Page 17 of Captured By the Cruel Highlander
Emily blinked, taken aback by the woman’s bluntness. But she would not allow a sham mother-in-law from a sham marriage to confound her.
She laughed. “Aye. Everyone in this castle is unreasonably tall,” she said with a smirk as the lady’s eyes narrowed.
I willnae be intimidated by ye, so ye can keep yer judgment to yerself.
“Aye, and ye’re goin’ to have to learn how to be assertive and rule over them,” Lady MacNiall remarked pointedly.
“Maither, ye shouldnae speak to her like that.”
Behind Lady MacNiall appeared another tall woman. She had a riot of red hair tumbling over her shoulders and warm brown eyes, with spectacles perched on the tip of her nose. Without a word, she came to stand beside Emily.
“She has been through enough for one day, do ye nae think?”
“Perhaps she shouldnae have tried to steal away me daughter’s groom, then,” Lady MacNiall hissed. All pretense at civility evaporated, and her hard stare softened beneath a wave of grief. “Me poor Laura…”
Her skin reddened in the dim torchlight, and tears glistened in her eyes. Emily noted the genuine emotion on her face—pain only a mother could feel.
So, the Laird has lost one sister, and I stand beside the other. I wonder which is the owner of the green ribbon tied around me knee.
She crossed her arms over her chest and stared back at Lady MacNiall. She felt sympathy for her,but she would not beaccused of actively stealing anyone’s groom without standing up for herself.
“Is that what ye think has happened?” she asked.
If Lady MacNiall thought James had been destined to be Laura’s husband, it was no wonder she was so angry.
“Pay nay attention to me maither,” the young redhead said beside her. “She hasnae slept since Laura disappeared. None of us have. I’ll show ye to yer chambers.”
“We have maids for that, Freya,” Lady MacNiall protested.
Freya rolled her eyes and gave Emily an endearing smile. “Let’s go,” she continued. “And after dinner, I’ll show ye the library.” She lowered her voice. “Maither never goes anywhere near a book, so we will be safe there.”
Emily was grateful for her kindness, and as Freya turned to walk up the narrow corridor, she had no choice but to follow her.
Now that she had a chance to observe it, the castle seemed immense. They moved through long, narrow passages that snaked endlessly past countless doors.
The ceilings were much higher than she was used to, and well they might be. This was a family of giants. She felt very small as she watched Freya walking ahead of her.
Adam’s sister was a beautiful woman. She had soft, feminine curves, and her face was long and handsome like her mother’s. Her wild hair fell all about her face and down her back. It was much thicker than her own, and Emily found herself rather envious.
They descended some stone steps toward her chambers, and as Freya opened the door, Emily stopped in amazement, looking around her approvingly. The walls were lined with wooden paneling, and the bed was wide and elegant, with a white and yellow blanket laid over it.
The rain was pelting the windowpane, and the wind howled loudly. Yet, the fire was crackling merrily, and Olivia was pouring a jug of steaming hot water into a bathtub before them. It was the coziest room Emily had ever seen, and she was more than happy to spend time in it until the wedding.
Perhaps this false marriage willnae be such a hardship, after all.
7
Adam stepped out into the courtyard, the rain falling in a deluge all around him. He loved the rain, always more comfortable in storms than bright sunshine.
He glanced up at the ominous clouds overhead and felt some satisfaction that the storm would not die down until morning.
The cobbles beneath his feet were covered in puddles of water as he stomped toward the stables. He had been restless and unable to sit still after Emily had left. His hands were clenching incessantly by his sides as he pictured holding her to him and forcing her to submit to his commands.
He needed to quiet his mind with something, or he would drive his fist through a wall.
Reaching the stables, he pulled a stool forward to the edge of the tack room and retrieved his leather strop from a hook onthe wall. He tucked the stool under himself and plopped down. There was the sound of horses shuffling about in their stables and the rain drumming on the roof. It quieted his mind.
Settling in his chair, he carefully laid all his weapons out in a long line. He never carried fewer than five at a time. Selecting a small knife—usually kept in his sleeve—he began to run it along the length of leather.
