Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Lachlan did not move.
He held the letter in his hand, his fingers nearly crumpling the parchment.
He had already read it twice—perhaps three times—and still, the words refused to satisfy his conflicted feelings. His jaw tightened slightly.
This was not how he had thought it would feel. The letter had been clear enough, and it had been in his favor, as he had hoped. His claim to the MacLeod lands stood entirely unchallenged. But for some reason, it did not feel like a resolution.
Marian stood motionless before him. So motionless that it seemed as though she were holding her breath, and the others were holding theirs with her.
Lachlan did not bother to look at their faces. He was the Laird, and the dispute had been resolved in favor of his clan. This was the right thing to do.
His blank expression met Marian’s cold gaze. Her blue eyes had turned icy, and yet her lips trembled slightly.
Aye. This is it, he told himself, though he could hardly believe it.
He straightened, folding the letter and placing it quietly on the table between them. “Ye’ll return to England,” he said finally, the words coming out quieter than he had intended, as though he had not meant to speak them.
Marian blinked. Her face fell for a moment, as though she had expected to hear something different. But then the corner of her lips curled slightly, and she burst into sharp, shrill laughter.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Has she gone mad?
He remained rooted to the spot until her sharp laughter subsided.
“Mairi.”
“I will do no such thing,” she responded, her voice cutting through the room.
The letter was clear.
Lachlan’s eyes darkened as they held hers, but she did not look away.
There was something different in her expression now. It was a quiet firmness that made his pulse quicken. At that moment, she looked as though she would give anything to bend reality to her will.
He took a step closer, as if to read her better.
“Ye’ve nay claim here now,” he reminded her, his voice as firm as the look in her eyes.
Marian’s gaze faltered. “This was never only about the claim.” She looked at him as though it pained her that he did not understand and shook her head faintly.
Lachlan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides as he kept himself from holding her. The space between them seemed to close, even though neither of them moved.
Then what is this about?
For a moment, the hall seemed to shift again. Then Marian drew in a slow breath.
“I did not come north for ambition, Lachlan,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “I came because… because there was nothing left for me in London.”
Her hand rose to her forehead, and she took a step back, her composure seeming to falter for only a moment.
“After my father died, I...” She paused for a moment, as though debating whether her explanation was worth anything to him.
Lachlan’s fists clenched harder.
Come on, Mairi.
The hall had grown very still. His searching gaze roamed over her face.
Marian continued, her voice steady but softer now. “In London, I was useful. I was convenient. My mother and my uncle, they placed me wherever it suited them.”
Her words seemed to escape her lips faster than her thoughts, so she paused and glanced toward the high windows and the portraits on the wall.
“But here,” she continued, “for the first time in my entire existence, I felt as though I might belong somewhere.”
Lachlan felt his chest tighten. Her words had touched him, but just as quickly, reality crashed back.
Marian was a threat to everything. And she was English, just like his mother.
“Belongin’ isnae somethin’ ye borrow,” he uttered, sounding as cold as he possibly could. “And it isnae somethin’ ye take from another man’s hearth.”
Marian met his eyes. There was something else in her expression now. Something defeated.
“I do not wish to take anything from you,” she whispered.
“Then go.” His voice cut through the air, though his heart was screaming at her to stay.
Ye’ll leave. ’Tis what ye Englishwomen do at the end.
He was testing her.
He wanted her to leave so that he could prove to himself that he had been right all along. That he had not made the wrong decision by pushing her away all along, and that she was just another Englishwoman.
He needed to prove his fear valid.
But Marian did not move. For a heartbeat or two, she simply stood there, her eyes fixed on him as though she was waiting for him to retract his words.
Lachlan held her stare, every muscle in his body bracing for the moment she would finally turn around. For the moment, she would finally lower her head, gather what remained of her dignity, and walk out of his life just as easily as she’d found her way into it.
Go on, Mairi.
The thought constricted his chest, and he swallowed hard.
Prove me right.
Marian’s fingers curled at her sides. Her chin lifted only slightly, and she took a step closer to him, her blue eyes piercing deep into his heart.
“I shall leave, Lachlan,” she said his name in front of everyone present. “But first, you have to tell me something.” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “You have to tell me that this is what you truly desire, and it is not your pride speaking.”
Lachlan stiffened.
How dare she…
His lips pressed into a hard line as her chin lifted higher with the same stubbornness that he only now realized he’d fallen for.
His gaze faltered for a moment before returning to hers. “It is what I want,” he declared, sounding as though someone else had spoken through him.
Marian blinked, stilling for a moment before lowering her gaze. She turned to leave without another word.
His hand caught her arm before either of them seemed to realize he had moved, pulling her across the space between them. His chest had never felt heavier than it did at that moment.
“I will not watch another one walk into me home, only to walk out of it again.” The words escaped through gritted teeth, and his grip tightened on her.
Everyone present ceased to exist as Marian’s chest almost brushed his, the floral scent of her hair filling his senses as though this were some pleasant moment.
Lachlan scoffed bitterly at the irony of it.
His eyes fell to her chest as it rose and fell heavily to match his own heavy breathing. He lowered himself slightly to meet her gaze.
Why did I stop her?
“I will never sign an acknowledgment,” he murmured, forcing himself to believe it.
Marian did not pull back. Her eyes fell to his lips, then flicked back to his eyes, and he felt as though she could see through him.
“I still have my inheritance,” she said quietly. “I could help your clan. We could be partners if you recognize my claim, and we could—”
“Never,” Lachlan cut her off, straightening abruptly.
“Why?”
The question caught him off guard.
“Because I daenae trust ye.”
“Why do you not trust me?” Marian’s voice remained steady.
Lachlan’s expression hardened.
She dares to question me.
His grip shifted slightly on her arm.
It would have been better if Marian had abandoned her stubbornness for a moment and stopped challenging him. But this… it unsettled him far more.
Her gaze did not falter at his silence.
“Why?” she pressed, her voice nearly a whisper.
“Because the English never cared for these lands.”
Marian’s eyebrows drew together. “Why do you say that?”
“Ye ken what the English do, Sassenach,” he nearly spat the words at her.
Marian’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. “So, that’s it?” she scoffed, taking a step back despite his tightening grip on her arm. “You judge me by people who will always rule with steel?”
Lachlan could hear the disappointment in her voice, but he refused to let it move him.
“I judge ye by what the English always do,” he replied, his voice dropping even lower. “They take what they want, and they daenae care about our lands. And when the land grows difficult, they leave.”
His grip was unyielding on her arm now, and she nearly winced, but he did not see it.
“Do ye expect me to believe ye’ll be any different?”
Marian frowned as she tried to wriggle her arm free, but he did not let go. “I am not them.” Her voice rose slightly.
That broke the dam.
“Even me own maither didnae care to stay,” Lachlan sneered, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. “When the war came, she fled to her pretty English estate the first moment she could.” His voice was quieter now. Colder. “I learned me lesson early enough.”
Finally, his grip loosened. But he still did not let go. He could not bring himself to.
“Go back to England, Marian,” he grunted. “Nothin’ keeps ye here anymore.”
Marian’s breath caught at his words. She opened her mouth to say something, then stopped herself, her eyes glistening.
Are those tears?
Lachlan tore his eyes away from her before he could bring himself to confirm it. His expression remained hard, even as his heart screamed at him to take his words back. His hand still held her arm.
“Let go of me,” she demanded quietly.
He did, releasing her one finger at a time as though she were a precious gemstone.
Marian stepped back, smoothing her sleeve where his hand had been. The gesture sent a pang through his chest.
“Very well, my Laird,” she said, her voice perfectly composed now. His heart ached at her suddenly distant tone, as though the past week had meant nothing. “I shall take my leave at once.”
Her lips quivered as she said the words, then she turned and walked toward the stairs.
Lachlan’s gaze never left her back. Not until she disappeared from view. And even then, he remained standing there, staring at the empty space where she’d been.
Goodbye, Marian. ’Twas what needed to be done.