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Sam looked at them, probably sensing his father was losing it. “M-my father says many princesses married younger kings for the sake of political gain.” The boy interposed, trying to contemporise.
Her fiery expression subsided a notch when she looked at him. “I know, Sam. But this is not a country and I am not a princess.” She paced his carpet as if she wanted to make a hole in it.
A shy smile came to his boyish face. “You look like one.”
His son may be a tad awkward yet, but learned gallantry fast, Taran concluded proud.
And the diminutive woman did not look like a princess. Not at all. She evoked more the image of a tigress, brave, firm and regal. Everything accompanied by a beauty that hurt to stare at too long.
She stalled in front of the youngster, her tense face melting into a smile. It was like a meteorite impacted Taran directly on his chest. Her smile transformed her face from tempting to blinding dazzle in a matter of seconds. Trouble. This woman spelt trouble. For any man who lay eyes on her curvaceous frame.
“Oh, Sam, thank you.” Her head tilted sideways, gracious. “I am sorry, but I don’t believe this match is a good idea.”
To him, bullet-darting eyes. “Please, have my carriage readied, I will continue my trip.” She crossed her arms facing him fully. “Now.”
Her chest tensed and elevated her breasts. The sight of them bunching robbed his concentration for precious seconds as images of how he would… treat that particular part of her drifted to his undisciplined thoughts.
Without externalising his temper, he told his son, “Sam, I am sure your books await you.”
“Yes, father. I will go to the library.” He agreed and left seemingly happy to quit this mine field.
The click of the closing door gave Taran the cue to speak. “You will leave here married to the honey moon cottage.” He expelled fire enough to match hers.
A humourless snort came out of her terribly tempting lips. “And you imagine you can bend me to your will.”
Coming to stand right in front of her, legs apart, muscled arms crossed, his temper rose unbidden. Her use of the word bend evoking thoroughly inappropriate ideas. “Meaning you will not.”
Completely unaware of how much she pushed him to an edge he never learned he had, she mimicked him, bracing her legs and re-crossing her arms. “What do you think?”
This fearless woman proved to be cut from a cloth he had no familiarity with so far. “That you are going to do as you are told.” His glacial tone bellied the heat rising in him.
Hands flying to her slim waist. “You are a criminal!”
“I do not care about your opinion of me.” His jaw ticked with the need of a physical outlet. “After you come to know Sam, you both will get along well.”
“And you can say whatever you want, but I will not do it.” To defy The McDougal took guts, he would give her that.
“We will see.” He devolved in equal tones. At the door, he pulled it, dismissing her ostentatiously.
Air passed through her nostrils with a determined noise as she cast him a murderous glare and walked out of the study.
At her disappearance, came his turn to exhale forcefully. He expected a meek pliable lass and now he got faced with this dragon of a woman! Did her clan not educate the little witch? They should have, for she proved to be completely unprepared to enter a peaceful marriage. Meaning, one where the husband ordered, and the wife consented. Preferably in silence. And at once.
~.~.~
In the room assigned to her, Aileen fought not to give in to despair. To think she decided to visit her aunt as a retreat strategy with the aim of relieving the pressure on her to choose a husband. To end up trapped here with a man bent on a crazy plan.
An ineluctable impulse to thrash the troglodyte had almost overcome her in the study. Did he believe he was so powerful as to have the prerogative to manipulate everyone and everything to his designs? Whatever happened, she would not be everyone. She would stand up to him and exert her rights no matter what the laird dictated.
The housekeeper informed her of the dinner time and she refreshed herself for her next battle. Servants had brought her trunk up, but she had no idea of Mairi, Greg and Brody’s whereabouts.
At least, her chambers presented a quite pleasant air. Tapestries of rather ancient times lined the stone walls, preserved and clean. They depicted scenes of war and bucolic revelries. A big fireplace dominated one side and kept the autumn chill out of it. The large canopied bed lay next to it dressed in fashionable, fluffy style. Drapes on the large gothic-like window offered a cosy air to the decoration.
This room left no doubt as to the McDougal’s wealth, neither the other parts of the manor, as far as she saw. It just confirmed what she learned about them. They had lands, sheep, tenants and a highly-rated distillery which supplied exclusive quality whisky to England and the Continent.
Not that the McKendricks lay below them. Her clan also owned lands and riches matching the earldom they received from the English. An alliance would transform both clans in the most powerful in Scotland. But she would not marry into a family where madness ran wild. The Laird’s raving mad ideas a proof of it.
~.~.~
