Page 33 of Owned by the Scarred Laird

“Are yer own to waste.”

She nodded slowly, her lips pressed into a firm line. The fire popped beneath the copper still, sending a shower of orange sparks against the hearth. She looked at the carefully arranged tools, the perfectly kept room, and thought of the cradle he had built in the dark.

“Can we spend time together?” she asked suddenly. “The four outings the ones me father read out from the contract, the day he told me about ye. Can we begin them?"

Edward’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because I am bound to ye for the rest of me days,” she said, taking a deliberate step closer. “And I would like to ken the man I share a name with. That is all.”

She watched the words land. His jaw tightened, a muscle leaping along his cheekbone. He was misinterpreting her, reading some hidden malice or manipulation into her request. His expression settled into a cold, flat mask.

“Four,” he growled. “Nae a single one more.”

“Four. Thank ye.” Chloe let out a breath, a small, genuine smile breaking across her face.

Edward moved. He did not rush, but his long strides closed the distance between them until he loomed directly over her. The heat radiating off his body blended with the warmth of the distillery, trapping her in the shadows.

“Ye’ll regret askin’,” he whispered, his voice dropping into a rough, dangerous register. “There’s nae a warm thing left in me to find; I’d only waste yer time.”

Chloe refused to give ground. She tilted her chin up, her eyes locking onto his intense gaze. “I think ye tell yerself that tale to make people flee before they can learn the truth.”

His eyes darkened, fixed entirely on her mouth. He was too close. The scent of him, man, peat smoke, and sharp alcohol flooded her senses.

“Keep yer distance from me, Chloe,” he commanded, his breath brushing her cheek. “I am nae a man built for soft things. I will nae pretend to be gentle for the sake of yer feelings.”

“I didnae ask for soft things,” she breathed, her voice turning thick as the air between them. “I asked for honesty. Where do ye sleep at night? Why do ye treat our chamber like a prison sentence?” She stared into his tormented eyes. “What are ye so afraid will happen if we are in the same room?”

Edward reached past her to grab a tool from the shelf behind her shoulder. At the exact same instant, Chloe turned to give him space, but there was none.

His broad chest slammed flat against her shoulder. Chloe’s hand flew up, her palm pressing hard against his shirt to steady herself. Beneath her fingers, she felt it. The slow, massive thud of his heartbeat. It was not racing. It was steady, heavy, and terrifyingly powerful.

Edward went absolutely rigid.

Whatever words he had been forming died in his throat. His lips parted slightly, his chest hitching as he stopped breathing altogether. Without a word being spoken, his large hand gripped her waist, his fingers digging into the fabric of her gown.

She did not pull away, and he did not move either. He stood there, his chest still pressed against her shoulder, his hand at her waist, his face inches from hers, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath and smell the peat smoke on his skin. His eyes dropped to her mouth and stayed there.

She felt her own breathing go unsteady.

His grip tightened, just fractionally, and she felt it move through her entire body.

Then his jaw set. He released her and stepped back, the cold rushing into the space where he had been. He turned away and picked up the tool he had reached for, setting it down on the barrel with more care than it needed.

“Go to bed, Chloe,” he said. His voice came out rough. Scraped clean of everything that had just been in his eyes.

She stood where she was for a moment, her palm still warm from his heartbeat, her lips parted around words she could not find.

Then she smoothed her skirts, crossed the distillery floor, and walked out into the night alone.

She pressed her back against the cold stone wall outside and stood there until the shaking stopped.

He had wanted to kiss her again.

She was certain of it. And she was entirely uncertain what to do with that knowledge.

She pushed off the wall and walked back to the castle.

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