Page 29 of The Laird's Masked Desire
The day passed and the light faded as they rode, and the forest started thinning into open ground where the wind carried the sharp scent of the sea. By the time Inveraray rose ahead of them, the sky had darkened, with the loch below it reflecting only faint light.
Torches lined the outer approach, their flames steady despite the wind, throwing long shadows across stone and water. The gates stood open. Men waited in ordered ranks, wearing dark cloaks and polished weapons. Their faces were turned toward the road with unmistakable expectation.
Word had arrived before him.
He brought his horse to a measured halt at the head of the escort. The sound of hooves stilled, replaced by the low murmur of voices and the crackle of fire. Castle staff assembled in the courtyard, each in their proper place, each already aware that the laird had not returned alone.
Domhnall dismounted first, turning at once to Margaret. He set his hands at her waist and lifted her down without ceremony, though he did not release her immediately. He waited until her feet were steady on the stones before stepping back.
She stood in his clothes still, cloaked now in fresh wool. She looked more lovely than any woman he had ever seen. He felt the brief hesitation in discipline at once. Several gazes lingered afraction too long. One young guard, scarcely seasoned, failed to pull his eyes away at all.
“Eyes front.” Domhnall’s voice cut through the moment.
The young guard stiffened as though struck, snapping his gaze forward. “Aye, me laird!”
Domhnall didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. Instead, he stepped forward, placing himself between Margaret and the assembled men, with one hand settling briefly at the small of her back. The touch was controlled, an assertion rather than a caress.
A steward stepped forward, bowing deeply. “Welcome home, me laird. Chambers have been prepared fer ye, and fer…” He hesitated, then added smoothly, “yer future wife.”
The title carried weight. Domhnall felt it land, heavy with consequence.
“Good,” he said. “She will be attended.”
He placed himself subtly between Margaret and the watching crowd as they crossed the courtyard, a quiet assertion that required no explanation. Whispers followed them, respectful and restrained, their curiosity tempered by discipline.
As they passed beneath the torchlight, Domhnall was acutely aware of what this arrival meant. Inveraray Castle had seen him bring a woman home.
And from this moment forward, nothing within these walls would remain untouched by that fact.
Margaret felt the weight of the moment the instant she stepped into the courtyard.
It was not merely the size of Inveraray Castle, with its ancient stone rising dark and formidable against the night, but the stillness of the people within it. Men stood at attention. Servants watched from measured distance. Every eye followed her progress as Domhnall guided her forward. She felt his presence as a quiet shield at her side.
She was keenly aware of how she must appear: dressed in a man’s garments, with her face pale with fatigue. And yet, no one laughed. No one stared openly. The looks she caught were curious, respectful, and most unexpectedly, careful.
Inside, the great doors closed behind them with a resounding echo that seemed to mark a crossing she could not undo. Torchlight bathed the stone halls in gold, illuminating banners, shields, the long memory of a place shaped by war and endurance rather than courtly display.
They did not pause. As they moved deeper into the castle, a line of women stood waiting just beyond the entry hall. They were maids in neat order, with their hands folded and their eyes respectfully lowered.
The sight tightened something in Margaret’s chest. She had been waited upon before, but never like this.
One stepped forward. She was young, slight, with hair braided tightly and eyes warm despite her careful composure. She dropped into a low, respectful bow.
“Me laird,” she greeted him first. Then she turned to Margaret and bowed again, just as deeply. “Me lady.”
The title sent a strange, almost dizzying sensation through Margaret.
“I am Annabel,” the maid continued. “I have been assigned as yer lady’s maid. If it pleases ye, I will escort ye tae yer chambers.”
Margaret hesitated only long enough to gather herself, then inclined her head. “Thank ye.”
She turned instinctively to Domhnall, uncertainty flickering through her fatigue. The hall felt vast all at once, and the quiet expectation pressing in on her was unlike anything she had known.
“Ye should go and rest,” he urged softly. His voice was even, but there was a gentleness in it she was beginning to recognize. “It has been an ordeal… fer everyone.”
She nodded, but evidently, she didn’t do it with much conviction.
“Ye are safe here,” he added, telling her exactly what she needed to hear, although deep down, she already knew it. “If ye need anything, all ye need tae dae is ask fer it.”
