Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Lachlan stood frozen in the library, his feet rooted in the same spot as he listened to the sound of Marian’s footsteps fading down the corridor.
He could hardly think past the ringing in his ears.
Her words echoed in the empty room, over and over until he stumbled forward, his forehead hitting the shelf with a dull thud. The wood was cool against his skin, grounding him for just a moment before the storm in his chest rose again.
He inhaled deeply, shaking his head as though he could shake out the sound of her voice.
“This was a mistake.”
His fingers curled into fists at his sides, his nails biting into his palms.
Of course.
Of course, she thought it was a mistake. He had allowed himself to play the fool, believing otherwise and even daring to show it. He had let his guard down, allowing himself to believe for a moment that she might be different. But she proved herself not to be.
Marian was just another Englishwoman. Another Sassenach to decide so easily that the Highlands were not worth the trouble—that he wasn’t worth the trouble.
Damn ye, Lachlan.
Twice, she had kissed him back and then pulled away. She had fled from him as though his mere touch burned her skin. And he still could not bring himself to despise her.
She’s just like me maither.
The thought hit him like a fist to the gut.
His chest constricted, his breath coming shorter as the memories clawed their way to the surface.
The last time he had seen his mother, she had been standing in this very castle, holding a single bag and smiling. It was meant to be a short trip. A visit to her family in England. She had kissed him on the forehead and promised him that she’d be back soon, but she never returned.
He had been seven years old, holding on to a love he thought he had, too young to understand that she’d left him. And like a fool, he had kept her chamber neat, a sacred memory untouched by time.
His breath caught as he closed his eyes against the memory. Instead, his mind was flooded once again with thoughts of Marian. Her flushed face stared at him, her red lips pouting with indignation.
Stubborn, infuriatin’, English Mairi.
She had done the same thing to him, parading herself about in his castle and making him believe that she truly wanted to stay. She had kissed him with such unbridled passion and called it a mistake.
And yet, he still wanted her.
“Aye,” he muttered into the empty room, his voice rough and bitter. “A mistake.”
His fist slammed into the shelf, rattling it hard enough that several books tumbled to the floor.
“Damn ye, Mairi,” he said under his breath.
He straightened, adjusting his tunic where her fingers had grazed his bare chest. He could still feel the heat of her on his skin. Her taste lingered on his lips, and her sweet, floral scent permeated the air around him.
I cannae want a Sassenach like her.
He pushed away from the shelf and strode out of the library, leaving the books scattered on the floor.
His jaw tightened so hard it ached, but he had already made up his mind. If she wanted to run, then he would let her. He would not chase after an Englishwoman.
Not again.
Marian’s feet felt heavy as she found her way to her chamber. Her heart raced with every step, her fingers trembling as she pushed open the door with a creak.
She released a shaky breath once she was inside, shutting the door behind her and leaning against it.
What have I done?
Her fingers rose to her lips, touching them lightly as her eyes closed, replaying what had just happened. They were soft and swollen, still tingling from the fervency of Lachlan’s kiss.
“My Lady?”
Her eyes flew open, her heart skipping a beat. For a terrible moment, she’d thought she was alone. But no. Lilly stood near the hearth, her face wreathed in concern.
She quickly crossed the room to Marian’s side, checking both her arms for signs of injury. “I’m sorry, my Lady.” Her voice shook with worry. “Were you hurt?”
Marian shook her head. She tried to speak, but her lips trembled slightly.
Lilly’s gaze dropped to them, and her brow furrowed.
“What has happened?” she asked, her face turning red the moment her eyes met Marian’s. “Did… did the Laird—”
“No.” Marian’s voice came out sharper than she’d intended. “He did not. It was not…” She dropped her hands to her sides, closing her eyes for a moment to think.
It was not that Lachlan had hurt her. He had carried her as if she were precious, and she had truly felt that she mattered to him. It was not that he’d forced her either. She had wanted the kiss. God help her, she’d wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.
But she had called it a mistake.
Her throat tightened, her fingers curling into her skirt.
“Lilly,” she said quietly, slowly opening her eyes. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “What if I have ruined everything?”
Lilly’s expression softened. She led Marian quietly to the bed, sitting beside her and holding her hand.
“Perhaps you can tell me what happened,” she coaxed.
Marian shook her head. “I cannot.”
Lilly squeezed her hands gently. “My Lady…”
“The Laird kissed me.” The words tumbled out before Marian could stop them. “And I… I told him it was a mistake.”
Lilly’s eyes widened, but she did not seem all that surprised by the kiss. “Why did you say that?”
“Because it is,” Marian said, her voice breaking.
“Is it not? I came here to claim this land. The land that has belonged to his clan for years. We’ve been fighting since the day I arrived.
And now…” She drew her hands out of Lilly’s, wringing them in her lap.
“Now I do not understand what I want anymore.”
Lilly stayed quiet for a moment. Then she shifted closer to Marian, placing a hand on her knee. “Did it feel like a mistake?”
Marian’s breath hitched.
No.
It had felt right, and that was what terrified her the most.
All her life, she had been taught to be proper. To fear impropriety more than her own desires. To see marriage as a duty and passion as an unnecessary frivolity.
But passion was what she’d felt in the library, and it had nearly consumed her with an urgency that was far more dangerous than she’d imagined. It had taken hold of her without warning, silencing every lesson she had ever been taught and drowning out every careful thought.
Her breath caught at the memory of it—of him, and of the way her body had responded before her mind could intervene.
Her fingers curled into her skirt, a blush creeping up her cheeks as she remembered the way his lips had claimed hers.
She had lost control. And worse still, she had liked it.
It is too dangerous.
“It does not matter how it felt,” she said finally, her voice tightening. “We should…” She swallowed, straightening her back. “I should never have allowed it.”