Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“The cèilidh was… lovely,” Marian commented, her fingers curling into her skirt. Her voice was barely above a whisper, and each step that carried her closer to the door felt like a drumbeat in her chest.
“Aye,” Lachlan responded.
He walked a few paces ahead of her, the muscles of his shoulders appearing stiffer as they drew further away from the Great Hall and closer to their chamber.
Cold air slipped through the narrow passage between the stone walls, brushing against her skin, but she tugged at her gloves instead, aching to pull them off to cool the heat raging within her.
The tension in the air was enough to fill the space between them.
Her breath caught once Lachlan stopped at the door.
It is happening.
Some part of her had hoped that they would just keep walking down the corridor, through another door, and into some magical arrangement of rooms where this moment would not exist.
But there were no other rooms, and she already knew that.
Lachlan pushed the door open, holding it as he waited for her to go in first.
Marian hesitated. She looked up at him, her breathing unsteady as her gaze flickered barely to his face. He did not look at her, and that, more than anything else, unsettled her.
This is it.
She swallowed before finally stepping across the threshold.
We just have to get through this night.
The room felt smaller than it had been earlier. Warmer, too. Or perhaps that was only her imagination. Behind her, she heard Lachlan step inside. Then he closed the door, the key clicking in the lock with a quiet finality.
I am alone… with him.
Marian froze beside the bed—not that there was much space anywhere else in the small chamber.
Her gaze moved restlessly around the room as she searched for something, anything, to distract her racing thoughts.
Finally, she settled on the crackling fireplace and the long shadows it threw across the stone walls.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Until Lachlan cleared his throat, breaking the silence as he took a few more steps into the room.
He felt closer now, though he kept a careful distance from her.
“I…” He hesitated. Marian turned to see his face, catching an expression unlike any she’d ever seen on him. “I daenae ken if ye mind, but I locked the door.”
Marian blinked. She hadn’t expected him to ask that.
Of course, you locked the door.
The thought had brushed her mind when he did, but now it settled deeper, and she felt her face flush.
The door is locked.
Her eyes widened.
She shifted slightly, clearing her throat even though it did not feel tight.
“Certainly,” she said, a little too quickly. “I do not mind it, my Laird. It is for our… safety.” The last word sounded hollow the moment it left her lips.
Though it’d be better if we were locked in separate rooms instead.
Lachlan’s eyebrow rose slightly, but then he nodded and moved across the room as though nothing about the situation bothered him. He rolled up the sleeves of his tunic, revealing his strong forearms, then he pulled off his boots and kicked them toward the hearth with one careless nudge.
Marian peeled off her lace gloves in slow motion, one finger at a time. Her eyes caught her reflection in a small mirror near the bed, and her pulse quickened at how flushed her face was.
It is probably the ale.
Her eyes narrowed as she remembered that she hadn’t even had a full glass.
Perhaps it is stronger than the ale in England.
She tore her eyes away from the mirror and fixed her gaze on the bed, her pulse quickening further. Lachlan stood on the other side of the bed now, and she felt painfully aware of his presence.
She could feel the heat of his presence, the way one felt the warmth of the fire without touching it, and his scent slowly filled the room, even as he crouched near the far wall.
She stared at him as he arranged his blankets, her eyebrows drawing together slightly as though she was only just becoming aware of their sleeping arrangement.
“You do not have to sleep on the floor,” she said at last, her voice carefully neutral. The words felt strange even as she spoke them.
Surely, a laird should have better options.
Lachlan did not look up immediately. It was almost as though he had expected the words and had been waiting for them.
He paused, glancing at her for only a moment before saying firmly, “Aye, I do.”
Marian swallowed, nodding in agreement. But then her lips betrayed her again. “The bed is large enough.” She dug her nails into her arms.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Lachlan’s hand stilled on the blankets, and for a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then he shook out the blankets with deliberate force, the sound loud in the quiet room.
I should not have said that.
Her heart thumped painfully in her chest.
It is not ladylike.
His gaze flicked briefly toward the bed, then he looked away just as quickly.
It is not proper.
Her chest tightened at the thought of what her suggestion had implied, and her face could not get redder.
Lachlan returned his attention to the blankets. His jaw tightened slightly, but he did not say a word.
Marian sighed, her traitorous eyes falling to the muscles in his forearms as they flexed beneath his skin, and she nearly bit her bottom lip.
Oh, Marian. What has come over you?
Her words had pricked more than just his ears.
Lachlan stilled for the briefest moment, his hands tightening slightly around the blankets as his gaze flicked toward the bed. He should not have looked.
Mairi… and me. Here.
The image lodged in his mind faster than any idea he’d ever conceived, and once it had formed, it refused to leave.
For a fleeting moment, he imagined that the distance between them had vanished. The hard floors were replaced by the bed, and Marian was beside him, her head resting on his chest.
He dragged his gaze away at once, focusing his attention on the blankets in his hands. He could feel her watching him, but he refused to look at her. His pulse quickened, and he shook out the blankets with more force than necessary, the noise carrying loudly across the small room.
His actions did nothing to shake off the image in his head or quell the heat that was starting to gather low in his belly.
He cleared his throat, straightening slightly as he forced himself to finally look at her.
I should say somethin’.
His eyes fell to her lips, pressed together as though she’d been waiting for a response.
That would settle it.
His jaw clenched hard, but he opened his mouth to speak regardless.
“And scandalize half the Highlands?” he said dryly.
Marian looked away quickly. “It is not what—”
“And ruin ye in the process?” he spoke over her.
The words were sharper than he had intended, but they seemed to work, causing the images in his head to fade.
“Ye’re a proper English lady, Mairi,” he added quietly, “and I willnae be the man who takes that from ye.”
Even though a part of me—
He shoved the thought away.
Marian crossed her arms, and for a moment, he wondered if he had said more than he should have. Her mouth twitched faintly, though there was no humor in it.
He tore his gaze from her again and fixed it stubbornly on the already neat blankets.
He lay back at last. The stone floor was hard beneath him, but he quickly embraced it, his ears catching every movement as Marian climbed into bed.
The rustling of her dress did nothing to ease the aching tension in his chest, and he could not dare to close his eyes, lest more images come rushing in.
He stared at the wooden beams above him, counting them without purpose, and losing track almost immediately.
God help me.
He raked his fingers through his hair and exhaled sharply through his nose.
The silence settled again.
Marian lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling as though she could will her thoughts into submission.
It did not work.
Her actions betrayed her composure as she turned slowly, against her better judgment. She adjusted her position just enough to see him, and her breath caught in her throat.
Gracious…
Lachlan lay stretched out across the floor, one arm thrown over his head and the other lying freely at his side. The dim light traced the line of his shoulders beneath his loose tunic, and the steady rise and fall of his chest was far more pronounced now that the room had fallen quiet.
He looks… different like this.
Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs. A tinge of guilt stirred as he shifted slightly against the hard stone, and she swallowed.
He must not be comfortable.
But she knew better than to suggest sharing the bed again. Not when she could barely make sense of her feelings as it was, despite the space between them.
Perhaps it is for the best.
Her heart fluttered at the sight of his sharp jawline, and that same unsettling warmth coiled low in her belly before she could stop it.
I cannot look anymore.
She turned onto her back again, swallowing hard. “Lachlan?”
His name slipped past her lips before she could think better of it.
“Aye?” His voice was tight.
“You are staring at the ceiling as though it has personally offended you.”
For a moment, he did not answer. Then she heard a slow exhale.
“I’m thinkin’ this room was a terrible idea,” he said at last.
Marian nodded, though he could not see it. She clasped her hands together over her belly as her gaze fixed on the beams overhead.
“On that,” she admitted quietly, “we agree.”