3
The heel of Charlotte’s boots clicked on the stone floor as she followed after the maid. They walked so quickly that Charlotte hardly had the time to take in which direction they were headed, let alone what the inside of the castle looked like. She wanted to call out to the woman to slow down as Charlotte tried to ease the stiffness in her body after sitting all day, but she thought better of it.
“The Laird is waiting for ye in his study. When ye are finished, I will take ye to yer rooms. In the meantime, I will see to yer maid and yer things and make sure they are settled in yer chambers.”
“Thank ye,” Charlotte heaved.
“Just here,” the maid said, gesturing to a closed door, not bothering to stop or even slow down.
Charlotte paused outside of the study, watching in awe as the maid disappeared down the hall without a backwards glance. Only when the echo of her footsteps couldn’t be heard anymore did Charlotte turn to face the door.
The rest of her life sat on the other side of the dark wood, and she had no idea what to expect. Of course she had heard rumors of all the horrible things Laird Knox had done. And Alec had been sure to tell her just how wicked and vile the man was. But she didn’t know how much of it was true and how much of it was exaggerated. The Laird was said to be at least twice her age and have a foul temper but she didn’t know what that meant for her as his wife. If she was lucky, he was only aggressive towards his enemies, but if they were married, things might be different. However, she was the daughter of his rival and she doubted a few words and a strip of tartan tied around their hands would change that.
She tried to tell herself that she had arrived here to discover exactly what she was wondering about. She was here to get to know Laird Knox, to spy on him for her father. Surely if Laird Knox turned out to be as horrible as the rumors said he was, she could appeal to her father and get out of marrying the man.
A small voice in the back of her head told her that was unlikely, but she did her best to ignore it.
She braced herself to knock, raising her fist to the wood, and sucked in a deep breath. Before letting her knuckles meet the door, she reminded herself of her father’s parting words.
“Ye are being sent nae only for yerself, but for our clan. This is a duty that goes beyond ye. Dinnae fail me.”
His command echoed in her mind as she finally knocked three times. She waited on bated breath for Laird Knox to answer, but nothing came. Several heartbeats passed and she tried knocking again, this time a little louder. There was no call for her to enter, only the sound of something dropping that prompted her to push the door open. On light steps, she walked into the study.
Her aversion to a room like this was nothing new to her, but the light, openness of the space caught her off guard. The entire back wall was covered in windows, letting in the last streams of daylight with a bookcase on one end and a fireplace on the other. It was there, crouched in front of the mantle, that she saw the person responsible for making such a loud banging noise.
She stepped further into the study, gently closing the door behind her, but the man didn’t seem to hear her. She wondered if he was a servant who would treat her with the same disdain the maid had or if this was Laird Knox. It was possible that in his old age he had lost some of his hearing, but she had no idea what her future husband was supposed to look like. Either way, she took the moment to study the man.
There was little that she could tell about him from the way he was bent over, peering into the fire. The iron fire poker in his hand expertly moved around a few pieces of burning wood, sending out a fresh burst of heat and light into the room. She wasn’t sure why he was messing with a fire at all in the first place, as the sun was providing ample light and heat for the room, but she didn’t dare to question it.
She could tell that he had black hair, the color of coal, that he kept clipped short to his neck. His shoulders were wide and corded, stretching the seams of his jacket, though it seemed like the kind of muscle that came from a lifetime of hard labor, not training to be a warrior. When the man pressed back on his haunches and rose from the flames, she was surprised to find that he moved with graceful ease, completely comfortable with his tall frame. She watched as he placed the fire poker back in its holder before rubbing his hands off. Even from her distance, she could see the protruding veins that covered the backs of his hands and disappeared under his sleeves.
“Och!” he shouted as soon as he turned around. “What do ye think ye’re doin’ sneakin’ up on a man like that when his back is turned?”
She blinked in her own surprise. The man she was looking at was nothing like Laird Knox had been described to her. For starters, he seemed to only be a few years older than she was, not more than twice her age. Not to mention, he was a handsome enough man to steal her words.
Neither of them said anything as they took each other in. She could feel his eyes roving over her in a way no man had ever done before. She wasn’t sure what to think about it as it certainly wasn’t polite behavior coming from a man who hadn’t bothered to introduce himself yet, but if he was to be her husband, she didn’t see the point in stopping him. Nor did she stop her own eyes from wandering.
His hair, though kept short, framed his face just right. It was square and sharp with a chiseled jaw to match. The dark, tan color of his skin only highlighted the angular nature of his face, making her think he spent more time outside than in.
Everything about him seemed to be a contradiction.
He was dressed in a fine jacket and the Knox plaid, with all the details that made her think he was the Laird, though it didn’t seem to fit quite right. He looked more like a child playing dress up in his father’s clothes. He was young and had a kind face, one that had seen a lifetime’s worth of hard work, but nothing like Laird Knox had been described to her before. When she had found him, he was bent over, doing the work of a servant rather than that of Laird. And the one sentence that she had heard him say sounded nothing like the well educated speech of a man in power. Yet, he was the only one in the study and seemed in no hurry to get anywhere else.
“Forgive me,” she said at last, breaking the silence and the rising tension in the room. “I knocked but I dinnae think ye heard me. A maid told me that Laird Knox was expecting me. I am Charlotte Sinclair. I was sent by my father, Laird Sinclair.”
She tried to give him her best demure smile, the one that had won over so many others before, but the man seemed like he had no clue what to do with her.
“I was expecting ye, I just did nae think ye would be so quiet. I must admit, I have never met a woman that could sneak up on me.”
She blinked, unsure of how to respond to him. He shifted awkwardly on his feet and cleared his throat.
“I am Laird Cameron Knox. Pleasure to meet ye, Charlotte.”
He stuck out a hand for her to shake, catching her off guard once more.
Though he claimed to be the man she was looking for, this Laird Knox had none of the manners or formality she expected from meeting another Laird. She had never had a practical stranger use her Christian name in their first meeting, nor had she ever been offered a man’s hand to shake. But again, if he was to be her husband, she wondered if he found those kinds of formalities redundant and foolish.
Gingerly and unsure, she took his hand. It was warm and rough, with several callouses covering the palm. As their hands met, so did their eyes. It was only then that she noticed that they were a brilliant shade of green. She could have sworn it was the same green she had watched pass by her, out of her window all day in the carriage. They even seemed to have the same kind of glimmer the grass did when the sun hit it just right.
