Page 1 of Laird of Wrath

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“Arowan branch for luck,” Lara said as she flitted about the vanity, fussing with everything within reach.

She tucked the rowan branch with its tiny orange fruit between the vanity and the wall, right in the small slit where they met, and then gave it a gentle pat as if to say,Stay here, wee thing.

“We’re a little too late for luck now,” Rhea muttered. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, at the pale, lifeless face, at the brown eyes that stared back at her and were the only sign of life. “Had I had any luck, I wouldnae be here now.”

“Me Lady!” Lara gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Daenae say that.”

Rhea glanced at the young maid over her shoulder, then turned her gaze to the room. “Is anyone else listenin’?”

“Och nay,” Lara said, her eyes widening. “Nay, me Lady, nay one is spyin’ on ye here.”

“Then why should I nae say it?”

“Because it is bad luck to say it!”

Rhea couldn’t help but chuckle fondly at the maid.

They didn’t know each other for long, only for the few days Rhea had been at Castle McMahon. And yet Rhea had come to like her. Lara had become a comforting presence for her in the castle, when there was no one else there for her.

“Daenae laugh, me Lady,” Lara urged, her tone suddenly so stern that it reminded Rhea of her governesses. “Such things are far from funny.”

“Right, of course,” Rhea said, pressing her lips into a thin line to stop herself from smiling. “Forgive me.”

“Ach, nay harm done.” Lara came to stand behind her, a smile on her face. “He’s a good man, me Lady. He’s a good man.”

It was not the first time Lara had spoken those words that day. She had been muttering the same thing over and over to herself, and with every repetition, a new wave of anxiety washed over Rhea.

She didn’t know whether Lara was saying it for her sake or for her own.

Lara kept mumbling the same words like a mantra, and with each repetition, Rhea became more and more agitated, shifting in her seat.

She was still in her wedding gown—a heavy, tight, deep blue gown of luxurious silk, which restricted her breath and threatened to crush her ribs, the sleeves trimmed with an intricate lace that must have cost more than half the tapestries in the room. Her hair was pinned up in an intricate updo, the pins poking into her skull, the linen of her undergarments itchy all over her back.

She had the distinct sense that her discomfort had more to do with her mental state rather than the dress itself.

A curt knock on the door pulled her out of her thoughts, but before she could call out to her visitor to come in, the door opened and in strolled her new husband, Callum Muir, Laird of Clan McMahon.

He was in all his glory, just like she had seen him earlier that day, dressed in his finest black silks and wools, his jacket and trews the color of a midnight sky. His garments, along with his dark hair and beard, made him look like a lurking shadow, like darkness incarnate.

The moment he entered the room, Lara went still and silent, much like a statue. Rhea saw the difference in her immediately; the effect of fear, paralyzing her completely.

Rhea swallowed past a dry throat as she sprang to her feet. Her husband had an odd way of commanding silence in every room—something she had seen as much at the altar as at the feast.

What should have been a joyous occasion had instead been a bleak, dreary gathering. The only sounds in the Great Hall had been those of the band playing cheerful music and the clink of cutlery against the plates. The guests had been timid, quiet. Rhea even more so, avoiding her husband every chance she got. She hadn’t even taken a good look at him until now, as she had been trying to keep her gaze averted, in case he met her eyes and tried to talk to her.

What will I even say to him? We have nothin' in common!

Taking a better look at him now, Rhea had to admit—though begrudgingly—that Callum was a handsome man. His gray eyes were like sharp steel, slicing straight through her. Heat coiled deep in her core, an unfamiliar sensation, and her hand flew to her stomach on instinct, wondering what it was that had suddenly changed inside her.

Callum spared Lara a glance and then promptly dismissed her with a wave of his hand. With an awkward, hurried curtsy, Lara rushed out of the room without so much as another look at him.

It seemed that Rhea was not the only one avoiding his gaze.

Her heart thudded in her chest when their eyes finally met. Desire surged through her, but under it, there was something else, something darker: a fear that threatened to paralyze her, too, especially when she realized that they were now alone in the room.

There was no one else there. There was no one to delay the inevitable.