The sunlight shone through the already open door, and the carriage that he had taken here was waiting for them at the front of the steps. Archer looped his arms toward Emilie, solemnly guiding her toward the door and toward the carriage that was waiting to take them to the rest of their lives.
She’s a quiet one, me new wife.
In the entire time since they had been announced as man and wife, Emilie had not spoken a word. Granted, Archer hadn’t either. But he found it unusual that a woman would be quiet for this long.
Wasn’t the wedding day supposed to be the happiest day of a woman’s life? If that was so, why did Emilie’s face look more like she was on her way to her own execution, rather than marrying a rich Laird?
“Are ye always this quiet?” Archer grunted as he helped her up into the carriage.
His wife did not answer him as she settled herself into the bench seat, working to smooth her skirts down beneath her before blinking her blue eyes at him expectantly.
Archer climbed into the carriage himself, settling down across from her. As soon as he was situated, he glanced back at Emilie.
The carriage jolted forward, the wheels crunching on the gravel as it took them back toward Castle McGregor.
“Did ye hear me?” he growled.
There were very few things that irritated Archer as much as having people ignore him.
His new wife blinked rapidly, taking her gaze off where it had been lingering at the window and moving to his. She studied him for a moment, the same nervous expression lingering on her face.
“Nay, me Laird,” she answered, in a voice that made Archer want to lean into her.
“Nay, ye dinnae hear me?” he pressured. “Or nay, ye arenae typically this quiet?”
Now that she was talking, Archer had thought for sure that she would answer him right away. But she didn’t. She kept studying him, and her delay in responding chafed against him.
“I’m nae usually this quiet,” she said finally, shrugging one shoulder as if the words meant nothing to her.
“Then why are ye bein’ this quiet now?”
Why on earth does it matter? Why is it botherin’ me so much that she’s nae payin’ attention or talkin’ to me?
Archer had no idea what the answer to his own question was. All he knew was that it did bother him.
“Would ye like me to talk more, me Laird?” Emilie pressed, tilting her head to the side as she studied him.
Archer shook his head, unsure of how to respond. He didn’t want her yapping away the entire time back to the castle, but he also didn’t want to feel as if his new wife was ignoring him.
“Ye daenae have to call me that,” he grunted, switching the conversation so as not to answer her question. “Ye can call me Archer. We are married, after all.”
Emilie stared at him in the way that he was quickly finding both infuriating and beguiling.
What was it about her? Why was he responding to her like this?
She seemed so innocent. So infuriatingly pure in a way that made him want to defile her.
He could feel the urge welling up inside him, the need to reach out and touch her. To run his fingers along her supple skin. To feel himself…
Nay. Enough of thoughts like that. I cannae go thinkin’ about her in that manner. Nae when I cannae love the lass.
The thought made him scowl, even though it was true.
He couldn’t offer Emilie anything other than a title and a castle. She would have a soft life, one where she would take care of his twins.
But he could not give her love.
‘The rest of yer life will be as cold and as loveless as ye made our marriage.’