Page 17 of Owned by the Scarred Laird

He had no answer for that. Not one he intended to give her. He let his fingers linger a moment longer than was necessary, his thumb resting just at the corner of her lips, and watched her try to decide whether to hold her ground or step back.

“Ye argue a great deal for someone who has been here less than a day,” he said.

“And ye give orders a great deal for someone who hasnae earned the right to give them.” She tilted her chin up. “We are well matched in that regard at least.”

From this close, he could see the sunlit freckles on her nose and the fierce, wild intelligence in her eyes. The part of him that usually felt only rage or duty became subdued, and he felt a sudden, starving pull toward the warmth she gave off.

What is this? I have to get out of here.

He needed to be anywhere but this quiet, firelit room with a woman who looked at him as if he were a man and not a monster.

But before he could move, the thud of the door opening shattered the silence. Melodie stumbled in, an armful of logs clutched to her chest. She stopped so abruptly that two logs rolled off and thundered against the stone.

The maid looked at the logs, then at Chloe’s ash-stained face, then at Edward’s hand still hovering near his wife’s throat. Her face went white.

“I will just…” the girl started, her voice a squeak.

“Leave them,” Edward barked, the sound rough and jagged in the small room.

He snatched the survey from the table without looking at the ink. He walked out, his boots striking the stone with unnecessary force, his thumb still tingling where it had touched her skin.

7

The library was the first room in the castle where she felt like she could breathe.

The shelves, though not large, extended from floor to ceiling on three walls. The west-facing window let in late-afternoon light at an angle that warmed the floor. Chloe discovered the room by accident, following a corridor that ended there, and she stayed because she did not know where else to go.

She had chosen a book at random and sat with it open in her lap for the better part of an hour. She had not read a single page.

The knock at the door was light.

“I am nae interruptin’?” The woman who stepped inside looked younger than Edward by several years, dark-haired like he was, but with a face that had not been taught to keep itself still. She looked at Chloe with open curiosity, took in the unread book, the untouched cup of tea gone cold on the table beside her, and said nothing about either. “I am Angela. Edward’s sister.” A pause. “I owe ye an apology before anythin’ else.”

Chloe blinked. “For what?”

“I wasnae at the ceremony.” She settled into the chair across from her with a directness that felt entirely unself-conscious. “I only learned of the weddin’ this mornin’. Me brother has a gift for keepin’ things from people until there is nay longer any point in tellin’ them.” She looked at Chloe steadily. “I thought I would come and find ye before ye had to find me.”

“I appreciate that,” Chloe said. “Both the apology and the findin’.”

Angela smiled then, quick and genuine. “Good. We have started well.”

She looked around the library first, giving Chloe a moment that felt deliberate.

“Have ye eaten today?” Angela asked.

“Aye. Melodie brought somethin’ this mornin’.”

“What did she bring ye?”

“Porridge.”

Angela made a face. “She brings everyone porridge. It is what she does when she daenae ken what else to do.” She tucked one leg beneath her on the chair. “The cook makes bread with dried fruit and honey on Tuesdays. Ye should ask for it specifically, or ye will never see it. He only makes it if someone asks.”

“I will remember that.” The corner of her mouth lifted before she thought to stop it. Something about Angela made her feel warm inside.

“And the soup at midday is always better than whatever appears at supper. I daenae ken why. I have never managed to get a straight answer about it.”

Chloe felt the uncertainty in her shoulders come down a fraction.