A sharp knock echoed through the room, startling them both. A deep, commanding voice called through the door. “I am here to meet me bride.”
Arianna’s breath caught, and a flush rose to her cheeks.
She lifted her chin and called, voice trembling but firm. “Enter.”
The door swung open, and the man stepped inside, filling the space with a presence as large and unyielding as the castle itself. He was both terrifying and breathtaking, with broad shoulders, a beard, and long black hair falling past a scarred face. One eyeglimmered brown next to a leather eyepatch on his right eye, and scars traced his arms like a map of battles won. Arianna’s pulse raced, caught between awe and dread.
She and her mother curtsied, and he gave a quick bow.
Ian’s gaze fell upon her, sharp and assessing. “I wish to speak with ye alone,” he said, voice low, carrying authority that brooked no argument.
Her mother frowned, stepping forward. “Nay, she’s me daughter. She will nae…”
Arianna held up a hand, steadying herself. “It’s fine, Mother,” she said. “I can speak to him alone.”
Her mother’s shoulders slumped reluctantly, and she left the room, casting Arianna one last worried glance.
Ian moved closer, boots echoing softly on the floor. “There are rules ye must obey if ye are to be me wife,” he said, tone sharp and uncompromising.
Does he mean to control me? To break me spirit so soon?
“Is this how ye greet me?” she asked coolly. “Ye daenae bother to ask how me journey was, or even introduce yerself by name?”
The man did not move, though his dark eye sharpened slightly. “I daenae bother with time-wastin' statements.”
Arianna felt a flash of indignation spark in her chest. “Ye say it is a waste of time to get to ken yer betrothed?” she replied sharply. “That’s monstrous.”
The man took a step forward. He was taller than she had first realized, broad-shouldered and commanding in a way that filled the room with his presence. His gaze dropped to her face with a glint that was both challenging and dangerously intriguing.
“Aye,” he said quietly. “I am monstrous.”
Arianna felt the heat of his closeness, but she refused to retreat. Instead, she stepped closer. “Well then,” she said firmly, lifting her chin, “yer manners are beastly, and I willnae tolerate it.”
For a moment, the air between them felt sharp.
His jaw flexed. “Fine,” he said with exaggerated patience. “I am Ian Bell. I am Laird McGuire. How was yer journey, lass?”
Arianna folded her hands calmly. “It was suitable.”
He inhaled slowly through his nose as if restraining himself. “And do ye find the castle well?”
“It is grand indeed.”
For a brief moment, silence hung between them, thick with unspoken challenge.
Then Ian exhaled sharply.
“Good,” he said through clenched teeth. “Now… about me rules.”
Arianna arched an eyebrow, hands resting on her hips. “Rules?” she said. “I think there’s nothin' any of us can do to avoid this weddin', so let’s hear them.”
“Ye will obey me,” he said, his one eye fixed upon hers. “I am the Laird. Yer place is beside me and in me keepin'.” He paused. “Ye will provide me with an heir within a year.” He lifted his chin slightly, emphasizing each word.
Arianna’s lips pressed into a line, and fire sparked behind her eyes. She stepped forward, closing the distance between them. “Nay,” she said firmly. “I will nae obey without argument. I am to be yer wife, nae yer servant, and I have a mind of me own. Secondly, I am nae an oracle or a witch, so I cannae guarantee an heir in a year.”
Ian’s expression darkened, and the muscles in his jaw flinched. “Ye have a sharp tongue for a bride,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Feistiness will get ye in trouble.”
Arianna laughed, sharp and defiant. “And what will ye do about it? Dare ye break this betrothal, if ye have the courage? I think nae.”
