Page 26 of Married to the Cruel Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #5)

26

T he table was laden with bread, roast meats, and bowls of steaming vegetables. The fire crackled loudly, like applause, as Keith entered the Great Hall.

He was the first to arrive, and he grabbed a wine chalice, quickly emptying its contents and refilling it.

I hope I dinnae smell like her, nae when I have to sit next to her braither. I should have thought better of it.

The large, heavy door creaked open, drawing his attention. He hoped it was Ersie.

But Lucas walked in, raising his palms instantly, a smirk spreading across his face. “Easy, Braither. Sorry to disappoint.”

Keith watched his younger brother mirror his movements by grabbing a wine chalice, downing its contents, and refilling it, before he approached the other side of the table.

Keith eyed him curiously.

What have ye been up to? Or should I say ‘who?’

Lucas raised a knowing eyebrow and then shrugged, taking another sip of his drink before the door creaked and their gazes swiveled to it.

Ciaran stalked in, the dark cloud that he was. His predatory movements might have been terrifying had it been anyone but the Dunn brothers in the room.

Laird MacAitken’s scars and his sister’s skill with the blade made them the most notorious siblings in all of Scotland, but in this room, he was just Ciaran.

“Lads,” Ciaran greeted as he too grabbed a chalice, downed its contents, and refilled it before joining them.

“Are ye well?” Lucas asked cheerfully and lifted his chalice as if he hadn’t just done the exact same thing.

“Aye, it’s just the new place. I’m adjustin’ to how ye do things here,” Ciaran said easily, sucking his teeth.

“How’s yer wife?” Keith asked cordially.

“Laura’s been cravin’ jam on everything,” Ciaran said, taking the seat at Keith’s right, and Lucas shifted around to the left. “Fraser has been tellin’ the lads in the yard that he’s goin’ to be a big braither. And yellin’ it, mind ye.”

Keith gave a rare smile. “Sounds like he’s proud of his new role.”

“Proud and loud.” Ciaran chuckled. “The bairn’s due in a couple of weeks, just after the harvest here. Laura reckons it’ll be a lass. I told her I hoped she takes after her maither—stubborn and sharp of tongue.”

“Och,” Lucas chimed in, “so ye want two of them runnin’ about the place? Brave man.”

Their laughter rolled over the table, deep and genuine.

Lucas raised his chalice. “To stubborn women, then.”

“Aye, to stubborn women,” Keith echoed as he and Ciaran lifted their chalices.

Then, like a shift in the wind, the heavy doors opened with a slow, steady creak.

All three men turned to look as Ersie entered the room.

She did not walk in the way she often did. She had a deliberate, confident gait that was unfamiliar to Keith but made his jaw drop nonetheless.

That and the deep emerald-green gown she was wearing.

It shimmered in the firelight like wet leaves in the moonlight. The bodice hugged her figure with intricate gold embroidery that dipped into a flattering square neckline. Her sleeves were long and tight to the elbows, then flared at the wrists, dancing as she moved. Her skirts swished around her in waves of silk, split in the front just enough to show her soft leather boots.

Her wild hair was swept half-up, and gentle curls cascaded over her shoulders.

Keith couldn’t move, his lips parted slightly. He was… She was…

Lucas let out a low whistle. “Well, I’ll be damned, Barcley.”

Ciaran blinked, then laughed. “Who are ye, and what have ye done with me sister?”

Ersie rolled her beautiful dark eyes, and a ghost of a smile danced on her lips. “Dinnae fash, the warrior’s still here,” she said, lifting the slit in the skirt higher to reveal the blade at her thigh.

But Keith’s mind had gone blank.

“Just learnin’ new tactics,” she added with a secretive smile as she took her seat next to Lucas.

Absolutely breathtaking.

“She’s usin’ fashion as a weapon,” Lucas muttered, entirely too pleased.

“Ye well, man?” Ciaran asked with a smirk.

Keith inhaled sharply before clearing his throat. “All good.”

Ersie found his gaze and latched onto it fiercely as the food was served. It was hard to spot at first, but eventually, the fire cast a delicate yellow light on her cheeks, which were flushed a shade of pink so delectable that his chest started to heave a little faster.

How am I meant to survive the rest of the night?

* * *

The clattering of silverware and the low hum of conversation echoed softly through the Great Hall as the second course was cleared and the third was served.

Ersie shifted subtly in her seat, the deep green silk of her dress folding not so easily around her legs. The bodice was snug and digging into her ribs, a prodding sensation biting at her with every breath.

Five.

She counted silently when Keith made eye contact with her again as he carried on a conversation with her brother. She was not entirely sure why she chose to wear the dress tonight, but it just felt right.

Their reactions were priceless, and Keith’s was the most sinful of them all. Ersie flexed her thigh, feeling the cold steel against her bare skin.

Still a warrior.

Ciaran and Keith sat next to each other, deep in conversation about border raids and the waning influence of one of the neighboring clans. Lucas leaned back in his chair to her left, his arms crossed lazily over his chest, his grin as permanent as it was dangerous.

“Glad that’s nae us tonight, for once,” Lucas said, his eyes landing on her chest.

Looking is harmless…

“Aye, I can finally enjoy a meal without doin’ me job,” she said facetiously, and Lucas laughed.

Six.

“New dress, Barcley?” he asked.

“This old thing?” she said sweetly, running a hand over the intricate sleeve.

“Sure,” Lucas said, his eyes devouring her.

“Isla laid it out for me, and I didnae have me usual kit, so I really had nay choice,”

“The horror,” Lucas murmured, twisting to better face her. He even leaned his elbow on the arm of his chair and rested his chin on the heel of his palm.

“Ye have nay idea,” Ersie quipped, taking a sip of her wine.

“Green truly does suit ye, lass.”

“Ye look fine in white, I guess. I have never seen ye in anythin’ else anyway.”

He straightened, feigning offense with a sharp gasp. “I’m wounded, Me Lady. I wore a scarlet riding jacket to the festival, or did ye nae notice?”

“Must have been a rather dull jacket if it werenae memorable.”

A wicked smile split his face then, his chin tilting mischievously. “Or ye were distracted by me braither…”

Seven.

Just then, Lucas’s focus shifted to just over her shoulder, and she followed his gaze.

A familiar blonde swept through the Great Hall, carrying a platter of roasted venison and root vegetables. Her cheeks were flushed with effort and heat from the kitchen, and she paused only slightly as she approached the table.

Ersie blinked in surprise. “Isla?” she asked. “Why are they makin’ ye do this?”

Isla gave a polite nod of her head. “The kitchen maid has been taken ill. They asked me to lend a hand. If ye dinnae mind, Me Lady? I’ll be done and ready for ye later this evenin’ without delay.”

“Nay, of course nae,” Ersie said warmly.

Isla chuckled under her breath and placed a tray carefully on the table before dipping into a curtsy and scurrying away.

Ersie leaned back, just slightly, and that’s when she felt it again. The weight of his stare.

Eight.

She turned her head. But while she expected to meet Keith’s green eyes, she found him deep in conversation with Ciaran, his brow furrowed in concentration, one hand gesturing toward a map that had appeared between them.

“Probably lairdly things,” she muttered under her breath.

Her eyes then rose to Lucas’s.

He had been watching her openly, his grin edged with something dangerous. As if he knew exactly what she had been hoping for and enjoyed denying her.

“Beautiful night, is it nae?” he murmured, lifting his chalice to his lips.

“Aye, it is,” she replied with a half-sweet smile. “So strange to see ye without a sword in yer hand.”

“Ye may laugh at me for using pistols, lass, but I’ll have ye ken that these hands are quite deadly,” he said, holding up his hands and wriggling his fingers playfully. “Anyway, I could say the same to ye. Ye could cause quite a stir in the north with a look like that.”

Again with the dress…

His compliment set her teeth on edge, but she grinned through it and played along out of boredom.

“Ye seem to ken yer way around a gown,” she quipped, which coaxed a deep chuckle from him.

He leaned in closer, and she tilted her head to expose her neck in his direction, even though her focus narrowed on Keith again.

Would he glance over again? Has he noticed this exchange? Can he hear us?

Keith hadn’t so much as looked her way since Isla had entered the hall. His eyes were still trained on Ciaran as they spoke in hushed tones.

But Ersie caught it then. A shift.

It wasn’t Keith she needed to watch at that moment. It was Ciaran.

Her brother had leaned slightly back in his chair, no longer solely focused on the words between him and Keith. Now, his gaze followed hers.

And Ciaran missed nothing.

She straightened and turned her attention to Lucas again, answering his flirtation with a biting quip or two, just enough to seem playful without being inviting. All the while, she felt her brother’s eyes darting between her and Keith.

The air around the table felt like kindling, and Ersie wondered which spark would set it alight first as they started on their next course. And the next. And the next.

Lucas’s behavior is so nauseating. Bless the lass who has to wed him, she thought as he excused himself, no doubt getting into some kind of debauchery.

Ersie leaned back as she sipped the last of her spiced wine, one leg crossed over the other, her dress fanned out around her like a soft green silk pond.

She was content to remain where she was, too full and far too warm to move. Trouble was likely curled up on her bed, waiting for her, and that thought gave her the only motivation she needed to rise.

That was until a familiar shadow loomed over her.

“Ye plan on sittin’ there all night, Ers?”

She blinked up and found herself staring into Ciaran’s sharp, assessing eyes.

Ersie arched an eyebrow. “Thought I might. Unless ye’re here to pull me away for some big braither scolding. Again.”

He smirked, but there was no edge to it. “Temptin’ as that might be, nay. I only wanted to ask about the investigation.”

Her back straightened with surprise. “The investigation?”

Ciaran nodded. “Ye’ve been pickin’ apart pieces of this thing since ye arrived. I’m curious to ken what yer next move is, since I’m stayin’ till either the investigation or the two weeks are over.”

She watched him closely, trying to gauge if this was leading somewhere else, but he looked entirely sincere.

“Tomorrow,” she began slowly, setting her chalice down, “I’m goin’ to speak to the guards at the southern border again. One of ‘em mentioned a strange hissin’ sound near the lake that might have been steam or snake… or somethin’ else altogether. I dinnae think it was just the wind, and it’s the oddest part about it at the moment.”

Ciaran crossed his arms. “Seems worth investigatin’. I’ll come with ye.”

That made her pause. Her lips parted, but no words came.

He is offering to come along? No remarks? No control or conditions?

“Aye,” she said at last, dipping her head. “I’d like that.”

“Too bad ye willnae come,” came a voice behind them, and they both turned to see Keith approaching from the shadows, a lazy grin on his lips.

Ersie’s heart jumped. She hadn’t even heard him coming.

“Ye dinnae have to, lass,” he said, clapping Ciaran on the shoulder with a hand that didn’t quite look relaxed. “I’ll take yer braither. It’d be a pleasure, truly.”

Ciaran raised an eyebrow. “Ye sure, MacAuley?”

“Positive. I ken the path better than anyone. Besides, she looks like she could use a mornin’ to spar.”

Ciaran looked between them and then, with a shrug that said he wasn’t going to argue, let Keith guide him away with some quiet remark about maps in the study.

Ersie exhaled slowly and pushed away from the table, suddenly aware of the dragging hours and the bodice digging into her sides.

I wish I could grab me blade and cut this damned thing off of me.

She grumbled to herself as she walked back down the corridor to her chambers, her skirt gathered in one hand and her thoughts a tumble of things she didn’t dare put into words.

The keep had grown quiet in the way only stone walls could—echoing with absence, every footfall a reminder of how alone one could feel, even inside a crowded home.

Trouble was indeed waiting for her, curled up at the foot of the bed, his tail tucked around his paws like a proper wee prince. She scratched his chin, then took off her dress with a tired sigh, draping it carefully over the chair before slipping into her night shift.

Her limbs ached from more than just riding and dancing and sparring. Images flashed across her memory—of Keith’s mouth on her, her back arching impossibly high off the bed, his devilish hands and eyes. She slid beneath the furs and curled up on her side, Trouble hopping up beside her and nudging her belly with a soft mewl.

Her mind betrayed her, though. Thoughts of Keith, of his laughter at dinner, the way his hand lingered on her back when he passed behind her chair, the press of his chest against hers only a few hours ago—the anger she felt when he said he would take her brother around and leave her in the keep.

There was no way she could sleep now.

She was at his door moments later. Knowing better than to knock at this hour, Ersie slipped through the wooden door without a sound and closed it behind her.

His chambers were dimly lit, but still somehow warm.

Keith was sitting on his bed, his hand on his dagger as his eyes tracked her movements.

“Have ye come to kill me, finally?” he drawled, sliding the blade back under his pillow.

“Nay, but I am right frustrated with ye.”

“Frustrated? Why?”

“Why did ye treat me like that after supper? Talking around me and tellin’ me to stay here? I’m nae a prisoner.”

“Nay, ye arenae,” he said, the muscle in his jaw fluttering.

“Ye treat me as such, and in front of me braither at that! I’m a warrior, Keith. Ye cannae undermine me like that in front of him,” she hissed.

Keith slid out from beneath the blankets and crossed the room to her. “Ye were flirting with Lucas again. On purpose. I watched ye.”

Their noses were almost touching, and Ersie realized the misstep she had made by coming to his room tonight. This was supposed to be an attempt to convince him to take her with him, not… whatever this was.

“Ye should go.” His voice was menacing.

“Nae until ye agree to let me come with ye both tomorrow morning.”

“I willnae.”

“Tell me why — ” she started to demand, but he quickly interrupted her.

“Ye flirted with Lucas once again tonight, so ye can stay here while I take yer braither out.”

“Ye dare to punish me? I wasnae flirting with him. I was talking to him, since ye and Ciaran were busy. Did ye expect me to nae speak to anyone?”

“I expect ye to nae fling yerself at me braither minutes after I’ve tasted ye,” he said, his chest heaving.

The whiskey on his breath yanked her in a hundred different directions. She was drowning in the minuscule space between them.

“If ye werenae so insecure in our friendship, ye wouldnae be sayin’ such ridiculous things.”

Keith paused, his body taught with restraint. “The ridiculous thing about this is that ye have come into me chambers, in the dead of night, as if I wasnae the Mad Laird. As if I was a better man. Please hear me when I tell ye this only once—Yer reputation will be ruined. I will claim ye right here and make ye scream me name, with yer braither in the room next door. Ye and I arenae friends, Ersie. Never enter these chambers again, unless ye wish to see just how serious I am. Leave. Now.”

The threat of ruin wasn’t what made her turn away from him. Nor was the fact that her brother was in the room next door. It was the promise in his voice. The menace caressing her spine as he staked his claim on her entire body with one word. It was the vow that ‘he will,’ not the possibility that ‘he would.’

Ersie heard nothing else as she turned to leave. There was a loud ringing in her ears that stifled any noise other than the thundering beat of her traitorous heart. Not the latch of his door or her bare footsteps in the corridors or her door latch. Not when she added wood to the fire and opened a window to cool her heated skin.

It wasn’t until she climbed into bed, and Trouble snuggled up against her chest under the heavy blankets, that the rush of sound assaulted her senses.

The soft purs of the tiny kitten soothed her wild mind and eased her crazed nerves. And when she finally drifted off, it was with a single thought burning at the edge of her dreams: Keith’s hands, rough and calloused, wrapping around her as if she were the only thing that could tether him to this world.