This is a mistake, thought Ryder Higgins, as he sat squeezed into an uncomfortably small chair in the drafty Great Hall of the castle, the seat of the Quinn clan –– the eldest daughter of which he had somehow allowed himself to be persuaded to marry.
A huge mistake.
How had he allowed it to happen, though? It was true he wanted the land they offered. Their clan, too, might not be the strongest in Scotland, but it was amongst the oldest. An alliance with the Quinns would do much to repair his reputation, damaged as it was by his father’s cruelty and recklessness, as well as by the unfortunate business with the old Laird of Moore.
As he sat sipping politely –– or, at least as politely as he was able –– on the whisky his hosts offered him, though, Ryder could not shake the notion that this arrangement was all wrong. Wrong for him, and, no doubt, wrong for the unfortunate lass who was destined to be his bride. For who, after all, could love a man such as him when his heart was hardened to the point that he could offer no such affection in return?
No, he would not do it, he decided. It felt too much like taking advantage of these people, their kindness, and desperation. And their daughter, a voice in his head reminded him. Yes, that too.
By the time a quiet footfall on the stairs behind him alerted him to his future bride’s arrival, Ryder’s mind was entirely made up. He would greet the lass politely, and then he would make his excuses and leave. They would be disappointed, he knew, or, at least, the parents would be. The lass herself would most likely be relieved to be freed of her obligation to him, especially once she’d managed to get a good look at him.
Most women found him intimidating –– frightening, even. It was the eye patch, he supposed. Or the scars, perhaps. Or even just the reputation that preceded him everywhere he went. The warrior. The father-killer. The man who was never far from a fight. It was who he was, and he would not change. The woman he married would have to accept this, and that, he suspected, was something very few would.
No, he would not go through with this, he decided, even though it would presumably leave the family whose hospitality he was currently availing himself of in dire straits. So, placing his whisky on the table before him, he rose to his feet –– and turned to face a woman unlike any he had seen before.
On the face of it, there was nothing particularly unusual about Meredith Quinn’s appearance. Black hair, green eyes, pale skin… all very pleasant, of course, but it was her smile that made him stop in his tracks, with a sharp intake of breath. Women very rarely smiled at Ryder Higgins.
No one did, in fact. But this Meredith was not only smiling at him, almost as if she did not notice the many flaws in his features, but it was also the kind of smile that could stop the world from spinning on its axis, a smile he could scarce believe was actually being directed at him.
“Me Laird, me daughter, Meredith,” Edward Quinn was saying, but Ryder barely heard him as he stepped forward to kiss the small white hand she offered, noticing as he did how perfectly formed she was. Her voluptuous figure was modestly draped in a dark green skirt, with a matching bodice laced over a white blouse.
It was the kind of outfit worn by any lady of her class, but, in Meredith’s case, the green was such a perfect match for the color of her eyes, and her curves so barely contained by the tight bodice that, for a moment he felt almost as if she must be some kind of witch, sent to tempt him. She was not slim, but she was so perfectly made, with womanly curves lurking dangerously underneath the folds of her dress, that he found it hard to look away. She might be curvier than most women, but that made Ryder even more interested, as she was exactly to his taste and everything he admired in a woman.
“I’m pleased to make yer acquaintance, Me Laird,” she said, sweeping her skirts to one side as she took her seat and fixed those dark green eyes upon him, not even flinching or dropping her gaze when he simply scowled in response.
This is dangerous,Ryder thought, sitting back down and throwing the rest of his whisky back in one gulp, nodding curtly when his host offered him another. Very, very dangerous. The fact was, Ryder did not want a wife.
Yes, he had been willing to accept one, even just a few hours ago, as he rode towards Castle Millar, utterly unprepared for what he’d find inside. He had been willing to take on a marriage of convenience, to take a wife in exchange for money, land, and the respectability that had never been his, no matter how great his prowess on the battlefield.
But could he really go through with it, he wondered now, as Melissa and Felix, Meredith's younger siblings, joined them in the Great Hall, the girl staring with open curiosity at the patch on his eye, while her brother resolutely refused to look at him at all. Ryder resisted the sudden impulse to wink at Melissa with his one remaining eye just to see her reaction.
“How did ye do that, Me Laird?” Melissa asked as soon as the introductions were made, and she was free to speak. “It must have been very terrible, I expect.”
“Melissa!” her mother exclaimed, horrified, but Ryder raised a hand to silence her.
“It’s nay bother, I daenae mind,” he assured her, before turning to the daughter, who was still watching him, totally unabashed. “It was a wild bear,” he said solemnly. “I fought it off and killed it, but not before it managed to take out my eye.”
“A bear! Really?” Melissa’s own eyes widened in delighted shock. Ryder could have sworn he heard a low chuckle from Meredith’s direction, but before he could turn to acknowledge her, the boy — Felix — had jumped in.
“Daenae be so stupid,” he told his sister roughly. “There are nae bears in Scotland, ye should ken that. He’s naught but a liar!”
There was a single moment’s silence before Meredith’s father got to his feet, his face stern.
“That's enough from ye, Felix,” he said firmly. “I willnae tolerate that kind of language to either yer sister or our guest. Ye will go to yer chamber for the rest of the evening.”
He turned to Ryder as Felix stomped off out of the room, barely managing to resist the impulse to slam the door behind him.
“I hope ye’ll accept me apologies, Me Laird,” he said, his face serious. “He can be a difficult lad, Felix. He disnae ken what he says.”
“All young lads can be difficult,” Ryder replied, brushing aside the apology. “I would ken! Please, daenae trouble yerself about his behavior. I assure ye, there's nae offense taken.”
Meredith's father nodded, but as he re-filled Ryder’s glass, the Laird could tell the older couple were still embarrassed by their son's behavior. And not just in case it reflected poorly on them, he realized, but because their concern for him appeared genuine. They did not want him to be hurt by Felix's words, and Ryder felt himself smiling at this despite of himself, for there had been so many things — serious things — in his life that had damaged him that it was hard to imagine how a young lad's words could possibly make an impact.
As Meredith’s parents continued to fuss around him, though, he smiled again. He was unused to having people show a real interest in him, much less care for his comfort or well-being, and, with their quiet warmth, the Quinns were slowly starting to win him over.
“Something funny?” Meredith asked, from the seat beside him, seeing his smile. Ryder froze at the sound of her voice. Other than their introduction, she had not yet addressed him directly. He had resolutely refused to look in her direction, scared of having the same reaction he'd had the first time he'd looked into those green eyes of hers — a reaction he just could not allow himself.
“Nay,” he said curtly, seeing her face fall as his tone. “Just enjoying me whisky.”
He turned quickly back to her father, asking some banal question about the farms on his property to extract himself from the expectation that he speak to the daughter any longer. She’d said just two words to him, and yet it had made the blood rush to his head like a lovesick lad. It would not do. He must find some way to extricate himself from this arrangement before it went any further.
Of course, there was still time, he reminded himself, taking another deep sip of his whisky and feeling its warmth spread through his body, almost –– but not quite –– reaching the coldness of his heart. This was still the betrothal phase, a time when, according to Highland custom, he would take Meredith to his home, to Millar Castle and… he knew not what would happen next, only that, were one of them to decide to break it off, they could, with no harm done.
But the harm has already been done, he thought, watching silently as Meredith chattered easily away, giving every appearance of being completely comfortable in his company. The harm was done as soon as she walked down the stone stairs and into his life; he just wasn’t sure whether or not she realized it yet.