Page 17 of The Highlander's Auctioned Hellion
The man on its back could only be Laird Murray. He was wearing a loose red jacket over his léine, the cloth billowing in the breeze as he approached. He had the best seat of any man she’d seen, making man and beast look as if they had merged into one.
He drew alongside the carriage, his dark eyes staring at her for a long moment before he nodded in greeting but did not say a word. Spurring the horse forward, he went to speak with his man-at-arms.
Lydia scowled at his back.
Why did he ride all this way if he isn’t even going to greet me?
When she looked over at Hannah, her maid was in the corner of the carriage, staring at the window as if the devil himself had just appeared.
“Thatis who ye are marryin’? That scarred brute?”
Lydia frowned at her. “Yes,” she said firmly, pushing away her own uncertainty at the reaction. “Would you have preferred an old man who was worse than Father?”
Hannah did not reply, smoothing her hair and dress as they reached the castle, looking more fearful than ever.
So much for finding her a new position where she is not terrified of her own shadow.
Lydia watched the high walls surround them, reminding her that she was in the middle of nowhere now and at the whims of a man she barely knew.
As she alighted, Laird Murray was dismounting from his horse, and Lydia could not help but stare at him.
The scars in the bright sunshine were stark against his tanned skin. His long hair, almost black, cascaded down his back, loose and wild, matching the horse. His chest, which had seemed so large in the gardens, seemed to have grown even wider in the time since she had last seen him.
Whatever life this man has lived, it has not been an easy one.
“Did yer maither nae teach ye it is rude to stare, M’Lady?” He growled. The way her title rolled off his tongue made a small shiver run up her spine.
He might be scarred and battered by the world, but he was still the strongest man she had ever seen.
She cleared her throat, averting her gaze. “I am sorry, I suppose I did not see you fully before.”
His easy expression hardened, and his lips pursed together as he set his jaw.
“Aye, well, there’s nothin’ to be done about it now. Ye’re here, are ye nae?”
Horror swamped her when she realized he must think she had been referring to his scars. She opened her mouth to rectify that, but he was already walking past her.
“Come with me,” he snarled, and Lydia glanced back at Hannah, who seemed very relieved to be directing the servants with her luggage rather than accompanying her.
After another glance at her new home, she made her way after the Laird, nausea rising with every step.
Everything about this place was large—the Laird, his horse, the castle itself. The ceilings were five times higher than any house she had ever entered in London. The wind was brisk and cold about her skirts as she hurried inside, even in the middle of spring.
As she went into the high entrance hall, she could see his huge back disappearing through a doorway on her right. She had to run to keep up with him, concerned that she might lose him.
Lydia could imagine spending hours wandering the castle corridors, calling for someone to come and help her, and never finding her way back again.
Eventually, he stepped through a low doorway, and she found herself in a pleasant room, large and well-furnished with an almost homely feel. It was a surprise—she had half expected a dungeon.
She wondered if it was a study, but this room was devoid of books. Her father’s study haddozensof books from floor to ceiling, none of which she had ever been permitted to read.
She liked this space; it felt welcoming in a way her father’s house never had. That is, until the Laird closed the door, his big body crowding her as he went to lean against his desk.
He did not sit, simply leaning his thighs against it and crossing his massive arms over his chest.
Lydia fidgeted, unsure of what was about to be shared between them.
The Laird ran his eyes over her, his throat working as he seemed to try to visibly relax, his shoulders slumped, his stance a little less rigid than it had been. Finally, he let out a long breath, his eyes softening as he shook his head.
