AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“And when you leave, what then? Those you hired will lose their position in short notice?” She, too, crossed her arms, mirroring him. But it only served to mould her proud breasts for his appreciation.
“When I leave, this clan will function like clockwork.”
“So, you say.” Rounding the desk, she paced towards him.
“So, I promise.” His inflection brokered no argument. But the woman seemed not to abide it because she kept on nearing him.
“Look, this ruse is a shot in the dark. We don’t know if it’ll work.” Her petite form halted a mere three feet from him.
The candle lights played with her riotous chestnut hair giving it fiery shades. Bound by a simple ribbon, it fell down to her waist leaving loose strands around her delicate face. Lachlan had an urge to tug a
t the satin and set the mane free. And then merge his fingers in its soft curls, maybe pull her head back and—
“It will,” he forced his mind back on the conversation. “My brothers are throwing a feast here for the signing of the betrothal contract.”
Her hazel orbs widened at the information, and he felt as if their betrothal was a reality, a done feat. An irreversibility. For the world’s eyes, it would appear so. “Good,” the loose strands jerked when she gave a curt nod. “The sooner, the better.”
That she would fake an alliance with a man she surely did not care about told of how much she was willing to sacrifice for her clan. Noble as it proved to be, Lachlan had to admit he had never met a woman whose focus fell on something beyond society’s expectations for women, like marriage and children.
And he was at a loss as to how to deal with such a woman, moreover, one who did not behave coyly around him. Though he wished she did.
A week later, Moira stood under the canopy in the shabby Darroch garden clad in her best underdress, wrapped in her best tartan. Lachlan sat at her side on the big table on a dais. The entire Darroch clan gathered here in a feast fit for a king. The McKendricks spared no money or effort to prepare the gathering.
Her “intended’s” clan had introduced themselves one by one. Drostan and his wife, Freya, their children Ewan and Sorcha. Fingal and his amazon wife, Catriona, with their daughter Ava. And then there was the sister, Eileen, her giant of a husband, The green-eyed McDougal, and their son Roy. Between them, they held most of the power in the Highlands. Freya came from the McPherson clan, Catriona, from the McTavish. All of them together represented a solid backing for her plans. At least there was that. As for the man standing by her side… Lachlan also dressed in a pristine white shirt, impeccable green, black, and white tartan, black brogues and hoses. His luxuriant damp hair fell on his forehead, and he looked the most magnificent man ever to grace the Earth. To her dismay and the envy of every woman between eighteen and eighty present.
It had not been an easy week. With that monument around the place day and night, Moira felt gritty. They had been working the fields, or caring for the livestock. That finished, the man would go fix whatever needed fixing. He had spent the week hiring staff for the manor, the stables, and the grounds. And then there were the nights. Even when she sought refuge—or should she say barricade—in her study, he would find her there to discuss plans for the next day. Or the solution for this or that problem in the manor.
Day after day, it became steeply more difficult to tamp down her feverish reactions to the man. Her entire body sprung to alert at any moment they encountered each other. Or when she glimpsed his green, black, and white tartan in the fields, or heard his deep voice talking to the men. The effort not to gobble him with her eyes and everything else she possessed took up a great deal of her energies.
“Ready?” he drawled at her side. It startled her from her musings, the deep sound pouring over her.
“As ready as one can be at the thought of getting married.” Her depleted energies were making her irascible as well.
“This is not forever,” the murmur made it all worse.
Any lass in her betrothal feast hearing him would crumble to a pitiful state of disappointment. Not Moira. The statement reaffirmed how no marriage would imprison her.
“Which is a solace,” she quipped.
But when he took her hands and turned her to face him, the contact caused lightning to vibrate on her nerve endings. There was no way not to bend her head to look up at him and melt in his dark brown eyes. The whole world faded into a blur and her entire universe reduced to just him.
His father, Laird Wallace, talked of the importance of marriages and alliances, support offered and given, unity and respect to Scottish traditions. She heard none of it, only the blood pounding in her ears as her heart thrashed behind her ribcage. The scarce air transformed her in a breathless ninny and she bit her lips not to gape at the man before her. His head bent forward, his gaze felt like two scorching suns burning on her. It appeared as if he also saw nothing but her. A crazy idea, considering who he was.
The McKendricks insisted she wore a ring as a symbol of commitment. As Laird Wallace signalled to his younger son, Lachlan opened his sporran and took out the ring. A hazel jasper, rare and expensive.
She wanted no jewel, even less one this costly. With her busy life, it might become damaged.
“I thought this matched your eyes.” He cut through her distraction with his deep bass.
It rendered her speechless. He had noticed her eyes to the point of finding a gem that matched them, her heart fluttered at the prospect. Silently, she shook herself. He was just playing a role here, the role of a man affianced to her. And she must play hers too. With a brittle smile, she extended her hand.
“Thank you,” she blurted.
His warm skin grazed hers as he slid the jewel along her finger. The gesture sowed goose-bumps over every inch of her, and her gaze latched to his. The man did nothing in half measures, so he bent and kissed her hand near the ring.
A good thing everyone burst into cheers at that precise moment. They reminded her she and the McKendrick monument were not alone even if the contact of his sensuous lips with her ultra-sensitised skin threatened to catch fire. The caress radiated up her arm to reach her breasts, which stood to eager attention. Thanks to the thick tartan, no one would be able to see it, especially him. Nonetheless, a flush bloomed on her cheeks, and she retrieved her fingers from his hand lest he saw the disruption he caused in her.
After that, the celebrations swallowed her. The McKendricks and their spouses surrounded the betrothed to wish them happiness.
