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“The owner was a sweet, older woman. Mary Allan. She didn’t have the money or the means to keep it up, and it’d fallen into disrepair. Tons of entrepreneurs had their eyes on the place, wanting to capitalize on their income and turn it into condos. The idea broke her heart. She’d raised children here and couldn’t stomach the idea of the house without a family.”
“That’s how she said it,” I add, remembering Mary’s words. “‘My house will be brokenhearted with no family to love it.’”
Freya’s eyes twinkle at the memory. “Callum made an offer on the spot. Well above what she was asking. Then, I offered her the studio to live in.”
“Did she take you up on the offer of the studio?” Fiona asks.
“No. She went to live with her sister but promised to visit when the house is finished.” I don’t tell the women I text Mary daily pictures of the renovations.
Fiona says, “That's so beautiful, you two. How much you loved this house, and you were willing to go above and beyond for it. It's a perfect match for you and Freya." She gives me a pointed look as if to say that my spinster sister and I are destined to live our days here together but alone.
I return her pointed look. “Aye. I promised Mary Allan I’d fill this house with children.”
Fiona looks away with a blush.
“I’m sure Mary would love to be invited to the wedding,” Freya adds, gently elbowing my side. Another kick nudges my shin, and her message is clear.
Shut up before you scare her off, you big lug.
I drain the rest of my tea, the wedding heavy on my mind, knowing I still have to get the bride to agree to marry me.
It’s proving more difficult than I thought.
Chapter Nine
Fiona
I can’t stop thinking about the feel of his fingers stroking me. His big, warm, rough hand spanking me. His lips kissing me. The way it made me feel to have him dominate me. The pleasure that tore through me when he touched me without my consent.
I’m overwhelmed by Freya’s constant comments about our upcoming nuptials—a wedding that I have not agreed to, and his threats of punishments I haven’t accepted.
Before he can touch me again, I have to escape.
It only took a quarter of an hour to place my meager but neatly folded wardrobe into the dresser. When they thought I was unpacking, I planned, plotted, and found my escape route. As I pace my room, I’m almost sad to go. The house is a dream. The room is pleasant and pretty, and Freya is lovely company.
Still, I must go.
I think of my father’s absence this morning when I was abducted. Has Callum taken him somewhere, or worse, hurt him? Or was Dad just down at the pub all day, coming home and passing out in his bed? No idea that I’m even missing. I haven’t had much time to worry about Dad. But that’s okay because now I’m returning to him.
Back to the island.
Earlier today, after the beast spanked me in the Great Hall, he said, “Join me for tea. Five o’clock sharp. We can discuss our upcoming wedding.”
He gave a dark chuckle, the sound echoing through the large room as he exited.
Angry, humiliated, and spent, I ran over to a chair and collapsed into it. Resting my arms on the cool wood tabletop, I fanned my face, trying to compose myself. At that moment, I realized Callum would never accept me paying my father’s debts in a reasonable way, such as becoming a staff member of his castle.
He’s a determined man who gets what he wants. He wasn’t going to stop until I had a ring on my finger and Burnes as my last name. Destined to be…his bride.
Sitting in that beautiful Great Hall that was to become mine, I knew I had to escape. I grabbed my bowl from where I left it and headed to the kitchen to find help. A full staff was inside, and the heavenly smells of food cooking as they bustled about in clean white aprons filled the air.
“Madam. Welcome!” A full-bellied man with a chef’s hat and a black beard, a sleeve of colorful tattoos running down his arm, greeted me with a smile.
Maybe he could help.
“Come, Fiona,” he said, holding up a spoon. “Taste this for me. Tomorrow’s tea. Tell me if it needs more salt.” Holding up a spoon from the massive pot he’s cooking with, he hovers it over the top, waiting for me.
He knew my name?
