Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Marian stirred.
It was her second night in the castle, and she had yet to master the rhythm of Glen Carrick, but she was determined to sleep better tonight.
The room was cold and quiet, despite the heat from the burning hearth. An uncomfortable feeling lingered deep in her chest, and she wrestled with her sheets, pulling the blanket over her head to block out the faint noises that had woken her.
It is only midnight.
She lay still for a moment, willing herself to go back to sleep.
She had barely dozed when she heard the noise again. A creak.
It is back.
Her eyes flew open, and she stilled, feeling her heart thump in her chest. She thought of what to do for a moment, quietly hoping that the noise would go away.
Should I call for Lilly?
Her mind flashed quickly to last night, and she decided against the idea.
She stared around the barely lit room, straining her ears until she heard the creak again. This time, it sounded at her door.
She pushed the blankets off her and slipped out of bed, her heart beating faster than she cared to admit. She reached for the lamp on her bedside table. Lilly had lit it before retiring, but it had burned out, and Marian had no knowledge of how to light it again.
It is no use.
She sighed.
Her ears perked up at the sound of something she couldn’t place, and she hurried into the dark hallway, hoping to find a guard to help in her search.
If it really is a ghost, I shall know it tonight.
She took a few steps forward, her eyes catching a flicker of light further down in the right wing of the castle.
She hesitated for a moment. Save for the flicker of light, the darkness stretched before her, cold and quiet in a way that made even the smallest movements echo.
Her mind combed through childhood memories of ghost stories as she tried to recall tales of a ghost with golden candlelight.
There is no such thing.
She drew a deep breath, padding softly across the cold stone floor as she made her way toward the faint flicker of light. She had forgotten her slippers in her haste, and it worked in her favor. She could barely hear her steps in the night.
A cold breeze swept over her, and she froze again. She was halfway to the light now.
Her heart beat harder, and she turned her head, peering into the dark to check if she was being followed.
“Do not be foolish,” she muttered under her breath, shaking off the thought.
But her hands curled into her robe as she resumed walking, increasing her pace.
Soon, she found herself at the entrance of a long, quiet room lined with shelves and tables—the castle library.
The light was at the end of the room. A single candle lit on a stand, casting a shadow over the back of a man.
Marian stepped inside, relieved that she’d found another human being.
Her relief faded into embarrassment once she realized who the man was. Tall, broad-shouldered, with long dark brown hair—only one Highlander looked like that in Glen Carrick.
Her heart skipped a beat.
She ducked behind one of the tables as he turned slightly, but it was too late. The Laird had already heard her.
She went still and held a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound of her own breathing, listening closely as he walked toward the table. His footsteps grew louder, as did the pounding of her heart.
I cannot stay here.
She crouched lower as she shifted around the table, trying to put more distance between them as quietly as she could.
Suddenly, her feet slipped.
“Oh!” she yelped.
Her hands shot out, striking the edge of the next table, and she stumbled forward. Several maps slid off its surface, slipping onto the stone floor in a loud, scattered mess.
There’s no hiding anymore.
Marian stood slowly, her cheeks heating up in embarrassment as she bent to gather the scattered papers. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Not yet.
“Planning yer conquest?” the Laird’s voice came from behind her.
She froze, as if he had not already discovered her.
She swallowed, her fingers tightening slightly around the maps in her hand as she forced herself to speak. “I…” Her voice faltered for a moment before she steadied it. “I apologize, my Laird.”
She resumed gathering the maps, hoping in her heart that he would just leave after she offered an explanation.
“There was someone… something… in my room.”
The words sounded more ridiculous out loud than they had in her mind. Her cheeks heated further as she stood there, still unable to face him.
There was movement behind her.
“A sound, it was?” he asked, and she could almost hear the amusement in his voice.
“I know what I heard.”
He stepped closer, and she felt it before she heard his footsteps. The room suddenly felt smaller, as though there was no room left to breathe.
“Aye,” he said softly, sounding genuinely convinced. “Yer ghost.”
There was his scent again… clean, sharp. It was stronger at this distance.
Marian inhaled sharply.
She held her breath longer than she had intended, her senses pulling her toward him before she could stop them. Her eyes closed briefly of their own accord, then she caught herself, forcing her attention back to the maps.
“I did not expect to find you awake.”
The Laird stepped in front of her. He reached forward, his fingers lightly grazing hers as he took the last maps from her hand and set them aside.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
She turned slightly toward him. Her pulse quickened at the awareness of how close they were. Too close, she could almost hear him breathe.
His scent wrapped around her as his gaze darkened, moving slowly from her face until it settled somewhere else.
Marian noticed it at the exact moment he did.
Her breath caught. The realization struck her all at once.
Not only was she indecent, but her robe had also loosened in her haste, the fabric slipping enough to betray her carelessness.
She moved to fix it, but the Laird was faster. He reached forward, his fingers brushing her skin ever so lightly as he held the edge of the fabric.
She felt a shiver run down her spine. She couldn’t step away, not even if she willed herself to.
He will not…
She stood perfectly still. Frozen, even, as he held her robe. Her breathing slowed. She raised her chin, finally meeting his gaze.
His eyes were darker than ever. He looked dangerous, like a beast on a very flimsy leash.
Her heart pounded against her ribs like it was about to burst, but her mind felt foggy under the sharpness of his scent and the softness of his touch.
She did not want it to stop.
Her fingers curled at her sides as his fingers worked slowly, adjusting her robe until it sat properly on her shoulders.
It felt like an eternity, but his hand lingered only a moment before dropping away. She remained where she stood, as though her body had yet to catch up with the moment.
“The livin’ are far more dangerous than ghosts, Mairi,” he murmured quietly.
She stepped back, breaking the moment. Somehow, his words did not scare her.
She cleared her throat, tightened her robe around herself, and lifted her chin again. “I request that you escort me back to my chambers,” she said, the formality of her tone feeling out of place in the dimly lit library.
The Laird did not move. He remained standing far too close, the candlelight catching the edge of his smile.
“Nay.”
His response caught her off guard. She did not react at once.
“I beg your pardon?”
He leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping low as his words brushed against her ear, sending another shiver down her spine. “If I walk ye back to yer chamber, lass… I might nae leave it again.”
Marian did not think it was possible for her cheeks to heat more than they already had.
She stepped back quickly, gathering what remained of her composure, though the warmth in her face betrayed her before she reached the door.