Page 10 of The Highland Laird’s Hellion Bride

“Which were…?”

“About sheep. And goats. And fencing and lamb feeding and…” She turned fully, her eyebrows snapping together at Katherine’s expression. “Why is yer face doing that?”

“I may have been,” Katherine said carefully, “somewhat hasty in me assessment earlier.”

“Katherine.”

“He is going to bid for ye.”

“Ye said he was perfect for me.”

“I said he had excellent holdings and required a capable lady.”

“Ye said perfect.”

“He is probably nae the laird I was describing.”

Elspeth set her cup down on the table. She set it down very gently, because otherwise she would be shattering the pewter with considerably more force. “Ye told me he could be the one. When I asked if that enormous man was the one ye’d described, ye said most probably.”

“He was asking about goats and land management!” Katherine hissed, desperate.

“Many lairds could ask about goats,” Elspeth agreed, her voice dropping to a dangerously pleasant purr. “And so, when ye werenae certain, the correct answer was⁠—”

“Ladies and gentlemen.” Laird Bickerson’s booming voice lifted above the din of the hall, warm and carrying.

The fiddle stopped mid-note. The entire hall turned as one. He stood at the front with a heavy piece of parchment.

“It is me pleasure to announce this evening’s arrangements.” He looked down at the ink. “Lady Elspeth MacRae of Clan MacRae has been claimed by Laird Magnus Wallace of Ben Cruachan.”

Elspeth turned slowly.

He was crossing the room toward her, that enormous, scarred man in the plain dark coat. Moving with that same unhurried, terrifying certainty.

The crowd parted for him without a fuss. His dark eyes were already locked on her face. He stopped directly in front of her, that self-assurance fixed in place.

She waited, her breath caught in her chest.

“I have spoken with yer father, and it is settled,” he declared, his deep voice sliding over her skin like rough velvet. “Yer maids, tell them to pack warmer cloaks.” A pause followed, brief and slightly uncomfortable, as though he were translating something from a language he rarely used. “Me lands are colder than what ye’re used to. Fancy dresses arenae necessary; there willnae be much occasion for them.”

He reached inside his dark coat and produced a folded document, holding it out without a shred of ceremony. “I drew the contract before I came. Yer father has signed. Ye are betrothed as of this moment.”

He then offered her his arm.

She looked at that massive arm. Then at the stark white document. Then at his face, which offered no additional information.

Say something, Elspeth. Ask something useful.

She took his arm.

His forearm was pure iron beneath her gloved hand. She could feel the hard muscle shifting beneath the thick wool of his coat, and she decided in that very moment not to spare another thought for that.

Katherine fell into step beside her, but at a single glance from Magnus, she fell slightly back.

Liam materialized from the edge of the crowd, briefly placing a hand on Elspeth’s shoulder. Ye will be fine, the firm pressure said. Then he too dropped behind her.

Her father, she noticed out of the corner of her eye, was already examining the signed contract. He did not look up to see her leave.

The night air hit her at the massive oak doors, cold, clean, and sharp. She pulled in a frantic breath.