Page 11 of Claimed by the Obsessed Laird (Highland Bride Hunt #1)

Chapter Nine

Isla reached the top of the stairs, letting her skirts drop back over her ankles. It felt as though she had been trying to find him for hours, scouting out Camron in every corner of this place, to little end.

Ever since she had witnessed the fight in the courtyard, she had known something was wrong with him, whether he was willing to admit it or not.

It might have been easy for him to convince himself that this was just how a Laird acted, keeping his subjects in line, making sure no one dared step out and cause him trouble.

And it was undeniable that he had some impressive skills with a sword.

But why did he seem so determined to turn them on Archie?

And why had the look in his eyes spoken to a rage darker than anything she had seen from him before?

Finally, she noticed firelight spilling from a half-open door at the end of the corridor, and she made her way towards it. His study.

That must have been where he was hiding after the events of the day, though she hesitated before she stepped inside. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be alone with him, not after what she had seen. Would she be putting herself in impossible danger letting a man like Camron lay eyes on her once more?

She brushed it aside as she stepped over the threshold. This was her husband, was it not? She was entirely within her rights to see him, to speak with him, to demand an explanation as to why he had acted the way he had out there.

Inside, the fireplace cast long shadows against the walls, and the sharp scent of ale hung in the air.

Camron was sitting with his back to the door, facing the flames.

She could make out the darkness cast across half of his face, and, as she approached, he lifted his cup to his lips, not bothering to turn and acknowledge her.

“Camron,” she demanded, planting her hands on her hips and glaring down at him. He took a long sip before he raised his gaze to meet hers.

“Aye?” he muttered.

The casual tone in his voice only served to irritate her further.

How could he speak in such tones when he knew what he had done?

She had tried to catch him before he had made his way back into the Keep after that fearsome fight with Archie, but he had practically brushed her off, not so much as acknowledging her presence there at all.

She had tried her best not to let it get under her skin, but she could not help but feel stung by it.

Was there any part of her that her husband could stand, or was he just putting up with what he had to in order to get an heir out of her?

“What on earth was all that today?” she retorted, raising her eyebrows at him pointedly.

“What do you mean?”

“Dinnae start with that,” she warned him. “Yer people might let you get away without answering their questions, but I’m yer wife. So, tell me. What happened there with Archie?”

The mention of Archie’s name made his face tense, as though that was the last thing he wanted to talk about.

“It was a friendly spar. Nothing more to it than that.”

“I don’t believe ye,” she replied. “I saw the way ye looked at him. There was real anger there, Camron, and ye cannae pretend otherwise.”

He shrugged. His silence only served to anger her further.

She clenched her fists at her sides. How much would he force her to drag out of him?

She felt as though she was crashing up against a brick wall at every turn, each and every attempt she made to get through to him pushed aside before she could make it stick.

“As I told ye, we were training.”

“Why won’t you talk to me as an equal?” she blurted out at last, the frustration bubbling over like a kettle left for too long on the stove. “I’m meant to be yer wife. The Lady of this place. Everyone else treats me that way, but ye?—”

“I’ve given ye everything ye could possibly want,” he replied, his voice dropping low, as though daring her to continue. “And if ye’re too selfish to?—”

“Selfish?” she exclaimed. “Tell me, Camron, how I can be selfish when you have taken so much from me? I had no choice in coming here. And ye treat me like a pawn, like I’m nothing more than some broodmare for ye to have yer heir with.

It’s not exactly what any woman would have dreamed of when they imagined taking a husband, but?—”

“That’s how ye think I see ye?” he cut her off, silencing her with his low tone.

She could not tell if he was angry or not, and it scared her to silence.

“Well, given that ye hardly seem willing to let me live as I please. And the way ye like to tease me and leaving me hanging like I am nothing but a toy for yer amusement…” she replied, casting her eyes skywards.

Truthfully, she could not bear to meet his gaze, as though she would not be able to maintain her certainty if she did.

He rose to his feet, casting aside the cup of ale as he did so. With his back to the fire, he was outlined in flames, a dark shape against the red and orange.

“I dinnae ask much of ye, lass,” he growled. “Just that ye stay away from my cousin. Or any other man at that.”

Her eyebrows shot up. Was that what this was all about?

Some ill-fated attempt to get her to give up on whatever burgeoning friendship she had managed to make here?

The thought of it was almost enough to make her laugh, it was so ridiculous.

How dare he speak to her in such a fashion, try to force her away from the friendship she had here?

“Ye’re nothing but an arrogant prig,” she shot back. “If ye think I cannae so much as have a friend here without?—”

“Ye smile at him,” he continued, closing the distance between them. Suddenly, the flames licking from the hearth did not seem like the warmest thing in the room.

“And yet ye treat me as though I’m yer enemy. Ye give me the cold shoulder like it’s only natural for ye. Explain that to me, lass.”

For a moment, she glimpsed not just his temper, but something that lay beneath, too—something like hurt.

Her words faltered in her throat. As much as she wanted to tell him that he had no right to speak to her that way, or to lay down rules on who she could and couldn’t talk to, she knew that it would not salve the sting that she had left on him.

And when he heard the quiet between them, the sudden faltering of her usually sharp words, he moved towards her, backing her against the door she had entered through.

Her heart leapt into her throat. It wasn’t fear, though, it was something else—something like what she had felt when he had kissed her in their wedding ceremony, when he had claimed her the way he had.

“Camron—” she breathed.

But, before she could say another word, he moved into her and kissed her once more.

It was less a romantic embrace and more a demand.

His tongue parted her lips and sank into her, drawing her against him with the passion that only a man who felt he had been cheated of her attentions could have mustered.

For a split second, she thought of fighting it, but she gave in after a moment.

She did not have it in her to push against him, not when the strength of his body felt as delicious as it did.

His hands grasped for her waist and her hips, gripping her with the same intensity he had poured into fighting Archie earlier.

She reached up to tangle her fingers in his hair, her husband, her Laird, the man who had taken her and claimed her and made her his—but not yet in the way that really mattered.

He drew back, catching his breath, and dragged his nose along her cheek, his mouth coming to pause next to her ear.

“Tell me that you dinnae want me, lass,” he murmured to her, a challenge on his tongue, a warning. “Look me in the eye and lie. Tell me that ye dinnae want me. Or perhaps I’ll check for myself…”

She swallowed hard. Her body had responded to his teasing, there was no doubt about that.

And she could recall, all too vividly, what it had felt like for her when they had first met, when he had danced with her and drawn her close like he could not imagine anything he wanted more.

His hand moved boldly down between her legs, sliding up to cup her womanhood, his fingers dipping against her and sending a blur of frenzied want through her.

“Ah, I see you dinnae have to tell me,” he remarked, his voice infuriatingly self-satisfied.

Her eyes struggled to find his, searching for a glare, a glower, something to tell him that she was not so entirely lost to him, but she could not muster it. His thumb skimmed her most swollen part, and she gasped as he brushed his lips along her neck.

Back at the feast, she would have ached to kiss him as he had just kissed her now, relished in his passionate pursuit, but this… this was different. He had taken her away from her family, from her life, with no warning and no choice in the matter.

And yet here she was, rewarding him for it, letting him touch her and please her in ways that nobody else ever had before…

He pulled his hand away and she let out a whimper. She loathed herself as much as she craved him in that moment, hated that she could not deny how much she wanted him, despite it all, despite how much he infuriated her.

She couldn’t let him win this. She had to fight with her desire.

She could see the burning lust in his eyes, so naked and so obvious it was almost enough to change her mind.

To have a man look on her in such a way—not just any man, but a man like him, a man who commanded so much power and influence—it was intoxicating, and she could imagine how much better it would have felt to give herself to him entirely.

But, instead, she straightened her skirt and lowered her eyes to the ground as she dropped into a curtsy.

“Goodnight, my Laird” she mumbled to him, pulling the door open and putting some distance between the two of them. Her lips still tingling from the intensity of the kiss, her knees still trembling from the way he had touched her.

And before he could utter another word in protest, she turned on her heel and made her way back down the corridor, giving him a taste of his own medicine. Rushing towards her chambers she did her best to put out of her mind the way it had felt for him to tease her like he owned her once more.

Because if she lingered on it for too long, she knew she would have turned around and fallen into his arms and asked him to make her his in a way that she would never be able to return from.

No, what little power she had, she must cling to it with all her might, even if the intensity of his embrace was almost enough to convince her otherwise.