Page 31 of Saved by the Cruel Highlander (Lairds of the Loch Alliance #1)

CHAPTER ONE

“… s

he isnae a woman I wish to marry.”

Ailith wasn’t sure she heard correctly throu?gh the thick planks of the door. The hum of the grand feast at MacCullach Castle distracted her from the hushed conversation beyond the door to Laird MacCullach’s study. Her heart fluttered madly as she tried to listen in.

Ailith knew the importance of this night. Hers and her family’s fate was about to be decided on this visit to the neighboring Laird of Clan MacCullach, Hamish Smith. The feast was arranged to discuss her possible betrothal to the Laird, which her father pinned his hopes on to restore his reputation. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and the light tinkle of fine crystal, yet these delights could not sweeten the bitterness in her mouth.

Her father was partaking in the feast just one floor down, waiting to discuss the possibility of her betrothal, and she knew she shouldn’t be caught spying. Tucking a stray curl behind her ear, she edged closer to the study, the voices within becoming clearer.

Hugging the shadows, she lingered outside the study, where Hamish had retreated after his toast. Ailith had yearned for just a morsel of conversation with him during the feast, a glance, anything. Now, at least, she could glean his thoughts, unguarded and raw.

“Aye, I cannae wait for the morrow,” Hamish’s voice carried through the oak door. “This betrothal will set many things right.”

She allowed herself a small smile. That he looked forward to their union lifted the weight of uncertainty if only a bit.

“I just cannae stand the sight of her,” he continued, his words muffled slightly by the glass he lifted to his lips.

The smile died on Ailith’s lips.

“Hideous, she is.”

The sound of his gulp as he downed his whiskey seemed to echo in her ears.

Hideous?

The word clung to her, a label she was stuck with for the better part of her life. Laird MacCullach, like many others, condemned her without so much as a second look. He, who spoke so callously of her, was the one her future could soon be tied to.

Her first instinct was to flee, to escape the pain that lanced through her. No, she would not cower. Ailith took a deep breath to steady herself and hardened her expression. If Hamish thought her so unsightly, then he would be met not with tears but with the fire of a woman scorned. She refused to be the pitiful creature he painted with his words.

She pressed her ear to the wooden door. Her heart raced as she listened, every fiber of her being straining to catch the murmured dialogue that filtered through the study door.

“I dinnae ken if I can even bring meself to consummate the union,” Laird MacCullach confessed, a tinge of disgust lacing his words. “Perhaps me cousin will stand in for me. The lad beds any lass that so much as glances his way.”

Ailith gasped silently, then her hand flew to her mouth to stifle any sound that might betray her presence. A lump formed in her throat, tears threatening to spill.

The rustle of fabric gave a hint of movement within the room. There was a softness to the reply that followed, a feminine voice laced with laughter. “Ye are wicked, Hamish. Yer bride-to-be isnae fortunate.”

Ailith’s grip on the doorframe tightened, her knuckles whitening.

A woman?

The possibility of a mistress had never occurred to her. The voices turned into whispers, and Ailith leaned closer, her pulse thundering in her ears. Hamish’s next words were a low growl, barely audible above the din of her shock.

“I have nay stomach for this marriage, nor for the bride.”

Ailith felt her cheeks burn with shame and fury.

How could I have been so naive as to think any good would come of this?

The study door was ajar just enough for Ailith to spy the scene within. She peered through, her eyes finding Hamish and the woman in an intimate embrace.

The woman laughed, tilting her head back. Then, she fell onto Hamish and kissed him, her arms wrapped around his neck.

Ailith felt the bannocks threatening to come back up her throat. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t avert her eyes. The man she would be promised to was embracing another, speaking about her with disdain. This man she had to marry to save her father’s reputation.

The woman’s laughter rang out again, and Ailith shrank back. She had come seeking the truth about Hamish’s character, and now she had it in full measure. He was not just indifferent to her but cruel, willing to dishonor her with both deed and word.

“Ye truly find her so repulsive, Hamish?” the woman teased, laughter in her voice.

Hamish chuckled. “As repulsive as a loch choked with weeds. I would rather bed the devil himself.”

Ailith watched, unable to look away, as the woman straddled Hamish, her skirts hiking up. Their kiss deepened.

Unable to hide her gasp, she stumbled back.

As if sensing an audience, Hamish’s eyes suddenly snapped towards the door.

It was then that she felt it—a hand over her mouth. A jolt of fear shot through her as she was pulled back from the crack in the door, her eyes wide and darting to the owner of the hand.

A man’s dark eyes met hers, intense and unyielding. Ailith could glimpse a few of his features, even in the darkness of the corridor. He was tall, his presence commanding, with a quiet strength that was somehow reassuring even in her fright. This was no servant—the cut of his clothes and the firm set of his jaw spoke of a man of high rank.

He didn’t speak, but his message was clear as he placed a finger over his lips. With a gentle but firm grip, he guided her away from the study, into the deeper shadows of the hall.

Ailith’s mind raced. She knew that he could just as well be dangerous. But for some reason, she let herself be dragged away by the mysterious man.

Questions went by in a flash, but one remained.

What have I gotten meself into?