by Mariah Stone
“Right here, on the wall.”
“Oh.” She shook her head. “Of course, on the wall. God forbid you’d want to let me out of the castle.”
“Mayhap one day I will.”
She shrugged. “Sure, let’s walk.”
He glanced at Hamish who stood behind her. “Hamish, ye’re free to go.”
Hamish nodded and disappeared into the tower. Owen, who’d been standing with Craig before, left as well. They were alone.
Craig offered Amy his elbow and she put her hand through his bent arm, the touch electrifying even through his thick cloak.
“Do ye enjoy yerself in the castle?” he asked.
“Is that a trick question?”
“Nae. I merely want to know if ye find the household to yer liking.”
She coughed. Everyone seemed to be cooking for themselves, it was dirty, the horses were not taken care of, and basically everyone could do whatever they wanted without any consequences. In essence, it was a giant medieval bachelor pad.
“Ehm, I think you and I both know the household is a mess.”
“Aye. That is what I think, too.”
“Then why do you ask?”
“Because I want yer help.”
“My help?” she scoffed. “Why should I help a man who holds me prisoner?”
He stopped, making her halt as well. He turned her to face him, so close the proximity melted the lower part of her body into Jell-O. He looked deeply into her eyes, overwhelming her with the heated promise in his. Then he took both of her shoulders in his hands.
“Marry me.”
Amy’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
“Marry me. Run the household as my wife. And I will let ye go around unsupervised.”
Amy shook her head. “Marry you? Have you not been insisting all this time that I’m your enemy?”
“Aye. Well not ye personally. Ye belong to my enemy clan. But ye havna done anything—nae yet. Which is another reason. I can keep a closer eye on ye.”
Amy turned around and laughed. “This sounds absolutely insane. Do you hear yourself?”
Craig’s cheerfulness was gone. “I do not jest, Amy.”
These were insane times. Of course, people from the Middle Ages married for all kinds of reasons except love, but now she was a personal witness to the madness.
“So, you want to marry your prisoner to keep a closer eye on her and so that she will do your housework…”
Her words trailed off. Suddenly, she realized it. If Amy MacDougall from this time was engaged to some important Earl or something, this would break that engagement. Amy’s dad would probably be pissed.
“You want to stop my engagement.”
Craig smiled. “We’re enemies, lass. ’Twas Bruce who suggested our marriage to stop the MacDougall alliance with the Earl of Ross.”
So it was political.
“I will never agree to this.”
“Think about it. It will be handfasting, so for one year and one day. Ye will have the privileges of the lady of the castle here. Ye can go everywhere in the castle, nae outside of course. And once the year is over, ye are free to return to yer father.”
Amy inhaled deeply. These medieval times were so strange. Marriages for politics and money and whatnot. Not for love.
Ah, love. She had been married for love. And look where it got her.
Divorce.
So that year and a day didn’t sound like such a bad idea, actually.
Not that she planned to stay here for so long. And it wouldn’t be a real marriage, anyway.
“What about sex?” she said.
“Forgive me, what?”
“Sleeping together. You can forget that.”
“I will never force myself on ye, Amy. I hope ye know by now I treat ye with respect, and that is how I intend to continue. I wilna touch ye unless ye want me to.”
“And I can go anywhere in the castle?”
Then the thought struck her. If she needed access to food supplies, it would even give her an excuse to explore the underground storeroom.
Once they were married, he’d trust her more. Maybe she could even use organizing the household as a pretext to visit the storeroom. Even if it was with him, it didn’t matter. All she needed to figure out was how to make that rock glow, and then she’d put her hand into the imprint. Then, hopefully, she’d be back to 2020.
“So you’ll let me go anywhere freely.”
“Aye…”
“And I don’t have to sleep with you?”
His nostrils flared a little. “Not unless ye want to.”
“And you want me to organize the cooking and cleaning?”
“Aye. Verra much.” His Scottish burr rang harder. Cooking and cleaning must be really important to him.
She crossed her arms over her chest. Infuriating man!
“So basically you want me to be your housekeeper?” she said.
“Nae. Not only.”
Right.
She’d be married to this hunk… Her throat went dry at the thought, her gut clenching as images flashed through her mind—him naked, his hands exploring her body. She hated that he made her feel this way. This man, who kept her prisoner!
He was so handsome she felt like she was looking directly at the sun. He was honorable—she really appreciated being given the only bedroom in the castle and that Craig made sure none of the men harmed her. But it felt like a golden cage. And guards following her constantly.
She should just stop caring about how handsome he looked and how kind he might be and agree to the terms. Because she needed to do whatever it took to get back to her time. Jenny was probably feeling more and more worried and abandoned. Plus, she wouldn’t be able to take care of Dad alone for long.
So, it seemed, giving in to this madness was the fastest way to the storeroom. What was the alternative? If she was constantly followed by a guard, there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d be able to get anywhere close to where she needed to be.
She’d just pretend. Just keep playing this other person and hope she wouldn’t get killed in the meantime.
All right, she’d go through with this ruse of a marriage. And then once she activated the stone, she’d just leave him behind, go back home and live her life, remembering this as a wild adventure. Maybe she’d write a book or something.
It would serve Craig right for keeping her here against her will. After all, she was a MacDougall. So yes, technically, his enemy. Her grandfather had told her their clan motto—To Conquer or Die. There was pride in that, and strength. She could use those now.
“I accept,” she said, clasping her hands so that they wouldn’t shake.
He nodded, solemn and serious, and led her farther along the wall in silence.
But it was only when his arm tensed under her palm that she realized what she had done.
She had willingly gone into the trap of marriage. The trap that had suffocated her and scared her and made her miserable.
It wouldn’t be real, she reminded herself. It wouldn’t be like the last time.
But as she watched Craig’s handsome profile, she liked the idea of being married to him more and more. She looked at his lips. Would he kiss her at the wedding ceremony? Would his lips be soft or firm? Suddenly, there wasn’t enough air in the whole of Scotland for her to breathe. The image of him covering her mouth with his, of his arms wrapping around her waist, of him carrying her to the bed invaded her mind. Her skin warmed, and a drop of sweat crawled down her spine.
Oh no. It was one thing to be trapped here when she hated him and only wished to escape.
It was another to be attracted to him and start developing feelings.
That would be a whole different level of trap altogether.
Because if she fell in love with this Highlander, never in a million lifetimes would she escape with her heart intact.
Chapter 9
Three days later, Amy paced the giant bedchamber. The morning had passed like a blur. She sho
uldn’t be so nervous.
And she wasn’t, she told herself. It was just that fear of being trapped.
Not the thought of spending more time with the handsome Highlander.
“This is just the next step to get to the rock,” she reminded herself. “Calm down.”
She drew a deep breath in and released a long breath out. Tension uncoiled within her. Tension from lying every day, from walking on the tip of a blade, afraid to say the wrong thing and betray how much of a stranger she was here. Tension from knowing she wasn’t the Amy MacDougall they thought she was. Tension from being sure their plan to disrupt the alliance between the MacDougalls and the Earl of Ross would fail without a doubt.
And then Craig. She caught herself looking for him, and staring at him whenever he was near. Something about him made her breathe quicker, made her pulse beat in her neck.
She was an idiot. Yes, she liked the guy, but she couldn’t let that distract her from her goal. There could be absolutely nothing between them, for every reason in the world. He was a good man at the core, and she was a liar. She didn’t belong in this time and was here only temporarily. She was a MacDougall, even if born hundreds of years later, and Craig would never be with a MacDougall. He hated her for her name alone.
And he’d hate her even more once he learned about her deception. What would he do to her?
He wouldn’t kill her, would he?
Amy looked down at her red dress. It was the best dress she’d found in the chests, and it probably belonged to Lady Comyn. It wasn’t a perfect fit—it was too short in the sleeves and the skirt, and the shoulders were a little too broad. Plus, Lady Comyn clearly had bigger breasts than her because there was plenty of space in the bodice. Well, that wasn’t hard. Most women had bigger breasts than her.
Amy remembered the dress she’d worn for her wedding with Nick. They’d gotten married after a year of dating and half a year of living together. It was a simple, cheap white dress she’d ordered online, one of the few that would ship overnight. The skirt was knee length, and the dress turned out to be “beach” style, which was ridiculous for a spring in Vermont. But Amy hadn’t cared. She wasn’t big on fashion—most of her clothes were practical and outdoorsy. So, as long as the dress fit, which it did, Amy was happy. She hadn’t booked a makeup artist, hadn’t gone to a hairdresser.
She’d put on the dress for Nick to see that morning, and he’d whistled like a wolf.
“Yowza!” He’d picked her up, making her wrap her legs around his waist. “That’s one hot wife-to-be,” he’d said, his Texas accent singing. “Mine.”
Then he’d kissed her, making her head spin and her skin burn. Two hours later, they’d gotten married.
Amy had been light-headed from happiness. From the pure bliss of being with her soul mate. Tall, sturdy, kindhearted Nick whom she’d rescued from a fall in the mountains.
And even with her soul mate, it hadn’t worked out.
He wasn’t a jerk. He’d never cheated on her. He hadn’t been abusive. He’d been great to her.
So if she couldn’t make it with Nick, she couldn’t make it with anyone else.
Tears blurred her vision, and she quickly wiped them away.
Better to be done with this handfasting thing and move on to the next part of the plan.
Someone knocked. “Come in,” she said, wiping her cheeks quickly.
Hamish entered, a small bouquet of autumn leaves and horsetail in his hands. “Are ye all right, lass?”
She nodded and pressed out a smile. “Yeah, thanks.”
“Craig sent me for ye. They’re ready.”
“Okay.”
“Are ye ready?”
“Yes. Of course.” She straightened her back and walked to him. She looked at the bouquet.
“Oh, aye, ’tis for ye.” He handed it to her. “Couldnae find any flowers at this time. ’Tis almost winter.”
“No need for flowers. This is more than enough. There are no women to throw this to anyway.”
He frowned. “Do ye throw flowers to women? Why?”
Oh shoot. “It’s a tradition I’ve seen in Ireland. The bride throws the bouquet to unmarried women, and whoever catches it gets married next.”
Hamish smiled and opened the door for her to go through. “They’re funny, the Irish. Never heard of such a tradition.”
They began descending the stairs. “Are you married, Hamish?” Amy asked.
“Me?” He laughed. “Nae, mistress.”
“No one special in your life?”
Hamish threw a glance at her over his shoulder. “Aye, there is someone I care about. Innis. A friend. She lives in the Borderlands. She has a tough life. I send her coin whenever I can.”
“That’s very kind of you. Why can’t you be together?”
“I’m nae interested in her like that. She’s more of a sister than a lover.”
“Well, I’m sure one day, you will settle down with someone.”
“Aye, that is the goal, though I dinna wish to marry. I’ve had enough people ordering me around, where I go and what I do. I’d like to buy my own estate, my own lands, and lead my life the way I want to.”
They descended to the ground floor of the tower where the weapons and food were stored. Hamish turned to Amy, sadness in his eyes.
“’Tis nae easy to find a good woman who isna taken. Craig Cambel is a lucky man.”
Amy opened her mouth, not even sure what to say, but Hamish already turned and opened the front door for her.
Outside, rain drizzled, mixed with snow. The courtyard had turned into a swamp. She lifted her skirts and followed Hamish across the courtyard and into the great hall, which stood between the Comyn Tower and the eastern tower against the north wall.
When she entered, the hall grew silent. The burned parts of the roof were patched up, although quite poorly, and water dripped from there into a barrel. The hall smelled of damp thatch and warm beeswax candles. They set the room in a golden glow, like a million faerie lights. The tables and benches were pushed aside, and the warriors—there must have been at least fifty of them—stood in a large oval, silently watching her.
At the head of the oval, stood Craig. Owen stood next to him. Craig wore a blue tunic, and a belt with his sword on it. His hair was combed and his short beard freshly trimmed. Wow, it looked like he’d made an effort for her. He stood with his feet wide apart, solemn, his back straight, as though he was about to participate in a sacrament.
His eyes were on her, dark and heavy, and it was as though they caught her and held her in their gaze. Surprisingly, he wasn’t hostile. He was…
Admiring.
Kind.
Respectful.
As the men stepped aside to let her through, she walked towards him across the middle of the circle, her medieval heelless shoes whispering softly against the wooden floor. The closer to Craig she got, the warmer her whole body became. And when she reached him, her cheeks were hot and her throat hurt from tension.
Silly.
What was wrong with her that she was sweating from nervousness, that her heart beat like a drum?
Craig smiled at her.
Smiled.
For the first time since she’d met him, he smiled. Soft. Welcoming. Gentle.
She couldn’t stop herself—she smiled back, and something connected them, like invisible threads.
“Shall we begin?” Owen said.
“Aye,” Craig said and took her hand in his.
Amy looked like one of the faerie folk, her curly, long red hair ablaze in the candlelight, her blue eyes bright and burning under her long eyelashes. The red dress she wore heightened the impression that she was born of flame.
As she came to him and stood by him, her cheeks burned, and he secretly hoped it was because she might be excited or at least pleased in some way to be marrying him.
Craig’s chest tightened with the anticipation of wonder he’d never felt before. Why would he feel that towards an enemy he was just usi
ng for revenge?
He remembered a similar feeling before he lay with a woman for the first time as a boy of sixteen. He had been infatuated with pretty servant girls and farmers’ daughters before, but he’d never loved anyone. The difference between lust and love had always been clear to him.
As had the knowledge that he would marry one day to form an alliance between his clan and another. To continue the line. Because that was what men did.
But he’d also known that he might not love his wife. He might not even trust her the way he trusted his father, his brothers, and his cousins.
But excitement lit up his whole body. He took Amy’s hand. Hers was icy cold, and it burned his skin. Something went through his hand to hers and back. An invisible tie wrapped around their wrists. What was that? Craig felt stronger and more powerful and alive than he’d ever remembered feeling.
“Here today,” Owen began, “we are going to join these two, Craig Cambel and Amy MacDougall in marriage.”
Owen looked a little nervous. Usually, the chief or the highest authority in the clan led the handfasting ceremony. In this castle, that was Craig. But Craig was busy getting married, so he’d asked Owen, as his closest relative present. But Owen was as far away from marriage as a man could be, chasing skirts and seeking adventures. So Craig understood why his brother would feel a tad uncomfortable.
“Who wishes to support these two to be joining their hands and lives now, say aye,” Owen said.
“Aye,” the men in the circle echoed.
And a small shudder ran through Craig. He understood why this was an important part of the ceremony—the support of his clansmen and his ancestors brought confidence in the rightness of the decision.
“Do ye have vows?” Owen said.
Craig hadn’t thought of the vows, but he needed to say something. He turned Amy towards him and took her other hand in his, too. Her eyes big, wide, and vulnerable. He wanted to reassure her all would be well. That she was safe.
“I vow to be loyal to ye while ye’re my wife. I vow to protect ye as though ye’re of my blood and bone. I vow to care for ye as a man should for his wife. And I vow to always come for ye if ye need me.”
Her eyes glistened—with tears?