Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Marian had not expected to ever enjoy breakfast alone.
She released a sigh of relief as she arrived at the hall, glad to find it unoccupied except for Mrs. Campbell and a few maids.
“Good morning, me Lady,” the housekeeper greeted as she walked toward the table. “’Tis a wonderful day today, is it nae?”
Marian nodded, smiling softly. “It certainly is.” She hesitated for a moment before asking the question on her mind. “Is the Laird coming down for breakfast today?”
The maids finished setting the table and left her alone with Mrs. Campbell.
“The Laird often prefers to have a late breakfast,” Mrs. Campbell answered. “Although…”
Footsteps sounded near the entrance, and they both looked up to see who it was.
“Ah! Here he is.” Mrs. Campbell turned to Lachlan and curtsied. “Good morning, me Laird. Would ye like me to serve yer breakfast at the table?”
Marian lowered herself into her seat. She adjusted her skirts beneath her, smoothing the fabric over her knees out of habit more than necessity. Lachlan’s gaze flicked to her, his eyes narrowing slightly before turning back to Mrs. Campbell.
She lifted her fork and took a bite of her eggs.
Such a frown…
“Nay,” he answered, his jaw hardening as he muttered the rest of his response in a barely audible tongue.
Marian paused her chewing.
Is that… Gaelic?
She could not be certain. Lachlan had spoken Gaelic the previous afternoon in the kitchen, and she had been sure to remind him of their agreement.
Mrs. Campbell nodded, murmuring something in response. But he was not yet finished. He gestured in Marian’s direction, holding her gaze as more unfamiliar words left his lips slowly, though she could not make sense of any of them.
Her eyebrows drew together, her fork pausing mid-air.
It is Gaelic.
She watched them speak, her curiosity growing as Mrs. Campbell nodded quickly.
What did he say?
Lachlan did not look in her direction again. He turned on his heel and left the hall, muttering further under his breath.
Mrs. Campbell turned to her. “Do ye need anythin’ else, me Lady?” she asked.
Marian dropped her cutlery. “No,” she said, hesitating for a moment. “But it seemed as though the Laird was just speaking about me.”
Mrs. Campbell nodded. “Aye. The Laird asked that his breakfast be brought up to his study. He also wants to meet with ye afterward.”
Marian raised an eyebrow. “In his study?” she asked, her confusion deepening. “For what reason?”
Mrs. Campbell shrugged. “I daenae ken,” she said simply, before leaving her alone in the large breakfast hall with a brief, sympathetic smile.
Marian finished her breakfast, though she could hardly recall the taste of it afterward. Her thoughts lingered on Lachlan and the curious way he had chosen to relay information about the supposed meeting to her.
Perhaps this is a new part of his ploy to wear me down and drive me back to England.
She rose from her seat after her meal, smoothing her skirt before stepping out into the corridor. She made her way to Lachlan’s study, her footsteps echoing softly across the stone floor.
The door stood ajar ahead of her, and she could already hear his voice in the corridor.
“Are the ledgers ready for inspection?” he asked whoever was in the study with him.
“Aye, me Laird,” a masculine voice responded.
Marian paused once she reached the threshold, debating for a moment whether or not it was necessary to knock on the partially open door.
“I havenae received any reports on the account from—” Lachlan broke off when he raised his head and caught sight of her. His hand froze over one of the books in front of him.
Marian stepped in.
“My Laird.” She curtsied, and he nodded slightly, pointing at the vacant chair opposite him.
“Have a seat next to me man-at-arms,” he said. “Finn.”
Finn cleared his throat and gave a slight nod of his head. “Me Lady.”
She closed the door behind her and then went to take a seat next to him.
She glanced at the two men awkwardly, waiting for an explanation as to why she’d been invited to the meeting. Instead, Lachlan simply resumed speaking. Only this time, his words were no longer in English.
The same unfamiliar tongue.
She drew a deep breath, attempting to mask the irritation that was beginning to grow in her chest as the conversation went on between the two men. Finn nodded along easily, even responding once in Gaelic.
Her fingers drummed lightly against the armrest as she tried to distract herself from the incomprehensible words, although it barely worked.
A faint pressure built behind her temples, and she sighed, finally deciding she’d had enough.
“Excuse me?” she blurted.
Lachlan finally looked at her, his eyebrows rising as though he’d completely forgotten her presence.
“Aye?” His tone was clipped.
Marian forced a polite smile. “I assume there’s a reason you requested my presence, my Laird?”
“Aye,” he said again, looking at her as though the question made no sense. “’Tis for this meetin’.”
Marian swallowed, releasing a breath that almost sounded like a huff. “Then there must be a reason why not a single word has been uttered in English since I set foot in this study.”
Lachlan’s eyebrows drew together in feigned confusion before a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He glanced at Finn, then back at her.
“If ye wish to remain on me land under yer inheritance claim, then ye must be a part of these meetings. They are conducted in me tongue.”
Marian looked away briefly, gathering her patience. “We had an agreement. I am not to interfere in the running of the clan, as I am to remain here as your guest until the dispute is resolved.”
“And ye werenae meant to interfere with me land or me people.”
Marian sighed. “I told you, my Laird, I wasn’t interfering.”
“Aye,” Lachlan said through clenched teeth, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Ye were only observin’.”
Marian scoffed, her chest rising as she folded her arms, her eyes shooting daggers at him and the smug smile on his lips.
Voices rose from the lower hall, followed by the heavy thuds of boots on stone.
Finn exhaled, lifting his hands slightly, just as the tension between them was about to snap. “Me Laird… Me Lady…” He glanced between them. “I think the clansmen have arrived.”
Lachlan blinked, finally breaking eye contact with her.
“Perfect,” he said, closing the book in front of him. “Ye’re comin’ with us. And ye’d better be ready to speak for yerself. In Gaelic.”
The Great Hall was already filled by the time they entered.
The air carried the scent of smoke, sweat, and ale. Tankards littered the long table as the clansmen gathered around it, their voices reverberating through the castle walls as they cheered and talked over one another.
And yet, the moment Marian stepped into the hall behind him, the air shifted. The men stared at her, whispering between themselves as they watched her with open curiosity.
Lachlan did not slow his stride as he led her forward.
“She sits with us today,” he said plainly, taking his seat at the head of the table.
One of the younger men shifted uncomfortably. “Me Laird, ‘tis nae proper for a lady to—”
“She has a claim,” Lachlan cut in, his tone brooking no argument. “She’ll hear what’s said of it.”
A wave of murmurs rippled through the room, and Lachlan leaned back slightly, resting his hand on the armrest.
This is goin’ to be interestin’.
He began the meeting after a short moment had passed, purely in Gaelic.
“Tha sinn an seo an-diugh air sgàth na cùise seo,” he said, his tone even and deliberate. We are here today because of this matter.
A few of the men nodded immediately, and across from him, one of them spoke. “Chan eil i a’ tuigsinn facal, a bheil?” She doesnae understand a word, does she?
Lachlan did not look at Marian.
“Chan eil sin na chùis,” he replied coolly. That isnae the concern.
Then he continued in English, saying just enough for her to understand that the discussion was about her. “She claims the right to Glen Carrick and parts of MacLeod land.”
The men erupted in another round of murmurs, boots scratching against the stone floors, tankards thudding on the table in protest.
Lachlan glanced at Marian, his chest tightening slightly at the look on her face. Her eyes held a hint of something he couldn’t decipher, but her posture remained straight and poised amidst the chaos.
She needs to see what she’s askin’ for.
She met his gaze from across the table, her hands curling into fists.
Aye. The lass is irritated.
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as the men continued to speak, throwing question after question in Gaelic, all directed at her and her claim.
“Ma tha i airson fuireach an seo,” one of the older men said slowly, eyeing her, “feumaidh i dearbhadh cò i.” If she wishes to remain here, she must prove who she is.
A murmur of agreement followed.
Lachlan nodded once. “Aye.” Then, deliberately, he turned toward her, asking in Gaelic, “Dè tha agad ri ràdh air sin, a bhean-uasal?” What have ye to say to that, me Lady?
The moment the words left his mouth, her expression shifted.
Marian did not look to him for help. Instead, her gaze moved briefly across the table. She held her chin high, taking in the men one by one.
Lachlan’s eyebrows drew together slightly.
What are ye thinkin’, Mairi?
“Tha mi an seo,” she said slowly, the words heavy with her accent. I am here.
The hall went dead silent.
When had she learned that?
Lachlan’s jaw tightened as he leaned forward ever so slightly in his chair. Finn’s eyebrows shot up, and several of the men froze, shock written plainly all over their faces.
“And I shall remain here,” she continued in English, her voice steady, “until the dispute is resolved in Edinburgh.”