This had to be Laird Elijah McMurphy. The monster from Moira’s stories.
He looked nothing like a monster. He looked like sin wrapped in Highland wool and leather.
“Laird McMurphy,” her father stammered, his face cycling through embarrassment and terror. “I... we dinnae expect ye so early. The weddin’ isnae until later today.”
“Aye, well, I wanted to meet me bride before the ceremony.” His voice was deep, cultured, with just a hint of Highland burr that made something low in Iris’ belly flutter traitorously. “Imagine me surprise when I arrived to find ye all in confusion because said bride has apparently fled into the night.”
Catherine looked ready to faint. “Me laird, we can explain. It’s nae as ye imagine.”
“Nay need.” Those gray eyes fixed on Iris, and she felt pinned like a butterfly on a collector’s board. “As I said, it doesnae matter. One daughter is much the same as another when it comes to marriage contracts.”
The casual dismissal hit her like a slap. Her spine snapped straight, hands clenching into fists at her sides.
“I am nae me sister. And yer agreement is with her, nae me.” she said, her voice low and dangerous.
Something like amusement flickered in his eyes. “Nay, I can see that. The question is whether yer parents are willin’ to honor their agreement with a... substitution.”
Edward stepped forward, his politician’s smile sliding into place despite the sweat beading on his forehead. “Of course, of course. That is somethin’ to be considered. We thank ye for yer offer, and nay doubt, Iris would be... honored to fulfill the contract in her sister’s place.”
“Would she now?” Elijah’s attention returned to her, studying her like she was a puzzle to be solved. “And what does the lass herself have to say about it?”
Iris lifted her chin, meeting his gaze directly. Most people couldn’t look him in the eye without flinching, and she could seeit in his slight surprise, but she’d been staring down disapproval her entire life.
“I have plenty to say,” she replied, proud that her voice stayed steady despite the tremor of fear underneath. “But I doubt anyone in this room particularly cares to hear it.”
“Try me.”
The simple challenge hung in the air between them. She could see him calculating, weighing, measuring her like an opponent across a battlefield. Behind her, her parents looked ready to throttle her if she said the wrong thing.
“Iris,” her mother hissed in warning.
But Iris ignored her, taking a step closer to the Laird. Close enough to catch a whiff of his scent—leather and something wild like Highland wind.
“I think,” she said carefully, “that any man who would accept a substitution so easily couldnae have cared much for his intended bride in the first place.”
Her father made a strangled sound of horror. “Iris!”
But Elijah McMurphy threw back his head and laughed. A rich, dark sound that sent heat spiraling through her veins even as it terrified her.
“Ye’re absolutely right, lass,” he said, his eyes glittering with something that might have been amusement. “I dinnae care for her at all.”
CHAPTER THREE
The silence that followed the Laird’s declaration stretched like a bowstring about to snap. Iris stood frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs as she watched her parents process what had just happened. The most attractive man she’d ever seen had just casually proposed to marry her instead of her missing sister, and she couldn’t decide if she should be flattered or terrified.
Probably both.
Her father was the first to recover, his politician’s instincts kicking in even as his face remained pale with shock.
“Wait! Me laird, please reconsider!”
Iris watched her father scramble after Elijah like a beggar chasing coins, and felt her cheeks burn with shame. The great hall had mostly emptied after their father’s urgent summons to the servants, but the few remaining were getting quite the show.
“Edward, stop,” her mother hissed, but he ignored her completely.
“Laird McMurphy, surely ye can see that Iris wouldnae make ye a suitable wife,” her father continued desperately, his voice carrying across the stone hall. “She’s too... difficult. Too set in her ways. Nothin’ like what ye need.”
Iris braced herself for the familiar litany of her failures.
