Page 10 of Claimed by the Obsessed Laird (Highland Bride Hunt #1)

Chapter Eight

Camron slumped into the chair in his study, his documents splayed on the desk beside him.

He had tried to distract himself reviewing the reports from the nearby landed gentry, but he had found himself unable to focus.

His mind was drifting again and again to the infernal woman he could not seem to shake from his mind.

Isla.

Even her name in his head felt like a curse, one that he had written with his own hand.

He should have heeded Damien’s warning when he pointed out how wild she was and what trouble she would cause.

He’d imagined her as some wild horse he would need to take in hand, but it seemed as though the chaos she had caused might have been beyond what even he could cope with.

She had taken the run of the place, which had surprised him.

She had not seemed like the domestic sort, part of the reason he had chosen her.

He had imagined that she would find little joy in trying to change things in the household, and, given how comfortably everything had run for years now, there would be no reason to.

But, instead, she had ordered the maids around like it was her God-given right, and, as his wife, he supposed it was.

Sitting in his chair had been one thing, but seeing her with Archie, out on that horse, had been another entirely.

He had already dragged his cousin away from her once, when he had tried to dance with her the night of the wedding.

That could have been written off as nothing more than an attempt to make her more comfortable in her newfound home, but there was something to the glint in Archie’s eye that told him otherwise.

And now, this horse-riding affair. When he had looked up from the window of his study to see the two of them emerging from the stables together, a flash of fury so intense ran through his system, and he had found himself bounding down the stairs before he could think twice.

Archie had never exactly been his favorite of the MacLeods.

He would never turn away someone of his own blood, not on his family turf—and he had no intention of going back on that soon—but Archie, and the way he carried himself, was starting to rather push his luck around his new bride.

He had never put much trust in him, but then, he had never been called to.

But he liked his father well enough, and when he had asked for Archie to stay with him for a while, he had agreed.

Perhaps it would be good for him to see how a real Laird lived—even if he seemed rather more interested in how his wife did.

He had never been jealous over a woman before, at least, not like this.

But, he reasoned, this was his wife. If he was to be jealous about anyone, it would be her.

It was more than just Archie, though. Every time she so much as glanced at another man or even laughed at a joke they made, he found his nostrils flaring and his fists clenching.

“She’s a storm… and I’m the fool standing in the rain,” he muttered to himself, not knowing how to handle Isla and her attitude.

He could not lack such control in the very place people looked to him for direction. He knew that, but how could he stand by and allow her to entertain the attentions of others when he was the one she had married?

“Might I interrupt ye, m’Laird?”

A voice cut through his thoughts, and Camron glanced around to see none other than Archie standing in the doorway.

He was no doubt ready to lord it over him about how harshly he had reacted to his riding lessons with Isla the day before.

Of course, Archie had no idea of what had happened afterwards, when she had followed him to the stables and they had shared a kiss so passionate it had left a brand on his very body.

He knew that everyone had expected them to begin their physical relationship immediately, but he would not force her when she seemed so utterly averse to the idea of even being close to him.

Yes, she responded to his touch, but their minds were still so at odds with each other, he could not imagine it possible for her to trust him enough to take her to bed.

Though he desperately wanted to, with an obsession that seemed almost destructive.

His desire was clouding his better judgment, and, while a part of him wished for nothing more than to sweep her into his arms and carry her to bed, he knew better than to push her.

She had shown him time and time again that she did not take well to being forced, and he had no doubt she would find some way to torture him and the rest of the household further if he dared suggest anything more.

“Care for some sparring practice?” Archie continued, resting his elbow on the doorframe and grinning. “I was about to go out mysel’, thought you could use a chance to… unburden yerself.”

The way he spoke, it was clear he was referencing Camron’s outburst the day before. Camron grimaced. He had no doubt that news of his harshness had spread through the Keep, just as gossip about his wife’s reordering of the place had reached his ears before he had so much as laid eyes on her.

Rising to his feet, he nodded, looking Archie in the eye as he accepted.

“Aye,” he replied. “I’m sure I could do wi’ keeping my hand in.”

“Especially with yer new wife,” Archie remarked, his voice light, as the two made their way out of the study and down the stairs. “I’m sure there’ll be plenty of men who wish to… Well, I shan’t say it, out of respect for yer new bride.”

Camron strode out ahead of him, ignoring his pointed words, and went straight to the armory to pick up their practice gear.

Damien was there and parted his lips as if intending to say something to him, but when he saw the look on his face, he thought better of it.

Camron made his way out into the courtyard, which was bathed in sunshine, a far cry from his stormy mood.

Archie tested the weight of his practice blade in his hand, grinning as he rounded on Camron.

“Now, I promise no’ to go too easy on?—”

But before he could say another word, Camron had raised his sword and brought it down with a crash. Archie only just managed to lift his in time to deflect it, and he let out a chuckle once he had managed to ground himself once again from the surprise.

“Ah, I see that marriage has no’ dulled yer instincts, my Laird.”

Camron lunged at him again, and this time Archie deflected with ease, casting the blow to the side before attempting one of his own.

Camron ducked to the left, leaving Archie’s blade to dip uselessly into the ground, before he kicked the other man’s legs out from under him and sent him falling to his knees.

By the time he had rounded on him once more, Archie was up, dusting the dirt from his trousers.

Much to Camron’s annoyance, he hardly looked thrown by the attack at all and lifted his sword to once again assume the training position; one shoulder back, the other thrust forward, feet planted firmly to ensure that Camron could not knock him over again.

The two paced around each other, their footsteps in tandem, and Camron flicked his gaze across Archie’s stance to find some weakness that he could exploit.

“Is this for show, my Laird?” Archie teased, though there was an edge to his voice that told Camron this was more than just cheerful joshing. “Are ye afraid of what the others might think if they saw me and yer wife together?”

“Careful how ye speak of her, Archie. Blood only buys so much mercy,” Camron growled, unable to keep his frustration in check. He lunged, a flash of rage obscuring his vision, and Archie dodged with ease, sliding his body out of the blade’s way so that it swept through open air.

“Or is it perhaps that ye’re worried she prefers my company to yers?” he continued, flicking his tongue over his lips lasciviously.

Camron clenched the blade in his hand so tightly he was sure that the handle would leave an imprint on his palm. He dived at Archie once more, his body slipping into a practiced fight routine that even his white-hot anger would not let him forget.

Their swords came together over and over again, the sound of the metal clashing ringing out across the courtyard—a few people had gathered to watch them battle one another, but Camron could pay them no attention.

His vision had narrowed to the sight of his cousin standing before him, the impossibly smug expression on his face as he knew that he had managed to get under Camron’s skin.

Camron finally knocked his sword aside, sending it crashing to the earth below, and brought the tip of his blade to his cousin’s throat.

For the barest moment, he imagined running him through with it, right then and there, putting a stop to all the nonsense he had been spouting about Isla once and for all; but, drawing back, he gathered himself, reminding himself of what it would have looked like to anyone else.

It would have looked like Archie was right.

And he could not stand that, not for a moment.

Every strike had been fueled by a raging jealousy and the nagging concern that Isla might never forgive him for the way he had claimed her.

His wife would never look at him as anything other than a cruel invading force, rather than the partner he longed for.

“Careful, Camron,” Archie taunted as he rose to his feet, dusting himself off, seemingly unbothered by the fact he had just been roundly beaten. “A man desperate for an heir makes reckless choices…”

“She’s my wife, ye best remember that, Archie.”

Camron’s jaw tightened, another flash of fury crossing his face, he wanted to say more, to threaten his cousin, to scare him enough to never look at her again.

But instead he turned his back on Archie and stormed towards the Keep before he could try and coax any more of a reaction out of him.

He was distantly aware of those gathered to see what all the fuss was about, but he paid them not an ounce of mind.

“Camron!”

Just then, Isla’s voice cut through the rush in his head, and he snapped his gaze up to meet her, his fury blazing in her direction before he could stop it.

She lurched back, as though fearful of him all of a sudden.

Perhaps she was right to be. She had no idea what he was capable of.

Desire, rage, and a crushing sense of obsession weighed down on top of him for a moment as he stared at her.

What could he say to her? Without another word, he brushed past her and into the Keep. It seems that he had made a habit of leaving the things that tormented him behind in fear of exposing himself.

He needed her, and it was more than just for the birth of an heir.

No, it was because he could not stop wanting her—and he knew that wanting left him vulnerable.

Vulnerability was hardly a positive thing for a Laird like him.

And he could only imagine that a woman like Isla would be the first to exploit it.