Yes, that he would, but she liked Davina, who seemed difficult at first glance but was sweet in the middle.
“Ah, speak of the devil…” Davina intoned, staring past her shoulder.
Violet turned to see that Keira had returned with Ruaridh in tow. At first, she thought it was about the game, but he had a worried look on his face.
Something was wrong.
Standing up, she opened her mouth to ask the question, but he spoke before she could.
“Yer faither is here.”
19
At that moment, all the time she had spent in Scotland seemed like a dream, and she was jolted back to an ugly reality she was unwilling to accept.
Forced betrothal.
Lord Westall.
Father.
She could feel the fear coming, chilling her hands, making them clammy. She would rather die than go back to that. The Highlands might not be as refined as London, but it was where she found peace, and she could never opt for chaos ever again.
“Where is he?” she asked quietly, her eyes trained on a point past Ruaridh’s shoulder.
“Outside the stables. He just arrived in a hired coach.”
She nodded quietly.
Her father was not the enemy. By all accounts, he was a good father who had never raised his voice to her or harmed her. The problem was what he represented—a part of her past she did not wish to ever be trapped in again.
“I will be with ye,” Ruaridh murmured, tilting her chin up so that she could not avoid his dark gaze.
She did not realize that he had moved so close while her mind wandered.
“I willnae let anything bad happen to ye,” he added, with a tender look in his eyes.
At that moment, she truly believed that he could protect her from every danger.
“Papa is not dangerous,” she said with an awkward laugh, disengaging from his embrace to look around.
She had forgotten that they were not alone, but now the others were nowhere to be seen. They must have seen how lost they were in each other and decided to give them the room.
“Aye, he isnae. Except that that former fiancé of yers can use him to get what he wants. That is what makes him dangerous.”
“Papa is not that gullible,” she muttered.
Ruaridh just tilted his head and looked at her in a way that told her he did not believe her. And frankly, she did not believe herself either. Her father had shown just how gullible he could be several times over.
“Let us nae keep him waiting,” she said, avoiding his gaze as she headed out of the castle, with him hot on her heels.
Looks like she was going to have the protection whether she wanted it or not, and she was secretly grateful for it.
Her father, when she saw him, looked far older than the last time she had seen him. His hair was now a shock of grey, and his brow was lined by several deep wrinkles. His skin was weathered, as if he had spent more time outdoors than usual.
He lookedterrible.
The little girl in her, the one who had enjoyed bouncing on his knee, pitied him. He might have all but sold her to Lord Westall, but he was still the father who had loved her.
