She swallowed and stared at the half-finished painting. “He broke the kiss and left,” she admitted, her voice uneven. “And I wanted more, Melissa. God help me, I did, and now I feel… unbalanced, as if I’ve done somethin’ wrong just by wantin’ him.”
Her thoughts churned, sharp and accusing, telling her she shouldn't desire the very man who forced her into this marriage. “I barely ken him,” she added, almost to herself, “and yet me body betrays me.”
Melissa set her brush aside and turned fully toward her, her tone gentler now.
“Listen to me,” she said firmly. “It’s natural to want closeness with yer husband, even if ye’re strangers, especially if ye’re strangers.” She smiled then, teasing warmth returning to her eyes. “If desire made a woman immoral, there’d be precious few saints left in Scotland.”
Arianna huffed a reluctant laugh, the tight knot in her chest easing just a little.
They returned to their painting, the afternoon slipping by unnoticed as shadows slowly lengthened across the grass. Suddenly, Arianna gasped and looked up at the sky.
“Saints preserve me,” she said, horrified, “we’ve been here for hours, Melissa, ye must be in terrible trouble, neglectin’ yer duties on me account.”
Melissa burst out laughing, nearly splashing blue paint on her skirt. “Me only duty is to serve ye, me lady,” she said with mock solemnity. “So unless ye asked me to scrub floors and I forgot, I’ll sleep easy tonight.”
The next day, Arianna sank deeper into the warm water of the bath, letting the scent of the herbs soothe her tense muscles.
“I cannae pretend I forgive him for what he did. That kiss when he had promised nae to touch me,” she murmured to herself, trailing her fingers through the water. Yet, despite her anger, she couldn't ignore the stirrings in her chest, the heat that welled up whenever she thought of Ian. She knew, as much as she wished to deny it, that she wanted him, though she would not let that weaken her will.
The door creaked open, and Arianna let out a startled squeal, twisting to see who had come in. Ian froze in the doorway, his broad frame outlined by the flickering candlelight, and his dark eye glinting with something raw.
“Arianna…” His voice was low, rough, filled with tension. For a heartbeat, neither moved, the air thick with unspoken desire.
“I… I daenae ken what ye’re thinkin’,” Arianna stammered, covering herself with trembling hands.
Ian’s lips curved in a dark smirk, and he took a slow step forward, the firelight catching on the scars of his face.
“Thinkin’?” he growled. “I’m thinkin’ ye need to get dressed, lass. Council waits, and I willnae have ye sittin’ in front of the men naked.”
Arianna’s cheeks burned hotter than the bath water.
“I’ll… I’ll get dressed!” she stammered, reaching for her chemise and wrapping it around herself as quickly as she could. Her heart raced at the memory of the heat in Ian’s gaze, the desire that lingered like a brush of fire against her skin. She couldn’t help but feel a small thrill; he did want her, and that truth made her pulse quicken.
Ian turned his back to give her a sliver of privacy, though she could feel the tension radiating from him even so.
“Make it quick,” he said over his shoulder, voice low and commanding, but with a rough edge that made her shiver.
Arianna obeyed, fumbling with the laces and damp hair, her mind racing with thoughts she wouldn't dare admit. Despite herself, she felt a quiet satisfaction, knowing that Laird McGuire, feared and powerful as he was, wanted her.
When she finally finished dressing, she glanced up to see Ian watching her, his expression unreadable but intense. The flush of embarrassment and longing still clung to her cheeks, and she quickly turned away, pretending composure. Deep down, she knew the bath had done more than cleanse her body; it had reminded her of her own desires, her own strength, and that she was not to be underestimated.
Even as she followed him to the council, her heart still beat faster, and she couldn't stop thinking of the fire she had glimpsed in Ian’s eyes.
CHAPTER TEN
Arianna stepped into the council chamber, her stomach tightening as every eye in the room turned toward her. The tall stone walls, adorned with banners of clan McGuire, seemed to close in, and she felt every pair of councilmen’s eyes like a weight on her shoulders.
Ian’s hand lightly brushed hers, grounding her, and he cleared his throat.
“Gentlemen,” he said, his voice carrying easily across the chamber, “allow me to present Arianna, the new Lady McGuire.”
The councilmen rose as one, bowing low, their voices rising in greeting and congratulations.
Arianna curtsied politely, her cheeks flushed with both embarrassment and irritation.
“A pleasure to meet ye, me Lady,” one older man said, his tone respectful, “ye’ve made a fine match for the Laird.”
Another councilman added, “Aye, ’tis good to see the Laird honor his word to allow us to choose his bride, and we've made the right choice in ye. Ye’ve done well, Lady McGuire.”
