Page 4 of Claimed By the Heartless Highlander
Unfortunately, she suspected her father was beginning to tire of waiting to meet her imaginary suitor. Laird MacMicking had wasted no time relaying the tale she’d told him, and since then, she’d been bombarded with increasingly less subtle hints and commands to cease her farcical attempts at avoiding her responsibilities.
That was why—although she regretted it—her current letter began with a jokingly sorrowful note.
My Dear Laird Imaginary Muir,
I’ve enjoyed our correspondence, my dear phantom, or Fae Prince, whichever you may be, but alas, I think it is time for you to meet your end… or at the very least, to cease these games we play with one another…
She was about to continue the letter with a series of suggestions of how his “demise” might be accomplished when a hurried knock sounded at the door and her sisters burst into the room, their identical brown eyes wide and their clothing disheveled from what seemed to have been a race through the castle.
Ailis took in their appearances and frowned. Freya’s neatly braided red hair was coming undone, and Grace looked like she’d been playing in a wind storm—or making her escape after pulling pranks on the scullery maids again.
“Here now, straighten yerselves up, and catch yer breath, then ye can tell me what’s got ye all flustered.”
Freya looked worried and was practically wringing her hands. Grace, on the other hand, was almost jumping in excitement, her expression gleeful in a way it hadn’t been since she’d managed to sneak a whole basket of fruit tarts and sweetened cream into her room the week before.
“He’s here!”
The words didn’t tell Ailis much of anything. She wasn’t aware of any guests they were expecting, at least none that would require her presence, or cause her sisters such excitement.
“Who is here?”
“It’s nae time for questions! We cannae keep him waitin’!”
Together, Freya and Grace pulled her out of her seat. Grace practically pushed her toward the door of her rooms, while Freya fluttered around in a vain attempt to straighten her hair and clothes, as well as clean the ink stains off her fingers.
Ailis gave up after a moment and let them guide her toward a drawing room off the Great Hall. The door was open, and she spotted her father inside, deep in conversation with someone. His round face bore an expression of pleased surprise, and his shoulders were loose and relaxed, his hands clasped comfortably at his ample waist. Whoever he was speaking to, they couldn’t be bringing bad news.
It was only when she stepped inside that she saw the guest waiting with her father.
Her breath caught in her throat. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a trim waist, like a hero from a tale. But while her books talked of pale, smooth-skinned perfection, the man in front of her was deeply tanned and marked with thin scars on his hands and the corner of his jaw. There was also one above his eyebrow.
His mouth was stern, his hair a deep night-black color that seemed to be threaded with subtle hues that she couldn’t quite make out. It framed a strong, chiseled face, and eyes blue as a summer sky.
He was a creature of daydreams, and yet all too real, in a way that somehow made him more eye-catching. Just looking at him made her heart thump and her stomach clench in a way she’d never experienced with any other man.
He caught her eye, and she thought she saw a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth, before he resumed his stern expression. “Good afternoon to ye, Ailis.”
She stumbled a bit in surprise.
How does he ken me name? I’d certainly remember if I’d ever met a man like him!
Her father turned, then hurried toward her, his expression turning into one of chagrin that somehow didn’t manage to dampen his apparent happiness as he took her hands in his and squeezed them warmly. “Och, Ailis, me beloved child. Forgive me for nae believin’ ye, and for trying to force ye into a union with another laird, when ye were being courted already. I thought ye were jokin’ with the letters, but I see now ye were telling the truth.”
He wrapped her in a tight hug, and she took the opportunity to hide her flabbergasted bemusement.
What? What is he… what’s happenin’ here?
She blinked as her father pulled away, still too stunned and confused to be able to form a proper answer. “I… I dinnae understand…”
“Dinnae fret, me love.” The man spoke for the first time, and his voice was like the deep rumble of a thunderstorm and rain over the lochs. “Ye need nae continue the pretense, for I’ve already told yer faither everythin’.” Another fleeting, barely visible smile. “He kens I’ve come to take ye away, back to me castle, as I’ve longed to do for so long.”
“I… ye’ve…”
He cocked his head. “Ye’re so bold with yer writin’. Had I kenned ye’d be so shy in person, mayhap I’d have sent ye another letter to warn ye afore I arrived. But then, I only wanted to surprise ye, love, and I was eager to see ye.”
Letters… och, nae… it cannae be…
Ailis gulped in surprise. “Laird Muir…”
