Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
What in the heavens is wrong with me?
Marian tossed and turned in bed for the umpteenth time before throwing the blankets off her.
She sat in her chamber, staring into the darkness as Glen Carrick settled into deep silence again—a silence that did nothing to calm the fluttering in her heart.
It is no use staying abed and getting no sleep.
She slid out of bed, threw a cloak over her nightrobe, and then stepped into the corridor once more.
Since her arrival at the castle, she had longed to experience it in the early hours. To listen to the whispers of the trees and to feel the cold caress of the Highland morning breeze against her skin.
She stepped into the courtyard… and shivered at once.
The cold bit sharper than she had expected, untouched by stone walls or burning hearths. Still, she pulled her cloak tighter around herself and walked toward the outer wall.
It was empty and gray. Peaceful in a way that almost made her smile. The ground beneath her feet was not muddy as it had been on the day she had arrived, and she heaved a sigh of relief.
She hadn’t expected to enjoy it so much. The morning dew had yet to settle, and the fog hung so thick around her that she could barely see ahead. Yet, it calmed her.
The knot in her chest loosened in a way she hadn’t felt since London. For the first time since her arrival, she wasn’t thinking of what was expected of her, where she ought to be, or who she ought to please.
She drew a deep breath and exhaled, watching her breath cloud in the air in front of her.
I should stay a moment longer.
The thought settled over her with certainty, and she did not argue with it. She dropped her shoulders and breathed again, deeper this time, letting her arms fall to her sides despite the cold.
Then she heard the sound of hooves behind her.
Lachlan did not expect to find anyone by the outer wall.
He pulled the reins, his horse slowing beneath him as his gaze settled on a silhouette in the fog.
His forehead creased slightly as he raised his eyebrows, studying the figure more closely.
A lass. This early in the mornin’.
There was something about the way she stood that made him quiet in his approach. Relaxed, even.
A carefree air hung around her, as though she belonged in the castle. Her arms moved slightly at her sides as her shoulders dropped. She looked over the walls into the bushes ahead, her gaze fixed on nothing in particular.
Lachlan did not want to startle her.
His grip on the reins loosened as he gently led his horse ahead. His legs swung slightly on either side as he drew closer to the courtyard, close enough to see her more clearly.
She wore a cloak barely fit to keep her from the Highland cold. Her dark hair flowed down her back, cascading in soft, loose curls.
Mairi.
A frown crossed his features for a fraction of a second.
What is she doin’ here?
A cold breeze swept across the courtyard, flapping the hem of her cloak against her legs.
Is she nae freezin’?
His expression softened at the thought, and he pulled his horse to a halt on the other side of the courtyard.
So many things had unsettled him over the last two days, the English lass being a common and constant source of his headaches. He had ridden out at first light, as he always did when he needed to clear his head. And yet, here she was again in his escape.
His jaw tightened. He had half a mind to shout her name across the courtyard. To ask her why she thought she could roam his castle at night and his land in the wee hours of the morning.
But he didn’t.
Something about her looked different. Felt different.
Lachlan had seen Englishwomen before. There was always a certain distaste in the way they held themselves when they discussed the Highlands. There was always fear in their eyes or a fake admiration for the land and its people.
She isnae like them.
Marian stood still. Her body seemed to float in the fog, as though she was lost in the comfort of it. And the Highlands seemed to welcome her too, albeit a harsh welcome.
The breeze gusted against her again, clearing away the fog so that he could see her more clearly.
She shivered, pulling her cloak more tightly around her.
Lachlan exhaled softly, his grip tightening briefly on the reins before loosening again. He jumped down from his horse.
“I should get ye in the stables,” he murmured to the horse, brushing a hand along its golden hair.
And yet, he crossed the courtyard and walked over to Marian instead.
His steps softened as he drew closer, only loud enough to announce his presence without startling her.
Marian’s back tensed slightly, then she relaxed, subtly adjusting her stance. She didn’t have to look to know it was him.
He stopped beside her by the wall, neither of them exchanging a word of greeting. The silence stretched between them, and the breeze gusted through the courtyard again, tugging at the hem of her cloak.
Lachlan stepped closer, unsure why he even did that. He spoke at last, almost to himself. “Me faither used to say these lands remember everythin’.”
“The Highlands?” Marian asked, her voice softer than he’d ever heard it. She didn’t turn her gaze away from the bushes.
“Aye,” he said, nodding slightly. His throat tightened at his next words. “It remembers every clan that bled for it.”
Marian glanced at him, but only for a second. “Is that why you do not wish to leave?”
Lachlan’s jaw tightened, and his brow furrowed slightly as he stared into the foggy bushes.
“’Tis what ye want.” He chose his words carefully, his voice rising slightly to make it sound more like a question.
Marian turned her back to him. He did not expect her to respond, but she did.
“I only want somewhere that is mine,” she said, her voice barely a murmur. “I didn’t expect that it would look like this.”
He looked at her then.
She had said nothing to ease his mind, but her tone made him soften, even though she’d answered without looking at him.
He cleared his throat and shifted on his feet.
I should leave now. There’s much work to be done in the castle.
He turned around and walked a few paces away from her, then stopped.
’Tis nae me concern.
“Come on, Mairi,” the words escaped his lips before he could stop them, and his jaw tightened at the sound of his own voice.
She must be rollin’ her eyes.
“Go on ahead, my Laird,” Marian replied without moving. Her tone was even, unlike what he’d expected.
He turned around to face her, his gaze sweeping over the length of her body. “That cloak cannae save ye. Ye’ll freeze if ye stay here a minute longer.”
She did not move.
He waited for a second before turning again, heading toward the castle with quicker steps.
A sneeze sounded from behind him, and his lips curled into a small smirk.
I told ye.
“Well, wait!” Marian called, catching up to him. “It seems you are right.”
Lachlan smiled. It was a brief smile, fading from his face as quickly as it had formed.
He paused to look at her cloak once she was beside him. The fabric shifted with the wind, offering little protection against the cold.
His eyes followed her fingers as she tucked her hair behind her flushed ears, then back down as she rubbed her hands together, blowing against them in a way that almost made him laugh.
Bloody English lass.
“Ye should have… tea,” he suggested.
Marian’s eyebrows shot up, surprise written all over her face. “Tea? I thought you Highlanders forbade tea!”
Lachlan scoffed. “We do whatever pleases us.”
Marian beamed, her eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. “Now that we’re on the topic, shall we have breakfast as well? I missed it yesterday.”
Lachlan paused for a moment, holding her gaze. “Ah…” He raised his hand slightly. “Young Jamie mentioned it. Ye requested a meal before dawn.”
“Of course! It is the most important meal. I cannot imagine that a household—”
“Clan,” he cut her off, and she swallowed, returning her attention to the path ahead.
Once they arrived at the main doors to the castle, Lachlan straightened and cleared his throat. “I’ll inform Mrs. MacBride of yer… request. But ye’ll have yer breakfast alone.”