Page 17 of When the Laird Claims
“I suppose that ye’d be more comfortable if I treated ye that way?” Arran said wearily, and she could see the outline of him sitting upright, his knees bent and his elbows resting on the peaks of his knees. She could not see the details of his face, but she could make out the glint of his eyes in the dimness.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Ye daenae strike me as a damsel in distress, or an unreasonable lass, and yet yer head just keeps on whirrin’ and ye keep thinkin’ the worst.” Arran’s hand moved to his head, but she was glad she couldn’t see the ensuing gesture.
“I just fail to see how any of this is going to help me. You say it is to keep me safe, but–”
“And ye would rather be out alone in the forest?” Arran shook his head, pushing to his feet and pouring himself a drink of ale. “I told ye, I will take care of ye. I gave ye my word. Perhaps the men here daenae stand by theirs, but I assure ye–”
“Yes, yes, until you kill my betrothed, you shall care for me. And then what? You shall just send me back? You do not seem to understand how that will look where I hail from. Just being in this room with you… if anyone knew… we would beruined,” Victoria spoke, her worry turning into irritation as she slipped from the bed so that she could find herself on better footing with him while they argued.
“Who iswe?” Arran asked, thrusting the glass of ale in her direction.
She did not reply to that question. “Perhaps I ought never to have run in the first place! It would be better if I were there waiting for the Earl’s return.” Victoria picked at her bottom lip as she started to pace.
Yes, if she were there when he returned, then he would not have any reason to go searching for anyone. There was a chance, however small, that he would seek out her friends to see if they were giving her refuge… and if that was so, would he find Melody? She could not allow for that to happen.
“It was just a moment of weakness… I will force him to understand. Then I can find a way to make things right and spare anyone else from harm.”
She was talking more to herself than to him now, and she placed the glass of ale on the bedside table, untouched.
Her panicked rambling was cut off mid-pace as Arran closed the distance between them. His arms formed a cage on either side of her body, pinning her between his bulk and the wall that she had been standing in front of. She gasped, heat flushing every part of her as she allowed herself to be trapped. She turned her focus upward, able to make out the stern look on his face now that they were standing so close to one another.
When he spoke, his voice was lower and more dangerous than she had ever heard him be before, and it sent a shudder down her spine. “Give me one good reason that ye would need to go back to that place.”
Victoria felt like crying all over again. Somehow, being trapped by him like this did not feel dangerous. Not at all like the times that Charles had done it to her when he wanted to get his way, or intimidate her. No, this just felt like Arran needed her absolute and devoted attention.
“To marry him, of course,” she breathed.
He reached down and grabbed her forearm, lifting it so that they could both see her wrist and the injuries there. “Ye’d marry the monster who did this to ye?”
Victoria could not look at him any longer. She turned her chin down and attempted to look at the floor beside the bed, just beyond the cage she was in. She did not even have it in her to struggle out of his grip. She knew how insane it sounded. She did notwantto do it… but she was being so incredibly selfish by thinking that there would not be repercussions to her leaving. Charles had already made it clear that he had no qualms about using her sister against her.
“I forbid it,” Arran seethed.
That got her attention right back on to him. Her mouth opened in muted shock as she struggled to find her words in her outrage. “Forbid? I was not aware that I needed your permission for anything!”
Arran’s jaw tensed, but it was clear that he would not be budged on this topic.
“What grounds do you have to stop me from doing anything? This does not even really concern you at all.”
“Why?” he growled, and her stomach clenched. She could practically feel the vibration of his voice against her chest. “Because ye’re mine… to protect. I already told ye. Mine.”
Her nose crinkled as she geared up to argue with him some more—until his lips connected harshly with her own, and she lost the ability to think at all. All the ranting and rambling thoughts that had been rattling around her mind for the last few hours seemed to slip right out of her focus.
The tension in her spine melted away as Arran closed the slight distance between them, his body flattening hers to the wall. It was comforting pressure all around her, even more so when his hand dropped from her forearm so that one hand could cup her face while the other slipped around her waist, arching her forward to maximize their contact.
Victoria had never been kissed before. Not that Charles had not attempted to do so more than once. She could vividly recall him grasping her chin in his hand, attempting to force his face to hers… but she had managed to divert him by way of her forehead ramming into his own. It had not even been intentional. It was aggression born of desperation, and he had certainly punished her for it. That, if she was not mistaken, was when she had lost the privilege of sleeping in a bed.
But she was not sorry for his broken nose, nor was she going to pretend to be displeased with the way his eyes had both purpled and swelled from the injury. Charles had wanted to own her, to dominate her in every horrible way imaginable. It constantly shocked her to think that there had ever been a time when she had thought that she might have been able to fall for him, to really love him.
But then again, Charles had been kind at the beginning of their courtship.
Arran did not seem to have any such twisted intentions; he seemed to be the sort of man to act on his feelings. His hands were rough, yes, but they held her so well as her own nervous hands came to rest on his firm, broad chest. She ought to shovehim away, to bite him, to slap him for daring to steal a kiss from her—but he tasted sweet.
Like nutmeg and honey and something that she could not place. The scent was everywhere as he consumed her in the way that a kissoughtto be. This was the sort of thing that made everything else fade away, her body crackling, a swell of feeling pooling at the junction between her thighs… just like all of her books said that a kiss ought to make her feel.
It was indecent. She was stamping the ticket to her own ruination… but it felt so nice to be held.
