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Chapter Nineteen
Emery stays upstairs, as far as I know, for the rest of the afternoon. Jamie has decided to stay with Aidan and Calli for a while to give me and my new wife "some alone time to settle in," which she said with a wink and a sly smile. My sister assumes I will shag my wife several times a day. I need to do that, but I won't forfeit our wager. When I've survived three weeks without ravishing her body, she will understand she can't use sex to get what she wants from me.
The woman thinks she can save me and "help" me. Emery will be disappointed. I'm beyond salvation.
My wife and I say goodbye to my sister, then we go our separate ways.
I grab a piece from the kitchen, eating it at the island, then return to my office and shut the door. For seven years, I've haunted this castle like a ghost searching for the doorway to heaven. I haven't found it. Why had I married Una? The lass had lived here with me for eight months before she walked out. No one can abide being married to me. So why had I seduced Emery into becoming my fourth wife? To appease my family, that's what I'd convinced myself was the reason. They kept throwing lasses in front of me, hoping one day I'd find another wife.
I did, but not for love. Not forever either. One year only.
What have I become? A bastard who uses a lovely, sweet woman. Emery will leave me, but whether she stays for the year or walks out sooner, she will never be mine.
Sinking into my desk chair, I yank out a drawer and retrieve a bottle of Ben Nevis and a glass. I never used to keep whisky in my desk, but lately, I've needed to have it on hand. For reasons I can't fathom, I pull out our marriage contract and the prenuptial agreement. As I lay the stack of papers on the desktop, I extricate the contract and lay it on top. Then I pour whisky into the glass, filling it up.
While I stare at the marriage contract, I drink. And drink. And drink.
Before long, I get drowsy. The blessed oblivion of whisky beckons me, and I lean back in my chair to rest my head against it. The world spirals away from me, drawing me into the sanctuary of sleep.
Something warm and soft touches my cheek, but I only half-rouse.
"Wakey-wakey," Emery says, and I feel her hand cradling my face. "Rory, wake up."
My lids flutter open, and I come to full wakefulness with a start. "Emery?"
"You got another blonde, American wife stashed in a closet?" She straightens from her half-crouch and pats my shoulder. "Get up. You are not sleeping in your office."
I push her hand away. "I'm fine here. Have work to—"
"Nope." She seizes my hands and leans back, compelling me to rise. "I decree you shall not spend the night in your office when you have a perfectly good bed upstairs."
Grumbling, I struggle to my feet. My mouth splits open on a wide yawn.
"Come on," Emery says, supporting me with an arm around mine as she encourages me to move toward the doorway. When I stagger a wee bit, she glances up at me. "How many glasses of whisky did you have?"
"One." Filled to the brim, but still only one glass.
She clucks her tongue. "Alcohol and jet lag aren't a good combo."
"Ahmno jet-lagged."
"Says the man who was found unconscious at his desk." As we exit the office, she straps her other arm around my torso. "It's beddy-bye time for Rory baby."
I grunt but keep walking, shuffling now instead of staggering. I did not get drunk, but I'm too jeeked to argue with my wife about it. She guides me through the great hall and up the stairs, passing the second floor.
At the third-floor landing, I halt before she can drag me through the doorway into the hall. Then I point toward a door at our left. "There."
"Where's that go?" She cranes her neck to see around me.
"My room. It has a private entry and exit. Lairds needed a way to escape their wives."
Emery stares at me, her lips tight, and I know she wants to complain about our sleeping arrangements. But she doesn't do it. The lass has tact, at least, even if she enjoys being outlandish.
She rotates us both toward the closed door and tries to turn the knob. "Locked? Is the main door to your room locked too? It wasn't the other day when you showed me around."
"It's locked now."
"Rory, Rory, Rory," she says on a long exhalation. "This extreme need for privacy from your own wife is going to change. Are you afraid I'll sneak in and steal your underwear?"
