Page 86 of The Highlander's Virgin Widow
She reached her door and threw it open. It banged against the wall, but before Evander could get to it, she slammed it shut behind her and locked it.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she took a few steps away from the door. She knew he could break it down—it would cost him nothing—but she hoped he would not.
“Keira, please,” he pleaded from the other side, his voice slightly muffled by the wood. “I had to announce the wedding because Arthur was going to make ye look like a?—”
“Like a wench. Is that what ye mean to say?”
“Ye’re a widow who had just been caught kissing a laird ye’re nae married to. There is nay other conclusion.”
Keira wiped the tears streaming down her face. “Oh God. I have to do this, do I nae?”
The speed at which the realization dawned on her was jarring. Her non-existent marriage had just been announced to a whole group of people she barely knew. She was certain that everyone in the castle would have heard by now. News like this traveled faster than a man on a stallion.
“I had to protect yer honor,” Evander explained.
“Protect me honor by forcing me into a loveless marriage?” Keira snapped at him, her tears falling freely now and dripping from her chin.
“I had to do something, Keira. And it was the first thing that came to me mind.”
Keira paced back and forth in her room. This was happening. This was truly happening. She had to get married to Evander. If not, she would be labeled a wench for life.
Her heart stuttered as she remembered the way the guests had stared at her, full judgment on their faces even as they said their congratulations. It wasn’t until Evander spoke that the judgment dissipated and transformed into some kind of admiration.
Was she really going through this again? Marrying just to save face and not because of love?
“Keira, please open the door and let us discuss this.”
“I have nothing to say to ye,husband,” she hissed.
A beat of silence fell over the room, and she remained rooted to the spot, waiting for him to say something else. But nothing came forth. At least not for a while.
Evander rested his forehead against the door, his heart pounding in his chest. Part of him was still stunned by what had just happened, but the other part wanted nothing but for her to open the door.
He didn’t want to break it down—he wanted her to do it of her own accord. At least she could have some semblance of control in the middle of this madness that seemed to have sprung up on them almost out of nowhere.
“I’ll be back,” he muttered, after waiting for a few more minutes in vain.
He spun on his heels and marched down the passageway, his hands curling into fists.
He would return, but for now, he needed to find Arthur.
Evander stormed through the passageways, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the walls. He walked with purpose and precise ferocity. Red-hot anger boiled inside him, and he could not wait to unleash it. The mere thought made it flare further.
He stopped by the dining hall and looked inside. Some of the guests lingered at the table, awaiting their meals. He turnedaway and moved forward, stopping by the Great Hall, in the middle of the crowd.
The cèilidh was in full swing, and a lot of people had, at this point, returned to the hall to continue making merry.
Evander stood still and scanned the crowd, hoping to find Arthur. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find him. At least not here, anyway. A passing maid caught his attention, and he beckoned her over almost immediately.
“Ye. Do ye ken where Laird MacDonnell is?”
The maid furrowed her brow in confusion, opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of water.
Evander sighed. “He is the one with the eye patch. Do ye remember now?”
Recognition flashed across the maid’s face. “Aye, M’Laird. He is still in the courtyard.”
“The courtyard?” Evander echoed, his voice wavering.
