The words that Martha, his first wife, had cursed him with on her deathbed danced through his mind, causing goosebumps to erupt along his skin.
He had treated Martha exactly like his father had treated his mother. And he would not give himself the chance to do the same thing to Emilie.
“What if I daenae want to call ye by yer given name?” Emilie asked, dragging Archer from his spiraling thoughts.
He blinked rapidly, clearing the ghosts of his past from his mind. What had they just been talking about?
Ah, right. Her calling him ‘me Laird’ the whole time.
“It will be strange for me own wife to nae call me by me name,” he advised.
“Will you find it strange? Or will yer clan?”
The question was abrupt, catching Archer off guard. He stared at her for a moment, waiting for her to take back her words. But she did not.
Emilie just stared right back at him, seeming not to notice how odd it was to address a laird so bluntly.
“Both,” Archer answered honestly. “And I would prefer it if ye call me Archer.”
Emilie nodded, a muscle in her jaw ticking.
“All right then,” she said softly, turning her attention so that she was looking back out the window. “I’ll call ye Archer.”
His name sounded awkward falling from her lips, but he didn’t say anything about it. Her shoulders were straight, her posture stiff as she stared out at the landscape beyond, and Archer got the feeling that she did not want to talk to him any longer.
He settled back in his chair, turning his gaze toward the opposite window and trying not to let her ignoring him keep him from relaxing. But of course, it was one of the few thoughts that would occupy his mind.
Archer was not used to this. He was a powerful Laird, one who had made quite a name for himself and who was adored by his clan.
The attention of women was not something that he was used to having to fight for. And yet, his own wife seemed to be content if he never so much as looked her way.
When Castle McGregor finally came into view, the intricate, beautiful, sprawling stone building sitting high on a cliff with the sea as its backdrop, Archer exhaled in relief.
They were home.
“When we arrive,” he said, “ye’ll want to follow me straight into the castle.”
Emilie shook her head, and when she turned to look at him, she seemed surprised to find him still in the carriage with her.
Had the lass been so in her own head she’d forgotten that I existed entirely?
Her blue eyes grew hard, clouding over like the sea before a storm, and she pressed her lips into a hard line.
“Why do ye need me to follow ye?” she asked hesitantly, her spine going straighter than it had been a moment before. “Where will ye be takin’ me?”
She’s worried that I’m tryin’ to bed her.
The thought caught him off guard, mostly because he realized that it was true.
Her parents had mentioned something about her living with nuns for the last few years. Archer hadn’t given it much thought before the wedding, but perhaps that had something to do with the bizarre way she was behaving.
“There will be a cèilidh when we return,” he explained gruffly. “The whole clan will be there to meet their new lady. And I’ll be leadin’ ye to the Great Hall where it’s takin’ place.”
Emilie visibly relaxed as the words washed over her, obviously realizing that he wouldn’t immediately be taking her to their shared bedchamber.
“What will the cèilidh be like?” she asked, her eyes a bit wide with what looked like wonder.
Archer shrugged.