Page 80 of The Scot Beds His Wife
An audible gasp permeated the room, uttered by more than one person.
The Demon Highlander’s lip merely twitched upward. “No offense intended, Miss Ross, but we were half afraid Thorne coerced ye into this against yer will. I’m here to rescue ye if need be.”
“Ye’re here to marry her to me, and that’s the end of it,” Gavin snarled.
Liam remained silent, his midnight eyes never leaving those of Gavin’s intended’s. “I’ll have yer answer, lass.”
Whatever breath left in Gavin deserted him as the one woman he’d never been able to tempt, and the one man he’d never been able to forgive stared at each other in silent congress.
In what dim light filtered through the storm, Gavin saw in Alison what he’d not noted before.
Not just defiance. Strength.
Smudges of exhaustion bruised her lapis eyes. A pinch of strain about her strawberry lips. The load of a thousand worries lifted by thin, rebellious shoulders. Yet here she stood against a man who’d withered legions with only a look.
And she never blinked.
Suddenly he wanted everyone to go away, most especially his brother. He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her everything. He wanted her toknowhim, to understand him, because no one did.
No one tried.
Every woman looked at him—stared at him—but none of them saw a fucking thing.
He wanted to promise her that he’d let her rest until those dark smudges beneath her eyes disappeared. To offer to shoulder the weight of her burdens. He would vow that he’d never make her afraid. Or hurt. Or betrayed. That she’d never go without. That he could not give her his love but, hunter that he was, he’d bring the corpse of anyone who dared threaten her and toss it beneath her feet. That he’d rid her of the shadows that haunted her eyes like tormented ghosts.
She didn’t look at him. Not once.
Gavin’s heart kicked behind his chest as she met the eyes of the man they called the Demon Highlander with as steady a gaze as he’d ever seen and said, “My will hasalwaysbeen my own, and I aim to be married today.”
***
Samantha stared at her signature as the dark giant they called the Demon Highlander took the pen and scrawled his name on the marriage document. He was what Robert Smith, her foster father, would have called a “corn-fed side of beef.” If Samantha thought he was handsome, it was because he resembled Gavin, but only like a shadow resembled the real thing. Sort of bigger, darker, and more unwieldy.
Lord love Mena for taking him on. She supposed someone had to.
Alison Ross,the signature said. It wasn’t her name, and it wasn’t her writing, either. Her hand had trembled so terribly, it looked like an illiterate child had signed for her. Which they probably suspected she was.
She might be brave, but she certainly wasn’t fearless.
She could feel Gavin’s intense regard, and for some reason couldn’t bring herself to look at him, lest she lose her nerve. He was too beautiful to marry, wasn’t he? Too selfish. Too experienced. Too damaged. Too old, probably.
How old was he?
Lord, that was almost certainly something one ought to know about her husband, as she was fairly certain he had at least a decade on her twenty and four years.
She had the sense she was making some terrible mistake, but every time the thunder roared above the stones of the keep, it was him she wanted to reach for.
Maybe she wasn’t of sound mind, after all.
“Very well,” Liam Mackenzie said. “This document means naught unless consent is exchanged.”
“There’s plenty of witnesses to be found here, who’d all appreciate it if ye’d refrain from stalling,” Gavin snapped.
“All right, join hands if ye must,” Liam commanded. To call his tone unamused would have been kind.
Only then did Samantha look over to her right, where her fiancéof little more than a day extended his hand toward her. Though his features remained stoic, his big frame vibrated with something Samantha couldn’t begin to understand. It might have been rage, but it somehow went beyond that. There was desperation in the verdant lightning flashing from his eyes, and Samantha looked to everyone else, wondering if she was the only one who sensed it.
Did they not notice his smirk was just a little too grim? That beneath his placid perfection brewed a storm to match the one outside?
