For all the fire that burned in her lovely green eyes, the lass was used to the rigors of life. He wondered how she would cope in the short time she had to stay in the castle, and how she would cope when she married.
He would have to take her delicate constitution into account when selecting suitors.
If Cohen thought anything of his silence, he said nothing. No doubt he would have many questions for him, but he was wise enough to keep them until later.
Darragh walked quickly to the chambers he had prepared for her and lowered her as gently as he could onto the bed. She did not even stir when he pulled the covers over her.
He shook his head, and a small smile curved his lips. She would be very disoriented when she finally awoke and found herself in an unfamiliar room.
When he stepped out of the room, he found Cohen still waiting for him.
“Have Amber assign a maid to her chambers,” he ordered. “She will need help to make sense of where she is when she wakes up.”
“She will probably hover around the chambers herself, daenae worry.”
Darragh did not worry. Rather, now that she was within his reach, his worry had lessened considerably.
The news of the inheritance had filled him with relief, for he had finally found the means to tackle his mounting problems.
Initially, he had felt guilt for celebrating the news rather than mourning Jonathan’s passing, but that was just how great his relief was. In truth, he had only mentioned his problems to Jonathan in the hope the man would advise him on profitable investments, but this was a much faster solution.
He could begin the search for suitors come morning and plan how to spend his portion of the inheritance. There were only three weeks left to the deadline, but he was confident that he could marry her off before then.
“What do ye want to do now?” Cohen asked.
“I will get some sleep in me chambers,” Darragh answered. “Tomorrow, the work begins. I already have a list of suitors to invite to the castle.”
“Has she agreed to marry?”
“She doesnae have a choice in the matter, Cohen,” he answered with a frown. “This is as much for her good as it is for mine.”
Cohen nodded. “If she has remained unwed for so long, it can only mean that she is stubborn.”
“I have nay worries regarding that matter,” Darragh said firmly. “If she insists on being stubborn, I will make her see reason.”
5
Talia woke up on a dusty ball of fluff—her itchy nose told her so—and underneath a weighted foreign encumbrance. She ran a hand over it. It felt like… wool?
Wasn’t she in the carriage?
With closed eyes, she ran her hands over her body, checking for any sign of dishevelment. Her clothes felt intact, and other than the ache in her back, she felt perfectly well.
Then where was she?
Darragh had assured her there would be no more inn stops, for they would reach the castle in only a few hours. Surely, in those few hours, their ride could not have been hijacked by mountain bandits?
The ruckus of abduction should be enough to rouse the deepest sleepers. Surely if she opened her eyes, a vagrant would not be standing over her.
Tentatively, she pried one green eye open. Her blurry gaze landed on high windows letting sunlight into the room. No ottoman—could be a vagrant’s room. Mahogany armchair upholstered in velvet—the journey went well, then. Damask curtains tied with a hemp cord—she tsked at the threadbare tassels and decided that Darragh and the vagrant might as well be the same person.
The air smelled painfully different. Not like home. Home smelled earthy, of herbs and dandelion tea. McGhee Castle just smelled cold.
She watched the ceiling and counted the dust specks she deluded herself into believing were gold particles. Darragh must have had her thrown in an abandoned room. Hopefully, her luggage had been handled with better care.
She had packed her most important things. Anything could happen to her, but not that bag. She would have moved to find it, but her back ached, and she was frozen solid. The chill in the air must have seeped into her bones; the single coverlet provided no protection. And her head ached. Any rash movements, and she would find herself headlong into something, with her luck, hard.
Maybe her heart had been frozen solid, but the anger she should have felt was like a stranger to her. A faceless, disembodiedstranger whose embrace she needed even if it was to provide a modicum of warmth to her barely beating heart.
