Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Murray Castle came alive long before they even reached its gates.
Music carried through the air in lively bursts as Lachlan’s horse slowed down. Fiddles and drums wove together with the sound of laughter, filling Marian’s ears before they even reached the courtyard.
The joyful cheer grew closer with every step of the horse until it was no longer distant but all around them.
Marian’s eyes widened as they came to a stop in the vast courtyard. She took in the scene before her, straightening her back as she looked around in awe.
She turned her head back slightly. “What is this?” she asked Lachlan, her voice filled with quiet excitement.
She had forgotten about his closeness for a moment, but the sound of his voice near her ear quickly reminded her.
“’Tis a cèilidh,” he replied, the word rolling off his Gaelic tongue with an ease that was slowly becoming familiar to her ears.
Marian cleared her throat. She held on to the reins as he dismounted behind her, feeling the roughness of the thick material in contrast to her lace gloves.
She hadn’t expected to attend a Highland ball, but now that she was here, she was grateful to have dressed the part.
Lachlan held out his hand to help her off the horse, and she took it without thinking, giving him a small smile once her feet touched the ground.
“Thank you, my Laird,” she said, marveling at how much smoother it was than her ascent had been.
She held her cloak in one hand and straightened her gown as best as she could with the other. Her shawl nearly fell off her shoulders, and she adjusted it quickly, even as its flimsy material flailed in the wind.
A sharp sound escaped Lachlan’s lips, almost like a laugh, and she turned around to look at him, her eyebrow rising slightly.
“Have you something to say, my Laird?” Her voice held a hint of playfulness.
The corner of Lachlan’s mouth twitched. “’Tis nothin’,” he said, his gaze flicking to the cloak in her hand and back to her pouty lips. “Why do ye have the cloak if ye willnae wear it?”
Marian rolled her eyes, one hand rising to tuck her hair behind her ear.
It is no surprise that a laird does not understand the rules of fashion.
Her lips curled slightly as she thought of a more suitable answer.
“I cannot conceal my attire behind a cloak unless need be,” she explained.
Lachlan made a low sound in his throat, unimpressed.
“Aye,” he muttered. “And ye’ll break yer neck tryin’ to manage it.”
Her cheeks flushed.
She stood dumbfounded as he took the cloak from her and marched ahead as though he owned the place. Her heart skipped a beat at the gesture, though she did not dare to admit it.
He did not even ask.
Marian scoffed, though she could not help but notice how he held her cloak carefully, draping it over his arm rather than tossing it over his shoulder.
She cleared her throat, quickening her steps to catch up with him, and neither of them spoke again.
The cèilidh quickly soaked up all their attention.
It was already in full swing. Torches blazed along the walls of the castle, and laughter rose from every direction, mingling with the rhythm of boots striking the wooden floors in the Great Hall.
The chill of the evening air brushed against Marian’s cheeks as they walked up to the entrance, though the warmth spilling from the castle made it feel immediately welcoming.
A young laird strode forward the moment he saw them, his surprised gaze lingering particularly on Lachlan.
“Ye must be Laird MacLeod.” He stretched out his hand for a shake.
Lachlan took it firmly. “I presume ye are Laird Murray.”
Their handshake lingered for what seemed like an eternity, a quiet acknowledgment of men who shared similar values and spoke the same language.
“Ye arrived on a lively night,” Laird Murray said, breaking the silence.
Lachlan nodded once. “We noticed.”
The silence quickly grew awkward between them as they stared at each other.
Laird Murray glanced toward Marian with careful curiosity, and Lachlan noticed immediately. He cleared his throat lightly, turning toward her. “This is Lady Marian Whitcombe. She is with me.”
Laird Murray’s eyebrows rose slightly, while heat rose in Marian’s chest.
Would he not say something further?
She kept a polite smile on her face, though her mind raced at the impropriety of the introduction.
Perhaps he does not know what to say, considering our unique situation.
She briefly considered saying something for herself.
I should do the honors. Introduce myself as a friend of Anna’s. Or an acquaintance. From London.
Her chest tightened slightly as she looked over the excited crowd once more, searching for Anna.
“Lady Marian is me guest from London,” Lachlan added. “She is stayin’ in Glen Carrick until she resolves a family dispute, and she requested to come here today.”
“Ah…” Laird Murray exhaled. “Ye are welcome, me Lady. I presume ye ken me wife.”
Marian smiled softly, glancing at Lachlan as the knot in her chest loosened in relief.
Just then, Anna appeared, moving quickly across the room before Marian could properly prepare herself.
There was a different air about her from the last time Marian had seen her in London, and a quick smile spread across her face.
Anna looked at Marian carefully as though she was racking through her memories, and Marian’s stomach nearly sank.
Does she not remember me?
Her cheeks reddened slightly, and she pursed her lips, just as Anna’s eyes lit up with recognition.
“Lady Marian,” she greeted with genuine delight, pulling Marian in for a hug that caught her off guard. “It has been ages since I last saw you!”
Marian’s face broke into a smile of her own.
Thank goodness.
She hugged her back, and once they broke apart, Anna clapped her hand once to get the attention of a maid nearby. She immediately began to issue instructions.
“Prepare the last chamber upstairs for our guests,” she said briskly. “Fresh linens and a proper fire.”
The maid hesitated. “Me Lady… it is the final room,” she said quietly.
Anna waved a dismissive hand. “Then it will serve perfectly.”
The implication settled in faster for Lachlan than for Marian. He raised an eyebrow. “One room?”
Marian stiffened, her eyes widening in shock.
Surely not.
Anna merely smiled. “The castle is quite full, my Laird,” she said sweetly as the maid took their belongings. “Had we known you were coming…”
Her gaze flicked from Lachlan’s clenched jaw to Marian’s wide eyes, and she paused for a moment, swallowing the rest of her sentence.
“Please.” She gestured toward the maid. “Allow her to show you to your chamber.”
Marian’s heart pounded with every step they took down the long, winding corridor.
Her fingers curled tightly into the sides of her dress as she followed behind Lachlan and the maid, only relaxing slightly once they were in the guest chamber.
Small was hardly the word for it.
It felt as though the walls could close in on them at any moment. The bed took up most of the space, leaving only a narrow stretch of floor between it and the far wall.
Marian stepped inside, unsure where to stand as servants hurried in with blankets and firewood for the hearth.
Lachlan crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall as though the space did not affect him at all, and she avoided his gaze entirely.
Instead, she followed the servants’ every movement, watching them intently as though they might suddenly discover a hidden door, or another chamber tucked away behind the stone walls.
Am I truly going to spend the night here, with Lachlan?
One by one, the servants finished their tasks, bowing their heads slightly before turning to leave.
The door closed behind them with a soft click, leaving Marian, Lachlan, and the maid who had shown them to the room in an awkward silence.
“Me Laird, me Lady,” she murmured, her gaze darting between them. “I hope the room is to yer satisfaction.”
Lachlan pushed off the wall, his jaw clenching slightly as he turned to face her. “The Lady takes the bed,” he said firmly. “Bring more blankets. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
Marian turned sharply. “That is entirely unnecessary.” The words tumbled past her lips, even though she didn’t fully mean them.
She glanced at the maid.
This cannot be happening.
“Aye,” Lachlan said calmly, giving her a look. “But it’s happenin’ anyway.”
The maid dipped her head and left quickly, a small smile tugging at her lips as she disappeared through the door.
Marian stared at Lachlan from where she stood, her chest tightening and heating up all at once. Her thoughts scattered the moment she tried to gather them.
“You… you do realize how ridiculous this is,” she sputtered, looking down at the growing pile of blankets as the servants returned with more.
Or perhaps not.
Lachlan shrugged. He picked one more blanket from the bed and dropped it onto the floor.
It is true. We cannot possibly share a bed.
Her cheeks reddened at the thought, and she swallowed quickly. Fortunately, Lachlan did not notice.
“Ye came unannounced to a cèilidh, Sassenach,” he pointed out evenly, as though none of this bothered him. “Ridiculous was already guaranteed.”
Marian rolled her eyes despite herself.
How was I to know?
She glanced at the bed, too small for two people and yet too large for the room.
Her attention drifted to Lachlan as he set up a makeshift bed near the hearth, and she cleared her throat, eager to get out of the cramped chamber.
“Well, I suppose we should go back down,” she muttered. “After all, we have come to a cèilidh.”