Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Marian felt as though the walls would close in on her.
The clansmen stared at her, their faces a mix of many different expressions she could not begin to interpret.
Her chest tightened, and she swallowed, surprised that she had somehow been able to string together a sentence in Gaelic.
Tha mi an seo.
She had heard the kitchen maids say those words over and over, but she had never imagined she would one day be clinging to them as though they were a shield.
But that was all the Gaelic she knew, and the rest of the meeting passed in a series of hurried, rough words she couldn’t even begin to understand.
She slipped out of the Great Hall immediately after the meeting ended, heading into the courtyard before Lachlan could stop her. A few of his clansmen were already outside, heads bent together in a discussion that seemed rather passionate.
Marian raised her chin. Her fingers curled into the folds of her skirt as she walked across the courtyard, ignoring their whispers and open stares.
She had not planned to spend her morning like this. But here she was, heading toward the other side of the castle in the hope of getting as far away as possible.
It took some time for her heart rate to slow, and even several more minutes to find her favorite spot—the old well at the end of the estate. It was next to a large tree, with branches and leaves that rustled in the soft midday breeze.
She let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding, and for a moment, she stood there, allowing herself to simply be.
A huff escaped her lips as she thought of Lachlan.
Does he wish to scare me away so badly?
Her chest tightened as she remembered their last discussion by the well.
She had been standing at this very spot, and he had claimed her lips with a certain hunger in his eyes.
It was with that same hunger that he now turned on her, as though he desperately needed to frustrate her out of Glen Carrick just as he had said.
Marian shook her head—a futile attempt to remove every thought of him from her mind.
Perhaps he is only trying to protect his land against my inheritance claim.
Her shoulders fell slightly, and she raised her chin, staring up at the tree.
Perhaps that is all there is to it.
But nothing could excuse his behavior. He had dragged her into a room full of men, only to deny her the dignity of understanding a single word spoken within it. And on top of that, he had not expected her to be able to answer for herself.
The absurdity of it all might have amused her if it hadn’t been so infuriating.
Petty laird.
Marian sat on the edge of the well, forcing her thoughts into a semblance of order.
Glen Carrick had a way of doing this to her—unsettling her and then expecting her to stand steady all the same. And yet, for all its rough edges, the castle still felt as though it might one day become her home. As though it already was.
She did not know how long she had sat there. She was far too occupied with thoughts of surviving Lachlan MacLeod that she did not realize when the sound of laughter began to drift toward her.
The voices were familiar.
She stilled, her head turning slightly toward the sound.
Is that Lilly?
Her eyes narrowed as she took in the two figures in the distance—a man and a woman—laughing together without a care in the world.
Certainly, it is her.
Marian straightened her back and craned her neck to get a better look. Her eyes widened as she realized who the man with her maid was.
Finn?
They walked closer to where she sat, although the shade of the tree and her light green dress provided enough coverage that they could not see her watching them.
What is Lilly doing with Lachlan’s man-at-arms?
Her brow furrowed. For a moment, she considered stepping forward or calling Lilly’s name, if only to spare her the impropriety of being seen alone with a man by someone other than her.
But she did not move. Instead, she remained where she was, her gaze lingering on them long enough for her heart to warm up to it. There was something quietly reassuring about the sight.
Lilly laughed again, and it was a soft laugh, different from the way she always sounded around her. She swung the basket in her hand playfully, and Finn grinned at her, wider than Marian had ever seen a man grin.
Her lips pressed together lightly.
Perhaps this is why she returns late from errands.
She smiled as she watched them head toward the edge of the estate, walking so close beside each other with their fingers almost touching.
“Does yer mistress always quarrel with the Laird?” Finn asked, loudly enough that his voice carried to where Marian sat.
Lilly sighed softly, her shoulders dropping. “Only when she breathes,” she said, sounding genuinely concerned. “Sometimes I worry about her.”
Finn laughed softly. “I worry about the Laird, too.”
“If only there was something we could do…”
They disappeared through a small gate.
Marian hopped down from the well and walked back toward the castle.
Should I be cross?
A smile spread across her face as she replayed their conversation in her head. If Finn was truly worried about his Laird, then it meant their little war did not trouble her alone.
She pictured an agitated Lachlan, pacing in his study as he thought of different ways to get back at her while she rested, and it deeply satisfied her.
She let out a small laugh.
The laughter had not yet faded from her lips when she stopped short.
He was right in front of her.
Lachlan.
In the flesh.
Lachlan’s jaw clenched.
After the meeting ended, a few of the elderly clansmen requested a private audience with Marian, but she had already slipped out of the hall.
He set out to look for her as soon as he could, telling himself that it was only to finish what had been started in the hall. She had walked away from a matter that concerned his entire clan, and he would not have her slipping through his fingers whenever it suited her.
And yet, when he found her at the far end of the estate, he stopped dead in his tracks.
Marian was just a few paces away from him, walking ahead with her lips stretched into a grin. Her eyes were fixed on the ground, and she didn’t notice his presence.
Within a moment, Lachlan decided it was much worse that she was laughing alone with no one else around.
Is somethin’ wrong with the lass?
He had come out here for a confrontation. Or at least, that was what he told himself. But there was no hint of defiance or anger on her face, and that unsettled him.
His gaze dropped briefly, taking in the way the sun kissed her skin and the way her green dress complemented her complexion.
Her smile faltered once she looked up, and his heart sank with a strange feeling of disappointment.
Aye. There she is now.
His jaw tightened slightly as he took a few steps forward, stopping directly in front of her.
“Thought ye could run from me?” he said, his voice barely a murmur.
His eyes darkened with satisfaction as she raised her chin, her familiar defiance creeping back into her features.
“You’re insufferable,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.
Lachlan took a step closer, catching a whiff of her scent.
Has she been playin’ with flowers?
His eyes narrowed at her frown, and yet a small smile tugged at his lips.
“Aye,” he said, leaning in slightly despite himself. “But ye seem to like it, me Lady,” he teased, his voice lowering with every word. “’Tis why ye’re out here, smilin’ to yerself and thinkin’ of me.”
Marian scoffed, stepping back abruptly. Her cheeks reddened as she broke eye contact, looking everywhere but at his face.
“Why are ye here, me Laird?” she asked, her voice wavering slightly.
She didnae deny it.
Lachlan cleared his throat and straightened his back. “Ye left the meetin’ without me permission,” he said, his voice low and measured. “And I willnae have it.”
Marian tilted her head slightly, her eyebrow rising as she looked at him. “The meeting ended long before I left, my Laird. It is not a discussion that concerned me, as I did not understand a word of what was being said.”
“And yet, ye spoke in Gaelic,” he pointed out. His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes. “Ye daenae ken Gaelic.”
Marian’s lips pressed together. “No,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I do not understand Gaelic, and yet you surround me with it against my will.”
Lachlan’s expression hardened. “’Tis me land, Mairi. I speak me language, and I make the rules.”
“Do you?” Her tone was too soft. Too polite.
“Because from where I stand, my Laird, you break them far more often than you care to admit.” She took a small step forward, closing the space she’d created earlier.
“You forbid me from interfering in the castle’s affairs, yet you drag me into your meetings. ”
Her eyes held his. “You agree that I am to remain your guest, yet you treat me as though I am nothing but an intruder, removing my blankets and ruining my breakfast.”
Her lips quivered slightly, and she blinked, taking a step back. “And now, you corner me here, demanding to know why I left a meeting even after it had already ended.”
Lachlan stared at her, something oddly familiar coiling in his chest. He took in her flushed face, her red lips, and her slender neck as she jutted her chin.
“I didnae say ye could leave,” he said in a low, dangerous murmur.
Marian’s hands clenched into fists. “And I am not your prisoner, Laird MacLeod.” She straightened her back. “And if you so badly wish to scare me off your land, you should at least have the decency to play fairly.”