Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“I’m tellin’ ye. The English lady had the whole pantry turned about before noon…”
The words carried down the corridor, and Lachlan’s ears perked up at the mention of Marian.
Mairi? What is that about?
The thought came sharply, but he continued down his path, though the voices only grew louder with each step he took.
He did not like it.
“Aye,” another maid said, answering his thoughts. “She certainly won Mrs. MacBride over. I’ve never seen a thing like it.”
Lachlan slowed down despite himself.
Am I hearin’ things wrong?
“Ye think the old cook fancies the English lady now?”
“Certainly! Did ye ever see her laugh? I fancy the Lady, too. If only she werenae a—”
“Watch yer tongue,” a third maid hissed.
Lachlan’s jaw tightened. After having the servants take away her blankets and serve her cold, solid oats for breakfast, the last thing he’d expected was for Marian to get familiar with them.
I ken it. ’Tis the damned English charm.
They continued to gossip.
“Did ye see the way the Lady spoke? Calm as anythin’…”
They were closer now, just beyond the bend, and their voices were loud enough to give away too much admiration for his liking.
“… and now, the pantry makes more sense than it ever did, thanks to her.”
Aye. The lass must think she belongs here now.
Lachlan stepped forward, his lips pressed tightly together, his brow furrowing along the line of his scar.
Their laughter died down at once, and they dropped into curtsies, their eyes fixed firmly on the floor.
“Me Laird,” they greeted, but he barely acknowledged it.
“What is it ye find so amusin’?” he asked in the flattest tone possible, making sure to feign disinterest even though his fists clenched slightly at his sides.
The maids exchanged looks.
“Nothin’, me Laird,” one of them answered quickly. “We were only—”
’Tis pointless.
“Aye,” he cut in, his gaze sharpening.
He waved a hand, dismissing them as though it would stop thoughts of Marian from haunting his mind.
He did not need to do more. They hurried away, almost bumping into Mrs. Campbell, who had just turned the corner.
“Me Laird,” she greeted him once the commotion had died down, smoothing her apron out of habit.
“Mrs. Campbell,” he returned, stopping before her. They were alone in the corridor now, and yet he hesitated for a moment before asking, “What is this I hear of the kitchen?”
Her hands stilled for a fraction of a second, and she lowered her gaze slightly. “Only that things are runnin’ well, me Laird,” she replied carefully.
His eyes narrowed on her slightly.
She isnae bein’ honest.
His housekeeper’s new behavior bothered him more than it should have.
“Mrs. Campbell…” His voice dropped to a murmur, and she finally gave in.
“I…” she stammered. “I didnae think it me place to stop her, me Laird. I think she simply wishes to be of help.”
Help. That’s what they say before they steal yer lands. The English.
A muscle ticked in his jaw from how hard he’d been clenching it, and he exhaled, looking briefly down the corridor before turning his gaze back to Mrs. Campbell. “And where is she now?”
She hesitated, just for a moment. “She’s in the courtyard, me Laird.”
Lachlan’s brow furrowed slightly.
Of course, she is.
He gave a short nod, already turning away before she could say another word.
He made his way down the corridor, the faint sound of voices carrying toward him, louder and livelier the closer he got. His steps slowed as the courtyard came into view, the sound of Marian’s laughter, light and unrestrained, reaching him before he saw her.
He had not heard that sound before.
“… me Lady,” a familiar voice followed her laugh. “If ye place it like so, ’twill be sure to collapse before sundown.”
What in God’s name is she doin’ now?
“Aye?” Marian laughed again, pulling back her sleeves to brush dirt from her hands. “Then I suppose we cannot afford to use any wrong measurements on the fence.”
The young lad beside her—Jamie—grinned widely, stepping closer to her as he began to explain. His hands moved this way and that as he drew shapes in the air, and she leaned in, watching his every movement with rapt attention until he paused to laugh again.
“What is so amusing?” she asked, placing a hand on her hip, pouting slightly.
The young boy flushed, although she barely seemed to notice it.
“’Tis the way ye say it,” he replied quietly. “’Tis aye, me Lady, nae eye.”
Lachlan’s chest tightened as he took in the scene before him.
She shouldnae look so at ease.
His legs ached to walk into the courtyard and pull her away from it all—the mud, the laughter, the boys watching her as though she were something glittery in the afternoon sun.
And yet, he did not move. He was rooted to the spot, watching as she crouched in the mud, heedless of the state of her gown as she worked on the lower part of the fence.
The boys gathered eagerly around her, hanging on her every word, their faces flushed with boyish admiration.
Lachlan’s jaw clenched.
Marian should have looked out of place. Instead, she fit in so easily that it almost displeased him. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to be angry at it. Not at that moment.
This isnae how she’s meant to be.
Her hair came loose from whatever careful arrangement had held it back, soft curls falling down her back as she continued to work on the fence, unbothered and unaware of the effect she had on him.
When her maid stepped behind her, pinning up her hair and exposing her slender neck to his view, Lachlan swallowed hard. He looked away quickly, his gut stirring as though he’d crossed a line he had not meant to approach.
It was the same unwelcome heat he had felt the previous evening at the well. God help me.
He had meant to humble her out of Glen Carrick. Everything he’d done today had been intended to remind her of her place. And yet, here he was, carried away admiring how well she seemed to fit in it.
He shook his head.
’Tis all a ruse. It has to be.
He cleared his throat and strode toward her, his expression hardening into something colder.
Marian stood up graciously, despite her situation. The sun hit her face as she turned to him, settling softly on her cheekbones, nose, and lips. She held her chin high, not bothering to wipe her muddy hands on the rag her maid had handed to her. Instead, she smiled at him.
Her smile was polite, paling in comparison to the laughter she’d shared earlier with the lads.
Lachlan felt an unwelcome sting deep in his chest.
“My Laird.” She dipped into a polite curtsy, and he clenched his jaw harder.
“Ye’re interferin’,” he said the words to spite her.
An emotion quickly flashed across her face, though he barely caught it.
Marian held his gaze, her smile lingering for a moment longer than necessary.
Lachlan had come. Despite everything he’d done to show her that she wasn’t welcome on his land—if it was even his—he had come to see what she was doing.
Perhaps he’s tired and ready to give up.
The thought pleased her more than it should have.
A tinge of satisfaction stirred in her chest before she pushed it aside.
“My Laird.” She curtsied, and when she looked up at him again, his frown had deepened.
Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, still stained with mud from mending the fence. Her chest warmed in a way she would never admit out loud, and she steadied her breath before he noticed the pulse in her throat.
“Ye’re interferin’,” he said, his lips barely moving. His voice was rough and low, and his eyes darkened as she stood before him.
She ought to have felt embarrassed, standing outside in such a state in front of him and the boys she’d just gotten acquainted with. Her hem was heavy with mud, her sleeves were undone, and her hair was barely held together by a random string that Lilly had found somewhere in the courtyard.
And yet, she did not. Rather, she felt free in a way she’d only ever dared to imagine back in London.
She looked at Lachlan, resolved not to give in to this feeling without putting up a good fight first.
Perhaps this is precisely what I need.
Lachlan’s throat bobbed, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her. Her breath caught for the briefest moment before she steadied herself, still holding his darkening gaze.
Very well. If he wishes to play this game, I shall meet him in it.
“No, my Laird,” she said sweetly to throw him off. “I am only observing.”