Page 17 of A Virgin for the Icy Laird
It must be the Laird.
Smoothing down the skirt of her dress, she moved to open the door. Sure enough, there he was, his fist slightly raised to knock again.
“Ye are ready, then,” he said simply, his eyes roving up and down her frame, leaving heat in their wake.
“Will I do?” she asked, fiddling with a fold in her skirt, fighting the urge to squirm under his scrutiny.
“Ye will do, me Lady,” he replied, offering her his arm, which she accepted.
She was still reeling from his poor attempt at answering her question, but the sheer headiness of his proximity distracted her. She was halfway down the stairs when she realized he had called herme Lady.
Before she could correct him, they stepped into the hall. The elderly clansmen were already seated, all deep in conversation as they waited for their Laird.
“Wait here,” Adair murmured, then stepped toward the high table and cleared his throat to draw their attention.
As soon as he took his seat at the head of the table, the meeting began. Several topics were brought forward: disputes, house repairs in the village, the harvest, and food stocking for winter.
Her mind was already drifting when one of them said, “Me Laird, ye promised to present yer betrothed to us, but we daenae ken where the lass would come from.”
Adair had definitely not been joking when he told her they were pressuring him.
“Ye asked for a woman,” he said. “I have brought ye one.” He looked toward the door where she stood. “Come forward, lass.”
Emily gingerly stepped into the room, her face heating with awareness of so many eyes on her. They turned in their seats to watch her like she was some exotic creature.
“This is Lady Emily. She hails from a noble family from the Northern Isles,” Adair announced.
Lies, all of it, but the men did not know that.
“Her people have fallen on hard times,” he continued. “She has come here under me protection. We have been corresponding for months. We are betrothed.”
The elders glanced at one another in skepticism. A man with a shock of grey hair looked at Emily for a long moment, then turned to give Adair a wary look.
“And her people are content with yer betrothal, me Laird?”
“They are,” Adair replied, his tone so chilly it did not invite further questions.
Another elder looked at her. “Ye come willingly, lass?” he asked.
Emily’s hands tightened. “I do, me Laird,” she replied, her voice surprisingly steady.
“And ye understand what is asked of ye?” he pressed.
“I do,” she said.
There was a brief pause as the men studied them. Then, the grey-haired man inclined his head. “Then we wish ye both happiness.”
Adair nodded once, and Emily felt some of the tension leave her shoulders, though she dared not show it.
“Ye have yer woman, then,” Adair said dismissively.
Just like that, the matter was closed, and in the next moment, they were discussing a different topic entirely.
Emily found herself struggling to stay still as the meeting progressed, and when she turned, she found Adair staring at her.
Suddenly, he rose to his feet. “I believe we should adjourn this meeting until tomorrow,” he announced.
“Aye, me Laird,” the councilmen said, rising to their feet.
