Page 6 of The Highlander’s Auctioned Hellion (Auctioned Highland Brides #4)

Callum blinked at her.

Well, I didnae expect that to come out of her wee mouth.

He shifted his weight, leaning his head to one side to look at her, enjoying the blush that covered her cheeks.

“Is that what ye think of me then?”

Lydia bit her lip, staring at the floor. “Is that not what every man wants when they marry?” she asked. Her voice was small suddenly, and he didn’t like the look in her eyes.

“Aye, many of them dae, but I am nay one of them.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, that I dinnae care for continuin’ me line. It isnae what I brought you here for. I want ye to raise me nieces for me.”

Her eyes grew round as saucers, her hand rising to cover her stomach as she absorbed his words.

Callum waited.

I am just grateful she doesnae act like every silly English woman and have hysterics at every request.

Lydia leaned back against the door behind her, her whole body appearing to deflate as her shoulders lowered in disbelief.

“Nieces?” she asked weakly. “How many nieces?”

He smirked. “Just the two. They arrived at the same time, ye see, just like me and me…” he bit his tongue before the words slipped out. “Well, never mind that now. It doesnae matter. All I ask, for ye to retain yer freedom, is that ye care for those wee girls.”

Her eyes had looked as green as a forest canopy when they had first met, but now they were bright as a grassy field in June. She contemplated him curiously, long eyelashes fluttering like butterflies.

Look away! Would you stop starin’ at her?

But his eyes wouldn’t obey the commands of his mind.

Her hair would likely have been tied neatly by her maid that morning, but the long journey had worked it loose.

A piece of it had slipped free behind her ear, and Callum’s fingers itched to curl it back into place.

“I understand,” she said, pushing herself off the door and squaring her shoulders like she was going into battle. “I love children and will do my best to make them happy.”

Callum nodded, still disquieted by the urge he had to get closer to her. He wanted to smell her scent again, as he had done when she alighted from the carriage. It was like wild heather on a heath at dawn.

It has been too long since I’ve been with a woman. Any woman! That’s why me body cannae control itself. Pull yerself together, Callum.

“And another thing,” he said firmly, as her eyes moved back to his, delicate eyebrows raising in query. “I dinnae wish to speak to ye unless it is absolutely necessary.”

He kept his tone authoritative, even as his usual control felt as if it was slipping through his fingers. There was a part of him that already wanted to ignore his own rule in that regard. He wanted to follow her from room to room, to make sure she was happy here.

He dug his nails into his palm so hard he felt the skin break.

Lydia stilled. Her confusion was growing like a petal unfurling on a flower stem.

“You don’t wish to speak to me?” she asked. “But you want us to be married!”

“Aye, well, this isnae goin’ to be a traditional marriage, nae like yer wee friends in London and their romantic fairy stories.

You are in the north now. This is an arrangement that’ll work for us both, and that’ll be the end of it.

Besides, I can hardly keep ye here without marryin’ ye, the villagers would talk. ”

“I—” her mouth opened and closed several times, her fidgeting becoming more agitated as her fingers began twisting in front of her.

The sight of her distress made his skin itch, and he sighed in exasperation.

“Listen, lass. Ye needed me to escape, and I needed someone to take care of the bairns. See it as useful for both of us. Ye get away from yer idiot of a father, and I give me nieces a mother again.”

“What happened to their parents?”

“Never ye mind,” he growled, the intensity of his anger surprising him as it rose inside like a snake as he fought an urge to hurl a chair across the room.

Me braither finally knew I told the truth, and he died of a broken heart. That’s what happened.

He waited for Lydia to cower in the face of his temper, shrinking from him like many grown men had done before her. Callum did not need to shout or raise his voice to make his point known. He spoke softly and clearly, and people had a habit of doing his bidding.

But his bride did neither of those things. She straightened her shoulders defiantly, then crossed her arms over her chest like a petulant child. It looked as if she were seconds away from stamping her foot.

“If you wish me to raise the children, do you not think I deserve to know who I am replacing?”

“Ye are doin’ what I tell ye to do. That is all ye need to ken.”

“Is that so?” she snapped. “Well then, I have some rules of my own.”

Callum scoffed. “Ye dinnae get rules in me castle, lass. That’s nae for ye to dictate.”

She stepped forward, eyes flashing, and for the first time, Callum saw what she might look like when she lost her temper.

He couldn’t look away.

“Are you saying that whatever happens in this castle must be approved and decided by you? Because I have lived in a house like that all my life, and I will not be commanded like some servant by my own husband, no matter how convenient he might be.”

Callum was stunned as a rush of amusement skittered through him for the first time in months.

It wasn’t that what she said was funny, but anyone defying him was very amusing indeed. The fact that the person doing it was five feet tall and a third of his size was even more comical to him.

How long has it been since someone told me I couldnae dae somethin’?

Biting his tongue, he waved a hand vaguely at her and shrugged his shoulders as if he were indifferent to anything she might say.

“Very well, lass, what are yer rules ?”

Lydia cleared her throat, alarmed when the Laird chose that moment to stand at his full height and move toward her.

Is he trying to intimidate me into silence? I will not allow it.

She stood her ground until he was within a foot of her, and then her courage failed, and she stepped back, her shoulders hitting the door again as the breath burst from her lungs.

His huge forearms were at eye level, his scarred face looking down at her expectantly.

It struck her in that moment that his face was far from being ugly.

The scars might have marred it, but beneath the frowning fury was a sharp jaw, long straight nose, and deep soulful eyes like a lake in the summer sun.

“I’m listenin’,” his voice had the same soporific quality it had had in the gardens. Lydia was unable to suppress a shiver as it rolled over her.

She clenched her fists tightly as she looked up at him, refusing to look away.

“Well… you promised me freedom, and I want it forever, not just the first few years. You can never send me back to my father against my will. And I want my mother and brother to be able to visit whenever they want. And I know you said you want no heirs…” she trailed off, wondering whether she had the courage to say it.

“Yes?”

“But that doesn’t give you the right to take other women to your bed if you change your mind.”

She stuck out her chin defiantly, nerves rising again as she considered what she was asking.

Even if he tells me he will not take other women to his bed, I have no proof that he will hold by that. My father said the same to my mother, and that was a lie, too. Those deep blue eyes stared down at her with an unreadable look, as if he were trying to decipher an interesting problem.

For some reason, the thought of this man lying with any woman disturbed her more than it should have on such a brief acquaintance.

She held his gaze, swallowing around the lump that formed in her throat.

The Laird had not moved for some time, the same odd expression on his face. The scars distorted the line of his eyebrows, making it look as if the one on the left was perpetually raised in surprise.

“Why would I choose to lie with other women if I change me mind?” he asked.

Slowly, his arms unfurled, and he placed them on either side of her head, leaning his body over her, until she was bent backward beneath him. The position did strange things to her insides.

“Have ye prohibited me from touchin’ ye and I dinnae remember?”

She shuddered, her fingers clutching at her skirts, willing herself to keep looking into his eyes.

This man wasn’t intimidated by anything—he dominated every space and conversation he was a part of, as if he had every right to control everything and anyone around him.

“No,” she attempted. “But some men are so desperate to have an heir that suddenly their wife isn’t enough anymore.”

A rush of emotion threatened to overwhelm her.

“My father was so desperate for a son that he discarded his wife without a second thought and took her lady’s maid to his bed. When my brother was born, he forced my mother to raise a boy she hadn’t birthed because he wanted a son so badly. Men do what they want, and they always will.”

Thinking of her mother, the scandal of Tommy’s birth, and her father’s indifference to her unhappiness made her furious all over again.

Tears built in her eyes, and finally she had to look away, humiliated to show such weakness in the face of her future husband—a man who had probably never cried in his life.

“I suppose it is wrong of me to assume, but…”

The Laird uncoiled from his bent position above her, his hands sliding down the wall to just above her shoulders, before he pulled away completely.

“Nay,” he whispered. “It is good to assume the worst. Even wise. But ye need have nay fear on that score, oh bride of mine. I dinnae care for heirs, and I certainly dinnae care for any woman.”

That response was almost worse.

Lydia certainly had not wished to be forced to bear a man’s heir if she could avoid it, but to be condemned to a loveless marriage just like her mother and father had experienced— because of her father—was a bitter blow.

But it must be better than staying in London and marrying a man twice my age.

She sighed, standing at her full height and nodding, pulling at her travel-creased clothes and smoothing her hair.

The Laird’s hand jerked forward in an aborted movement toward her, and then he clenched his massive fist and made a growling sound at the back of his throat.

“Ye can go, lass. Ye must be tired.”

Lydia did not say anything more, turning around and opening the door slowly. She stepped outside, the gloom of the corridor enveloping her as she closed the door gently behind her.

When will I see him again? What does only speaking when “absolutely necessary” even mean?

Lydia had no idea where she was in the castle, but began walking all the same, allowing the cold flagstones to guide her, uncaring of where she ended up.

She supposed she should be grateful that he had removed her from London, but had she stepped out of the frying pan and into the fire?

Indifference and distance for eternity. Perhaps I would have been better off with an old man.