“What happened, Finlay?” asked River.
“Ye’ll ken when it’s time,” said Keir from the corridor.
With a frustrated huff, River glanced at Finlay, but he only gave her a reassuring nod. Then, she ushered the children to the door, reluctantly letting go of their shoulders when they reached the men.
“I’ll tell ye everythin’...later,” Finlay promised.
With that, they were all gone, and River was left alone to stew in her anger and her fear. The same thoughts kept circling in her head—what if the Laird truly was dead? What if they thought she had killed him? But surely, they couldn’t prove such a thing, simply because she hadn’t done it.
The minutes passed, then an hour. River paced back and forth in front of the hearth, trying to make sense of it all, trying to stop herself from panicking about the children. Finlay was with them; he wouldn’t let anything happen to them.
Besides, for all his flaws, Keir wasn’t a cruel man. He wouldn’t harm the kids.
Just as she was about to wear the floor down to dust, the door was flung open and River turned—only to see Laird O’Douglas there. It was such a strange sight, seeing the man in her chambers, that it gave her pause, and she stopped pacing so suddenly she almost toppled over.
“Me Laird?” she asked, uncertain. “What are ye doin’ here?”
How long has it been since I last saw him? A week? Two?
There was something different about him, but she couldn’t quantify what it was. He looked almost better-rested, though at the same time a little rougher, with his beard longer than he usually kept it. And then there was a strange look in his eyes—a fire she hadn’t seen before.
But it didn’t matter. What mattered was getting answers.
“Will ye tell me what happened now?” she demanded. “Because I daenae appreciate bein’ kept here, in the dark, without any answers from anyone!”
Laird O’Douglas didn’t respond. He only stared at her, and River couldn’t help but feel like he was pulling her apart with his eyes—like he was trying to get to the core of her, to strip everything back.
“What is this?” she asked, now a little more apprehensive. “Why are ye lookin’ at me like this?”
The more she spoke, the more Laird O’Douglas stalked closer and closer to her, approaching her like a predator approaches its prey. She took a few steps back, but her shoulders soon hit the cold stone wall, drawing a gasp out of her.
And then the Laird was right there, his hands a branding iron on her hips as he pulled her to his strong chest?—
and kissed her.
3
Och aye...I chose very well.
His wife’s lips were plush and soft, warm against his mouth. Her eyes, blue like the summer skies over Castle O’Douglas, bore into him and her long, dark hair flowed like a night’s rain over the round slope of her shoulders. She was a beautiful creature, with delicate features and rosy, pouty lips, and a full figure that quickly stoked the fires of Archer’s passion.
God, how he wanted her.
“What are ye doin’?” the woman shrieked and, with surprising strength, pushed him back. Archer, taken by surprise by the sudden and strange denial, stumbled back a few steps, and that was enough for River’s small form to escape his grasp.
“I’m kissin’ me wife,” Archer said, frowning in confusion. “Och...are ye nae me wife?”
He looked around him, panicked. Could this be one of her maids? No, surely not. No maid, no matter how highly esteemed, wore such fine garments of deep blue and lace. Could it then be a relative? A cousin, perhaps, who had come to visit?
Christ...wouldnae that be difficult to explain?
“Aye, I am yer wife,” said the woman, but now she seemed more confused than ever.
“So ye’re River,” Archer said.
“Aye.”
“Then why are ye so surprised? Have I nae kissed ye before?”
