Running a hand appreciatively across its surface, she touched the mingled textures of different threads and stitches used to create such a masterpiece.
She heard a whispered commotion behind her and heat rose to her cheeks. If she turned, the staring looks of the castle servants would dart away as they did every time she entered a room. She’d caught the murmurs of disapproval when she’d appeared dressed in servants’ clothing, but she was heartily bored with the insignificant jobs Ina appointed her. Besides, she grew impatient to confront the laird and convince him to send her home.
Heavy footsteps sounded on the floor behind her and Mary dragged her gaze from the tapestry as a strong hand clamped down hard on her shoulder. Alarmed, she spun around, her eyes wide with shock as she came face-to-face with Laird Scott himself. Or, rather, face-to-chest, for she’d forgotten what a very large man he was, and she craned her head backward in order to see his face.
Eaden released his grip on her shoulder and folded his arms across his broad chest as he stared at her. “Ranald tells me ye are no’ Miriam,” he stated bluntly. “Is this the truth?”
This was not how Mary envisioned this conversation with the laird. She’d imagined herself properly dressed, composed and clean, and with a clear sense of what she needed to say. She brushed the loose strand of hair from her face again and struggled to gather her thoughts, which foolishly fled at his unexpected appearance.
“No.”
His gaze narrowed and she hastily amended her answer. “No, I am not Miriam. Yes, it is the truth.”
Eaden grabbed her wrist and Mary stumbled as he dragged her behind him. As her anger flared, she planted her feet and gave her arm a twist and a jerk, neatly freeing herself from his grasp. Eaden whirled on her. He’d clearly not expected her to resist him.
The look of astonishment on his face almost made her smile. Instead, she bit her lip and stood before him, her hands clasped demurely. Her gaze met his with challenge.
Eaden stared, one eyebrow quirked.
“I will not be dragged anywhere in this castle ever again.” Her voice held deceptive calm. “I am capable of following both verbal and written directions.” She lifted her chin. “Choose.”
With each servant’s ear turned in their direction and all eyes marking their every move, surely he could not fault her for maintaining what dignity she had under the circumstances. A slight grin played about his lips as he inclined his head toward her and motioned for her to precede him. Giving him a wary look at his unexpected capitulation, mocking though it was, Mary swept from the room and up the stairs to the bedroom she’d inhabited for the past two weeks.
She’d obviously made a point with the laird, and she was about to congratulate herself on her small victory when the thudding sound of the door closing behind them triggered her doubts and fears all over again. She took a deep breath and turned to face him, her thoughts going from frightened to resolute in the moments it took her to compose herself.
Ranald said the king named Eaden’s lands forfeit if he did not wed Miriam, and she was not Miriam. How could things possibly be any worse?
“So, which is it?” His deep voice dragged her from her dire thoughts.
“Which is what?” she stammered, her throat suddenly dry.
“The look on yer face, lass. Ye’re either about to faint dead away from fright or prepare yerself to meet yer doom. Which is it?”
She blinked at him, completely taken aback. Scared to death she might be, but she wouldn’t disgrace herself no matter what he said about the matter.
Just then, she caught sight of an enormous canine ambling from behind the laird and her mouth opened in astonishment at the sheer size of the hound. It approached her with a swaying tail and ears perked forward in interest. Mary cautiously held out a hand for the dog to sniff.
Her husband’s jaw dropped as the hound leaned
Alana Hart, Lauren Lashley