Page 34 of The Cruel Highlander's Bride
“It will take time. But ye need to earn their trust if ye want to be a successful Laird,” she said softly.
“I ken… I’m tryin’,” Magnus growled, still pacing.
“Ye didnae say much in there…” she trailed off and then steeled herself for what she knew she had to say. “Given the fact ye’re yer faither’s son, ye need to try harder.”
The Laird was fighting an uphill battle against his father’s reputation and his name, but she had seen how much he cared for his people. He could easily win them over. She didn’t know what had come over him during that audience, but she knew he could be the Laird they needed.
Magnus froze at her words. She watched as he slowly turned to face her, his eyes blazing. He stalked back towards her.
“Never call me that again,” he said through gritted teeth.
“What do ye mean?” she asked.
He gripped the back of her chair and leaned in, caging her in. This close to her, his scent invaded her nostrils. She resisted the urge to breathe him in any further.
His proximity was distracting her, but she forced herself to focus on their conversation.
“Me faither’s son,” he bit out, as if he hated the way the words tasted in his mouth.
“Aye, all right,” she agreed. “Ye are in his shadow, though, and yer people need to see that ye’re different from him.”
“Maybe I’m nae.”
“Ye are,” she insisted.
Ciara had seen it for herself. Magnus was not his father. Despite what he may want people to think, he cared deeply.
Magnus just grunted and then turned away from her. His back was to her, his arm and head leaning against the wall. He hung his head, and she could hear his ragged breaths from across the room.
“Ye need to leave,” he muttered, the words muffled by the wall and the distance between them.
“Excuse me?” she asked. Surely, she hadn’t heard him right.
“Leave!” he shouted, turning his blazing eyes back to her.
With a huff, Ciara rose from her chair. She didn’t rush, she would not give him the satisfaction. Instead, she took the time to smooth out her hair and dress, and when she was satisfied, she shot him an icy look and then walked out of the study, with her head held high.
* * *
“Shite!” Magnus cursed at the now empty room.
Ciara had left his study with all the grace with which she’d entered. The woman had never once stooped down to his level. But it was the look she’d given him as she’d walked out that really made him curse. It was a glare that made it clear he was far beneath her, as if he didn’t already know that.
Magnus was not even in the same realm as his betrothed.
He stomped over to his desk and slammed his fist down on the wood. The action knocked over the inkpot he’d been using this morning, making ink splatter all over his desk.
“Shite!” he cursed again.
Dropping his head into his hand, Magnus slumped into his chair, the fight draining out of him.
What was he trying to achieve from the conversation with Ciara? If he’d been trying to earn her ire, he had definitely succeeded. Otherwise, he had failed spectacularly.
The guilt over what his people had endured had been choking him, and he’d done nothing to assuage it. No, Ciara had done everything to right the wrongs, because she wasgood,and he was who he was—his father’s son.
That link… When she’d linked him to his father, he had hated it—hated even more that she was right. Hewashis father’s son. If not in his actions, then at least in the eyes of his people.
He was his father’s son and his father’s murderer. It wasn’t something he’d ever truly escape, not in the way he wished.
