Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Marian woke up late the following morning, her entire body sore from the activities of the previous day. She drew a deep breath as she sat up in bed, her hands pressed slightly against her lower back.
Good heavens.
Sunlight streamed softly into her chamber, casting a warm glow over the foot of her bed.
“Thank goodness,” she whispered, slipping out of bed to enjoy the warmth of the morning sun.
She stood by the window for a moment before going to take a bath, humming a quiet song as the warm water caressed her body.
The Highlands were unforgiving and harsh, but after the last challenge, she knew that she would not let anything break her. Especially not on a day as beautiful as this.
She went downstairs for breakfast, savoring the hearty broth that Mrs. MacBride had prepared for her. The woman had put extra effort into the meal, and it showed, satiating her before she’d even finished it.
Marian had barely finished her breakfast when Lachlan appeared in the doorway, his mere presence cracking the semblance of peace she had just started to enjoy.
He folded his arms across his chest and cleared his throat, as though he’d been waiting hours for her. His face was set in a deep frown, and it looked as though he did not possess the ability to smile. Yet, he had laughed in the field the previous day.
Or had I dreamed it?
Marian wiped her hands with a napkin and then rose from the table, her chin lifting as she approached him.
“Mairi.”
“My Laird.” She curtsied. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
His gaze swept over her briefly before he spoke again.
“Come,” he said simply.
Marian blinked. “That is all?” she asked, not moving. “No horns to summon me this time?”
“Daenae tempt me.” A faint smirk touched his lips before he turned on his heel and headed down the corridor.
Marian followed quietly, her mind combing through different possibilities of what might be happening. After yesterday’s challenge, she was hesitant to find out, but she finally asked Lachlan just as they turned a corner.
“Where are we going?”
Lachlan did not slow down. “There’s somethin’ ye need to learn.”
Marian’s eyebrows knitted together. Somehow, the answer unsettled her more than she had expected.
Marian did not know what to expect.
The food store was located at the back of the castle, nestled between the enormous stone walls and the castle’s supply sheds.
Its entrance was obscure, such that she would never have found it if she had come looking on her own.
It did not have a proper door or guards.
Instead, a narrow passage led toward it, partially hidden behind stacked barrels and worn wooden crates.
She followed Lachlan closely as they passed through the narrow passage, finally arriving at the main store. She looked around for a moment, fascinated by the arrangement and structure.
Back in London, Marian sometimes visited the stores, organizing what the house needed and balancing the books alongside the staff to keep her mind sharp.
“What are we doing here?” she asked, her excitement seeping into her voice.
Lachlan cleared his throat, his eyebrows arching slightly. “I see ye’re interested in the store,” he noted.
She quickly gathered herself.
I should keep my guard up.
“It is nothing special,” she said, eyeing one of the shelves behind him. “You have a decent store.”
His brow furrowed slightly. “I see.” He placed a hand on his hip as he looked around. “Well, ye’re here to learn how the clan distributes food stores ahead of winter.”
Marian shrugged lightly. “Aye,” she said it wrong, before turning toward the table at the corner of the store. She took a few steps forward, swiping dust from the table with her fingertip. “We should get started, my Laird.”
Lachlan stared at her for a moment, a look of amusement crossing his features. “Nay, Mairi,” he said finally, shaking his head. “Nae that table.”
He pointed at the long, messy table in the middle of the room, with bags of grains arranged underneath it.
“Here,” he said, his lips quirking up.
Marian stood confused for a moment.
What does he mean?
She pointed toward the ledgers on the shelves beside her, her eyebrows rising in question. “But—”
“Ye’re here to learn the real deal, Mairi,” Lachlan cut in. “If ye’re goin’ to stay in Glen Carrick or even own it, ye must ken how it is run… by hand.”
He picked up a bag of grains and dropped it with a loud thud on the wooden table. Dust and chaff scattered in the air, filling the room until they settled again on every surface, including his previously dark tunic.
Marian’s eyes widened. She looked at the mess, holding her hand over her nose to keep herself from inhaling the particles.
“Bring me those,” Lachlan ordered, pointing at the empty, large black bowls at the other end of the room, equally covered with dust.
Marian stared at him, hesitating for a moment before touching the bowls. She placed them on the table, and he arranged them. Three in total, for demonstration portions.
Lachlan dipped his hands into the bag of grains, scooped out equal portions, and poured them into each bowl. He did this a couple of times, dust rising with each round, settling on his hair and eyelashes.
Then he stepped away from the bag, gesturing to Marian with his chin.
“Come closer, Mairi,” he said, resting his hand on the edge of the table. His gaze settled on the bowls as though they carried more weight than their contents suggested.
Marian took a few steps closer.
“Each portion goes to a different household,” Lachlan explained, his voice quieter now. “Families who cannae always provide enough on their own.”
Her eyebrows drew together slightly. “They rely on this?”
“Aye.” His jaw tightened faintly. “Through the winter, when the land gives less than it takes.”
Her gaze drifted back to the bowls. “And what if the portions are wrong?” she asked him carefully.
Lachlan’s eyes met hers. “Then families starve.”
Marian paused for a moment, her face falling slightly. Throughout her store visits in London, she had never been made aware of this matter. Now, it felt more delicate. More important than it was fun.
“Now, it’s yer turn,” Lachlan said, the three simple words sounding like a death sentence.
Marian went still. If the air weren’t so dusty, she would have inhaled deeply.
“All right,” she sighed, slowly dipping her hands into the bag of grains.
Her scoops were smaller than Lachlan’s, and the grains felt rougher than expected, their dry edges scraping lightly against her skin as they slipped between her fingers.
She pressed her lips together, adjusting her grip as she tried again. This time, she curled her fingers tighter, willing the grains to stay put as she moved toward the bowls. A few fell, making a small mess on the table.
Lachlan’s lips curled into a smirk as he watched her.
“Do ye need help?” he asked.
She frowned, rolling her eyes at him. “I can do it,” she muttered under her breath.
Just then, a door opened in a corner, and Mrs. MacBride came in, her eyes lighting up at the sight of Marian.
“Me Lady!” she greeted cheerily. “Have ye come to set our stores right, too?”
Lachlan scoffed loudly, and Mrs. MacBride turned to face him, her expression turning neutral. “Me Laird.”
“Where is young Jamie?” Lachlan asked her in a stern voice, his back stiffening slightly.
Marian frowned. She removed her hands from the bag and dusted the sleeves of her gown.
“Here he is,” Mrs. MacBride replied as the boy came in through the same door, smiling once he saw Marian. “He was just finishin’ somethin’ for me.”
Lachlan nodded, his eyes softening slightly. “Ye go on, then,” he urged. “Ye need to rest yer knees.”
So, the Laird can be kind.
Mrs. MacBride turned to Marian. “Good luck with this one, lass,” she said, smiling before leaving through the door.
Marian turned to face Lachlan. “Is there a secret door leading from the kitchen to here?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. “I never noticed.”
“Ye cannae,” Lachlan uttered sharply. “’Tis none of yer business, Sassenach.” He then turned away from her, facing Jamie. “Lad, fetch me some sacks from the shed. Enough to go around the families for winter.”
Jamie nodded before leaving the room through the main entrance.
Lachlan turned his attention back to Marian, his eyes following her hands as she carefully dusted the remaining chaff off her sleeves.
“Ye arenae ready,” he said.
Marian pouted. “I do not want to ruin this dress. It is delicate embroidery.”
Lachlan looked at her, his lips twitching. “Perhaps ye can roll up yer sleeves,” he suggested, his voice barely a murmur. “Get it out of the way.”
Marian’s eyes widened, and her cheeks flushed. “And bare my arms?” She was almost too loud.
Lachlan cleared his throat. “Ye didnae have a problem doin’ so at the fence,” he pointed out, avoiding her eyes. “Even around all those lads.”
Marian blinked.
Is he perhaps… jealous?
“That was different,” she argued, her tone slightly defensive. “We should get on… with the… grains.”
“And yer embroidery?”
“It is not that important,” Marian said. “This dress belonged to my mother.”
She bit her tongue, regretting the words. She had let her guard down and spilled too much, but thankfully, Lachlan did not press her about it. He got behind the table and showed her how to portion the grains again, his arms moving with years of practice and skill.
She stood transfixed, watching him command the room with effortless authority, finally understanding why the entire clan followed him without question.
He does it so well.
He rolled up his sleeves, and she caught herself staring at his arms. His muscles flexed, even though he had no use for much power in separating grains.
Marian swallowed as she remembered how those muscles had felt around her waist that day in the corridor. Her pulse quickened.
She shook her head slightly, as though that would force the memory of his touch out of her head.
I am only watching him to learn.
She shook her head again, and he paused this time, his brow furrowing slightly.
“Are ye all right, Mairi?” he asked.
“Yes,” she responded quickly. Too quickly.
“Ye keep shakin’ yer head—”
Marian had never come up with a lie any quicker than she did. “That is because I… I am ready to try again. With the grains.”
She raised her chin slightly, sealing the lie with a confident posture.
Lachlan stepped aside, creating room for her in front of the bag of grains. “All right,” he said. “Yer turn.”
Marian dipped her hands into the bag for the second time, holding her fingers together to keep the grains from slipping between them. She scooped up a small portion and poured it into the closest bowl without spilling a drop.
She glanced at Lachlan, rolling her eyes at the unimpressed expression on his face. Then she tried again, scooping a bigger portion this time.
“Ye’re doin’ it wrong,” he muttered in her ear, reaching over to adjust the portion she had measured.
He leaned over her. His chest barely touched her back, but their hands brushed for more than a brief moment. His hand closed over hers as he scooped out some of the grains, making sure that the portion was the same as the last.
“Like this,” he murmured.
Marian’s heart skipped a beat. Her stomach fluttered with a mix of strange feelings that made her weak in the knees. For a fleeting moment, she forgot about the grains entirely.
“Then perhaps you should have explained it better,” she replied quietly.
Lachlan stepped away from her, his breathing heavier than earlier.
“Me Laird,” a voice suddenly called from the entrance, and they both jumped.
It was Jamie, back with the sacks he’d gone to fetch.
“Where do I put the sacks?” he asked.
Lachlan turned to face him, his jaw tighter than ever. “Ye arenae new here, lad,” he grunted. “Daenae ask me such daft questions.”