She could not wait for the whole ordeal to be over, so she could hide and never come out.
20
“Maither has certainly outdone herself this time. The Great Hall seems almost unrecognizable,” Jenson remarked as they strolled into the Great Hall to join the betrothal party.
If he had the choice, Darragh would not attend an event that promised to be torture for him. But as the laird of the clan, he could not. So here he was, washed and scrubbed within an inch of his life, clad in formal clothes and his large plaid draped across his shoulders.
But the moment he stepped into the hall, he was grateful for the cravat and the excuse it gave to explain away the lump in his throat when he set eyes on Talia.
Her hair was arranged in an artful braid around her head, with sprigs of heather interwoven through the thick tresses. She was wearing a dress of the most beautiful green velvet, with a deep V-neckline trimmed with lace that moulded around herdevastatingly tempting breasts. Her skirt hugged her curves to perfection.
Till this day, he had never envied a dress, because at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to trace her curves with his hands while her nails dug into his shoulders as he loved and worshipped her body the way she deserved.
She was smiling at something a guest was saying, and in no time, he saw a tall, fair-headed man step up beside her, take her hand, and place a kiss on it.
Laird Alan. Her betrothed.
Red tinged his vision instantly, his stomach roiling with a toxic cocktail of emotion. Perhaps it was jealousy, anger, or even possession, but in that moment, his whole body itched to march over to the man and tear his hand off her. He could even have him thrown out of the castle for having the audacity to touchhiswoman.
Except that Talia was not his woman. Not because she did not want him, but because he had pushed her away, afraid that the blood that ran through his veins would eventually turn him into a cruel man like his father. And he would rather die than lay a hand on her in anger. He would rather bear this gaping hole in his chest than risk her getting hurt.
Besides, he could not go and attack another man at his betrothal party. Or else his people would think him insane. It would not matter if he said that he suited Talia better, that she was allhe had been obsessed with in recent days. They would probably laugh him off the face of the earth.
So he stood still, blowing short breaths through his mouth till he found some semblance of calm. If fate were on his side, he would be able to hold on a little longer before giving in to the urge to flip tables and ruin the decorations so that everyone could go home and the betrothal could be delayed.
“If ye frown any harder,” his mother commented, sidling up to him, “yer face will be permanently disfigured.”
“Good day to ye, Maither,” he said stiffly, barely sparing her a glance. “Ye have outdone yerself. The hall looks truly beautiful.” He forced a smile.
“Well, it would be better if ye continue frowning. I ken a fake smile when I see one,” she replied offhandedly, startling him.
He turned to her, only to see the mischievous smile on her lips. She was jesting.
At that moment, he was grateful for the small distraction. She had always been this way, creating her own joy when his father tried everything to take it away from her. She was resilient, and it was probably that resilience and dry humor that had stopped her from turning into the bitter and resentful recluse he had wanted her to be.
“Besides, I ken ye didnae really see the decorations. I wager yer attention was focused on one person all along.”
Add perceptiveness to her many qualities. It did not mean that he liked it when she used that perceptiveness to meddle in his affairs, but that was what mothers did. Meddle in their children’s lives, and no protest would change that.
“I daenae ken what ye’re talking about,” he said, turning away to avoid her gaze.
“Oh, ye definitely do, but ye can keep yer secrets,” she said with a chuckle. “Tell me—” She jerked her chin towards Talia and Laird Alan. “Do ye think those two look good together?”
And now she had resorted to taunts?
Darragh kept quiet, swallowing back the roar of outrage that built in his chest. No, they definitely did not look good together. Talia would look better on his arm. All would be well if the betrothal party were theirs. He suspected that his mother knew all this already and only wished to push him to speak.
It was what she always did—picked and plucked and prodded until one was left with no other choice than to spill their spleen.
She often said that bottling up emotions was not good, but this was definitely not the best place to vent. Darragh had his reputation and that of his clan to protect. He could not allow her to push him to the point of behaving inappropriately in public.
“I, for one, daenae think they suit. He is too fair-haired to match her fiery looks. She would look better with a dark-haired man.”
Someone like me.
God, she is definitely merciless today.
“Maither,” he gritted out, barely holding onto the frail threads of his self-control. “I doubt that hair color is an important issue to consider when one chooses a spouse.”
