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“Mercy!” she squeaked, as the door flew open. For a mad moment, she thought the castle folk had come to drag her out.
Instead, Noah’s face greeted her with its customary lack of emotion. “Careful where ye tread. The ground is uneven,” he warned quietly, offering his hand.
She ignored it and made to step out of the carriage on her own. A mistake, considering she’d been seated for hours upon hours. Her legs wobbled and gave way, sending her tumbling out of the carriage door.
“Easy there!” Noah caught her, pulling her tight to his chest as her numb legs slumbered on.
She peered up at him, gasping. “My… feet fell asleep.”
“Aye, a lengthy journey will do that.” She thought she saw him smile. “Did ye nae see me offer my hand?”
She gulped. “It’s very dark. I must have missed it.”
He didn’t seem convinced, but he said nothing more about it. Instead, he just held her, giving her the time to urge life back into her limbs. She couldn’t deny how pleasant it felt to be held like that after the previous days of rejection.Thiswas what she’d hoped for—closeness, kindness, and a willingness to make their marriage something wonderful. Tolerable, at the very least.
“Ye have a… um… nice castle,” she said feebly.
In truth, what she could see of the castle terrified her. Even in the dark, or especially in the dark, it looked huge. Four times, at least, the size of Baxter Keep. How was she supposed to be the Lady of such a vast place? It would surely take her years not to get lost within it.
Noah’s gaze didn’t leave her face, coaxing a rush of heat into her cheeks. “Forget the castle. Are ye well? Can ye walk?”
“Aye, there’s some feelin’ comin’ back to these traitorous toes of mine,” Saoirse managed say, though she wished she hadn’t. Maybe, if she continued to pretend that she was unsteady, he would keep holding her like that. Despite everything, his embrace felt like a safe haven. His firm hands, splayed upon her back, seemed to transcend her dress and stays and skin, until it felt like they were touching her very soul, telling her that everything would be well.
She felt the slow fall of his broad chest as he sighed in relief. “In that case, welcome to Thorn Castle.” He didn’t release her. “I hope it will be to yer likin’.”
“Ye do?” Saoirse whispered, willing him to speak another sweet word to inflame her hopes.
Perhaps, it had merely been the pressure of the wedding and being in a strange place that had made him so cold. In his own home, just as Scott had said, maybe Noah would thaw and warm toward her. Was this the first sign of Spring?
He let go of her. “Come along.”
“Am I nae goin’ to meet yer people?” Saoirse glanced around the wide, open courtyard. Gaggles of people clustered together, watching her with interest.
“Nae tonight. We have other things to attend to,” Noah replied curtly, heading for the towering doors of the Castle’s main entryway… and leaving her behind.
She could still feel the heat of his embrace, her skin aching to be held again, but it was cooling fast. As if she could somehow steal back some of that wonderful burn, she picked up the hem of her dress and hurried after her husband. She didn’t care if she looked like a pup running after the master who had beaten it.
“Other things to attend to.” Does that mean that this will be the night?Panic charged through her veins. Between her drunkenness and her husband’s disapproval, there had obviously been no suitable moment for consummation after the wedding. Some men might not have cared if the moment was suitable or if the bride was even awake, and for that she was very grateful that Noah was her husband.
Inside a cavernous entrance hall, Saoirse caught up to Noah. He had stopped in the center, beside a circular table adorned with a vase of lilies. He had his back to her, but it seemed like he was waiting for her.
“Och, M’Laird, ye’ve returned to us!” a wail made Saoirse jump, as a ghostly figure hurtled from the shadows of an adjoining hallway. “I heard them wolves howlin’ and had to be stopped from readyin’ my bow and arrow!”
It took every ounce of willpower that Saoirse possessed not to grab her husband and hold on tight in terror. Yet, the figure would’ve left no room for Saoirse to embrace Noah, as it wrapped him in a fierce hug. As her pounding heart slowed, Saoirse realized that the ghostly figure was just a wiry old woman with shocking white hair, who likely hadn’t had the time to change out of her nightgown.
“And ye must be the new Lady Huxtable!” The phantom turned and grabbed Saoirse by the arms, looking her over with a pleased grin. “Och, what a beauty ye are! I could gobble ye up!”
Saoirse cleared her throat. “I’d rather ye dinnae. My maither says I’m too slender as it is, so I cannae lose so much as a mouthful of the flesh I have.”
The old woman threw her head back, howling with laughter. “And she’s got spirit, M’Laird! Och, what a treat for us all.” She paused and her rheumy eyes widened in horror. “Here I am, greetin’ ye in my nightclothes! Ye must wonder what sort of nest of iniquity ye’ve married in to! Och, the shame of it will burn these cheeks for a month!”
“The hour is late,” Saoirse reassured. “I’m surprised that nae everyone is in their nightclothes.”
Behind the woman, Noah wore a peculiar smile and his eyes shone as if the scene pleased him very much. Was this woman someone special to him? An aunt or grandmother, perhaps?
“I havenae introduced meself, neither!” The old woman smacked her forehead. “The name’s Mary Stephenson. I’m the housekeeper, head maid, occasional gardener, and anythin’ else that His Lairdship needs me for, though I’m never allowed near the kitchens. Nae after the incident with the mackerel soup.”
Noah shuddered, his face brightening with amusement. “Never mention the mackerel soup.”
