Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Marian threw on her cloak and stepped outside the castle the moment the rain slowed to a mist.
It was a wet, cold afternoon, but the last thing she wanted was to remain confined to her chambers because of the wishes of an angry laird.
Since her arrival at Glen Carrick, she had longed to explore the lands and learn more about them. And today, she was determined to fulfill that longing, even if it meant risking catching a cold.
She stepped into the large courtyard, testing her feet on the muddy ground. Mrs. Campbell had been generous enough to loan her a pair of Highland boots, and she intended to put them to good use.
The mist clung to her hair as she walked across the courtyard, a cold chill settling into her bones. Still, she merely wrapped her cloak tighter around herself, a satisfied smile playing on her lips.
She turned toward the back of the castle, following the narrow path that led to the glen and the ridges beyond.
Her chest tightened at the thought of the previous day and how Lachlan had spoken to her when she had wandered into the secluded chamber.
He acts as though I’m a prisoner, expecting me to stay within my chamber at all times.
She frowned. The mere thought tasted bitter in her mouth.
And yet, he doesn’t adhere to his own rules.
Quickly, she shook off the guilt that had begun creeping up her chest, steeling her resolve. She wasn’t going to allow him to treat her like she was one of his subjects when she might very well be the rightful owner of Glen Carrick.
It is still my inheritance, and I have a right to it.
The path to the glen was just as muddy as she had expected. She held up her skirt, walking gently until the ground began to firm beneath her feet. She walked along a short curve that opened into the glen she’d only ever seen from the castle windows, and a loud gasp escaped her lips.
It is even more beautiful than I imagined.
A soft breeze blew against her, and she closed her eyes, breathing in the fresh air.
For a moment, she simply stood there, listening to the gentle murmur of the water as it wound its way through the valley and allowing its calmness to settle around her.
She moved closer to the steep edge of the glen, carefully measuring each step to avoid slipping. Once there, she bent down, pulling off one of her gloves to scoop some of the water into her palm. Her lips curved into a smile as she watched the shimmering water slip through her fingers each time.
She almost forgot herself… until she sneezed.
She straightened up, looking around to make sure no one had seen her.
Perhaps it is not a good idea to play with water in the cold.
She raised her chin and walked around the ridges, taking in the land and the way it stretched without an end in sight.
Perhaps I should explore the rest of the estate.
The idea struck her once she’d gotten enough of the glen and ridges. She turned around, walking toward the far end of the estate.
I do not know my way around here. Perhaps I should have brought Lilly with me.
Marian hesitated for a brief moment, then dismissed the thought. Turning back now would only prove Lachlan right—that she did not belong here. She wasn’t about to give him that satisfaction.
Surely, it cannot be that difficult to find my way around.
Lachlan had no business pacing the corridors. More often than not, the rain helped him relax. But today, he just couldn’t sit still.
His steps carried him past Marian’s chamber more than once, and his brow furrowed into a frown.
’Tis only a coincidence.
Yet, he found himself in that corridor for the third time, mere minutes later.
His jaw tightened.
He picked up a tool and started chipping away at a ragged part of the wall that he’d been meaning to fix for months.
’Tis this rock that bothers me.
Marian’s door creaked open in between his chipping, and his head turned at once. He stilled when he saw Mrs. Campbell step out through the door with Marian’s maid behind her.
Nay Sassenach.
“Me Laird!” Mrs. Campbell’s eyes widened in shock as she took in his position. “What are ye doin’?”
She rushed forward, and he straightened, schooling his features into a neutral expression.
“I heard a complaint and thought to check this out,” he said, pointing to the piece of rock jutting out of the wall.
The lie tasted bitter on his tongue.
“Ah!” Mrs. Campbell’s shock softened, her face settling into an uncomfortable smile. “Ye need nae bother, me Laird. I’ll get young Jamie to look at it.”
Lachlan inclined his head. “Aye.” He nodded. “I ken.”
He hesitated for a moment before glancing at Marian’s door again. The last thing he wanted was to see her. And yet, he couldn’t resist.
“Tendin’ to the Lady, aye?”
Mrs. Campbell shook her head slightly, a small, fond smile forming on her lips. “Nay,” she said with a slight wave of her hand. “Lady Marian is out explorin’ the estate. I only brought some fresh beddin’ and linen.”
Lachlan gave a small nod, though his lips thinned. “Is she now?”
His fingers tightened around the tool in his hand, and he absentmindedly turned it over.
Mrs. Campbell hesitated for a second before answering. “Aye, me Laird. She asked for boots, and I gave her me pair.”
Lachlan’s jaw set. “Of course she did,” he murmured, taking a step closer to hand her the tool. “Keep this for me, Mrs. Campbell. I need to see to somethin’.”
With that, he turned around and headed straight out of the castle, though he had no idea where he was going.
It was several moments later when he found her sitting by the old well.
Her feet did not quite touch the ground, so she swung them slightly, humming a song he had never heard before.
She was staring at something in the tree before her. An owl, he realized once he had gotten close enough. His feet snapped a twig on the ground, and she stopped singing.
She hopped down from the well, picked up a rock, and threw it in his direction before stopping to look at his face. Lachlan dodged the nearly accurate throw, lucky to have predicted her movements in time.
The lass kens how to protect herself.
A smile tugged at the corners of his lips before he remembered himself.
He snorted, shaking his head as he walked toward her.
She’s truly impossible.
“Ye’re still here,” he said.
She frowned, folding her arms across her chest. “Where else would I be?” she replied in a sharp tone.
His jaw tightened.
Fair enough.
He took a few steps closer, watching as the wind threw loose strands of hair against her cheek. His hands ached to reach out and brush them from her face. Instead, he hooked his thumbs into his belt and moved even closer to where she stood.
“Ye should go back to England, Mairi,” he said quietly. “This place will break ye. Ghosts and all…”
He’d half expected her to back up. Instead, she took a step closer, raising her chin to look at him.
“You assume far too much about me,” she almost hissed.
His jaw clenched, and his lips pressed into a hard line. “Aye.” The word sounded like a curse. “And ye assume Highlanders bow to English papers.”
Marian paused. She held his gaze for a moment, then she huffed, as if she’d finally figured something out.
“You intend to frighten me away,” she said coolly.
He nodded. “Aye.”
She swallowed and took a step closer to him, so that there were only a few feet left between them.
“Well then,” she replied, dropping her voice until it was barely above a whisper, “you are doing a remarkably poor job of it, my Laird.”
The space between them crackled with tension, neither of them backing down.
Lachlan laughed, low and humorless.
“Ye’ve been here for three days, Sassenach,” he growled, leaning down so his face was closer to hers. “And ye’re already terrified.”
“Yes!” she spat.
His face hardened, her vehemence catching him off guard.
“I have already seen that the great terror of Glen Carrick has been reduced to stealing biscuits and bullying guests. What more do you have?”
Lachlan felt a stir in his chest. It was the same stir he’d felt when they stood alone in the corridor, when her blue eyes stared into his, when her waist fit perfectly in his arm.
Heat coiled low in his belly as he watched her simmer. The way her chest heaved with each breath, the stubborn tilt of her chin… This was the most passionate he’d ever seen her. Angry, yet breathtakingly beautiful.
“Careful, Mairi,” he whispered, his eyes narrowing.
“Or what?” she whispered back. “You will… glare at me again?”
His gaze dropped to her lips, just for a second.
That was all it took.
Something snapped inside him.
Lachlan stepped forward suddenly, closing the distance between them before she had the chance to retreat. His hand caught her wrist, and he drew her closer to him, firmly enough that her chest collided with his.
“Ye talk too much,” he said quietly, his voice rough.
They were close enough now that neither of them could pretend that it didn’t matter. His grip tightened on her wrist.
Her breath brushed against his lips as she spoke. “And you—”
The rest of her protest was swallowed by his kiss. Lachlan claimed her lips quickly and roughly, as though he’d been starving for a taste.
They broke apart just enough to breathe, the space between them charged.
He expected her to shove him back. But her gaze flickered to his lips, and for a moment, she did not move. Then she rose onto her tiptoes, closing the distance between them and pressing her lips against his.
Lachlan deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping into her mouth, just as her senses returned. She pulled back sharply, her palm striking him with the lightest slap imaginable.
“Do not do that again,” she warned, almost breathless.
Lachlan glared at her, his breathing ragged.
What have I done?
He studied her—her flushed face and her defiant posture as she stood her ground. As if she had not just kissed him back.
It shouldn’t matter, but God help him, it did.
He saw his mother’s face at that moment. She’d held herself with that same posture.
His jaw tightened in anger. He wanted to push Marian away and ask her to leave his lands right then.
He opened his mouth to speak. Instead, he heard himself say something different.
“Then stop darin’ me to.” His voice was rough. Raw.
His chest burned with anger at himself as he stood there, staring at her like a man who had already lost.
He turned on his heel and headed toward the castle without saying another word.
Damned Sassenach.