
“I cannae condemn me braither to a loveless match.”
The moment he said it, she reacted. She shook her head and shuffled up on her knees, her hands fisted into his shirt as she pulled herself closer to him as if she were about to beg him to reconsider.
His stomach fluttered strangely at her proximity. Her eyes widened as he gently curled his fingers around her wrists.
“Yer name, lass?” he asked softly, trying to keep her panic in check.
“Ceana.”
He swiped his thumb under her eye to wipe away the tears that were threatening to fall. “Ceana, me braither might nae be lookin’ for a marriage, but I am.”
Words came out before he could stop them yet again. He had no reason to presume that she would want such an arrangement, or that he could just make such sudden offers and that she would wish to hear him out.
She furrowed her brow. “What do ye mean, M’Laird?”
“I want to make ye me Lady.”
3
“Iwant to make ye me Lady.”
Ceana must be hearing things. She must have slipped somewhere in her mad escape from what was supposed to be her wedding, hit her head, and now she was hallucinating. There was simply no other way to explain how such a man—alaird, no less—was crouching down in front of her, offering to marry her.
The Laird was perhaps the most handsome man she had ever seen in her life. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a face straight out of a painting. Long dark hair that fell around his face and brushed his sharp jawline in a way that made her want to touch it. His hands, even though they were calloused, still held her with tenderness. But it was his eyes that mesmerized her—like emeralds, with flecks of yellow when the candlelight hit them.
Ceana’s first instinct was to laugh, to pinch herself for being so foolish as to pass out. Unless this was real… in which case, this couldn’t be happening. It was preposterous.
“Why would ye want to do that?” she half laughed, half-whispered as she slowly drew back her hands.
“Can I nae just want to help ye and me braither?” he asked with a hint of sarcasm.
“All men want something in return,” she pointed out flatly.
There, now it was starting to feel more like a genuine offer.
