“I’ve not given ye any reason to assume a proposal was on the way, Celia,” I say coldly. “We have not been exclusive.”
That was another reason I knew this could never work. It never occurred to me to care if she was seeing other people.
Celia’s normally pale cheeks are brick red with rage, her eyes are bulging and I know it’s time to deescalate this before she has a stroke.
“In the MacTavish Clan, sudden marriages are the norm, and I fear I am not immune,” I say, trying to let her down gently. “But when we wed, it is for life. I wish ye well, but I won’t be seeing ye again.”
“Not seeingmeagain, you bloody, selfish son of a bitch? How dare you treat me this way! I’m aMontrose, my father can bankrupt your pathetic family!”
I’ve seen her father’s financial records and clearly, she has not. While he does have connections that could have been useful, Martin has squandered most of his family’s fortune.
“We’re done here.” I rise from my chair. “You’re angry, and while I understand, it dinnae mean I’ll tolerate it. It’s time for ye to leave.”
Celia nearly leaps over the coffee table separating us, clinging desperately, arms and legs wrapped around me. “Don’t say that, Michael! We’re- we’re in love. Everyone’s been waiting for us to announce our engagement. Please don’t be cruel, why are you doing this to me?” Tears pour down her cheeks, manufactured, but nicely done. Her eyes aren’t wounded, they are sharp with fury.
Peeling her loose, I hold her shoulders, keeping her back. “That was never going to happen. It’s time for ye to leave.”
My arms are long, which is fortunate, because Celia kicks out at me, fingernails flailing, trying to get to my face. “Where is the bitch! If you’re married, who is she?”
I consider not telling her, but it won’t be a secret much longer. “Sophie Barnes…” I smile slightly, “SophieMacTavish,she’s a close friend of our family.”
The words stun her, enough that her arms drop and she sways, staring up at me. “You tied your family name to aservant?You’ll be a laughingstock; the great future MacTavish Chieftain married to amaid!”
My hands slide from her shoulders, fastening around her skinny upper arms like manacles. “Sophie is an extremely intelligent woman with a very bright future. My parents - my entire family, really - are very happy about my choice.”
This is mostly true.
I lift her, feet dangling as I walk briskly to the front door where an uncomfortable Ian is waiting. “Please escort Miss Montrose to her car. Find out who allowed her through the gate and fire them. Make it clear that she is denied access to any of our properties.”
This seems to cut through her rage, and Celia reaches for me, frantic. “Michael, I didn’t mean it, I was in shock! Please, we need to talk about this-”
“There’s nothing left to talk about,” I cut her off. “Goodbye.”
I shut the door, leaving the unfortunate Ian to drag Celia to her car in the politest possible way. Celia’s spoiled and selfish, but she just showed a level of unhinged viciousness I’d not expected.
Putting my hand in my pocket, I can feel the crumpled edge of Sophie’s note.
There’s a shadow at the top of the stairs, I see the silhouette of my wife’s curves before she shuts her door and the hall goes dark again.
Chapter Thirteen
Sophie…
“Relax.”
Michael doesn’t look up from the text he’s reading, but his hand rests lightly on mine before pulling away again. Even though his touch is brief, the heat of his palm spreads over my chilled skin.
It reminds me of the only other time he’d touched me, that brief press of his lips on my cheek when Father Hamilton pronounced us husband and wife. Even as terrified and angry as I’d been, I remember the feel of it, his careful strength as he held my arm to keep me from scuttling away from him like a deranged crab.
Kyle, Michael’s new driver, and Ian sit in front. They exchange a low comment every now and then. The rest of the trip is spent in uncomfortable silence. If I had my phone, I could check my texts and emails, but Michael hasn’t given it back to me and I’m still working up my courage to ask for it.
The greeting at the gate is different this time, no checking the back of the car or running a mirror underneath. I don’t know if that means the immediate emergency is over, or if Michael is above such things as security protocol.
“Greetings, Mr. MacTavish.”
Ugh.
Fortunately, I don’t say that out loud. The guard at the gate is Gary, the creep who shoved us when Michael told him to take us to the Chieftain’s office. Gary’s faded blue eyes glance at me for a moment before returning to Michael.
