Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Lachlan’s jaw clenched as he stood outside the door to Marian’s bedchamber. His hand hovered in the air, his fingers curling into a fist that he could not quite bring himself to lower.
I have nay business here.
He had told himself twice as much as he made his way up the awfully steep stairwell and thrice by the time he reached the landing. But what had happened in the Great Hall still echoed in his mind, and Marian’s face had not ceased to haunt him.
He remembered the way her face had fallen when he asked her to leave and the way she had suddenly gone still.
He had wanted that. Since the first day she arrived, he had wanted nothing more than her hasty departure from his lands. But now that she was actually leaving, the thought of it made his chest feel like it was caving in.
This is madness.
He turned around, reaching halfway down the stairwell before he stopped again.
What if she truly leaves?
His chest tightened at the thought, and he ascended the stairs again, running up until he found himself outside her door once more.
This time, he did not bother to knock. He pushed the door open with a loud thud, the wood banging against the stone wall on the other side of it.
A muscle ticked in his jaw as the thud cracked through the room, and he stepped over the threshold, releasing a heavy breath. A part of him had expected to find the chamber empty, but the truest part of his heart had hoped she would still be here, waiting for him.
But that was not what he saw.
He remained by the door for a moment longer than he should. His gaze moved first to the open trunks on the bed. His eyes flitted over the gowns that were carefully arranged in stacks, the shoes, and the gloves folded neatly beside them.
The cat meowed beside one of the trunks, its wide eyes staring at him like he was an intruder in his own castle. Marian stood by the window, the pale light falling over her confused face as if she were something fragile.
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Lachlan looked at her maid as she sniffed beside her, his eyes narrowing as he took in the devastation on her face.
What in God’s name had they been doin’?
He looked back at Marian, his gaze sweeping over her entire form. His eyes lingered on her hands and the way they hung limply at her sides, and when he met her gaze, he caught a mild sheen as she blinked.
Has she been cryin’?
His fists clenched as he took a few steps forward, and Marian tilted up her chin, blinking just once before her face set in a frown.
Lachlan’s chest tightened. He had not expected this.
He had expected her to be angry, defiant. But he had not expected that seeing her like this would make his heart thump so hard, as if he were the one who needed her and not the other way around.
“Leave us, please, Lilly,” her voice cut through his thoughts, and he drew to a halt.
Lachlan did not need to look at the maid to know that she hesitated. She shuffled her feet for a moment before she slipped past him, closing the door behind her with a quiet finality.
The silence that followed was heavy.
Marian folded her arms across her chest and looked away, her profile equally as angry as her face had been.
“Why are you here, Laird MacLeod?” she asked, her voice devoid of the emotions it had held in the Great Hall.
Lachlan’s chest tightened at the way she addressed him.
Perhaps I shouldnae have come.
He considered storming out of her chamber. Instead, his feet carried him forward.
“So it is true then,” he said sharply.
Marian straightened, her gaze immediately returning to him.
“Ye truly mean to go?” he asked, his voice quieter than he had intended.
Marian did not answer at once. She took a step forward, the last strip of the pale afternoon light slipping from her face as she moved closer to him. There was no hesitation in her steps.
“You were very clear about your wishes, my Laird.” Her words landed evenly as a firm reminder of a truth he was now trying to dismiss.
His jaw hardened. “Aye,” he muttered, his gaze flicking once more toward the trunks before returning to her.
She hadn’t even packed the cloak he had Mrs. Campbell make in her size, and yet her inadequate floral cloak sat at the very top of one of the trunks.
“I was.” He took another step forward, slower this time. “But I didnae think ye’d vanish at the first push.” His tone was sharp. But beneath that sharpness, there was something closer to hurt.
Marian’s expression did not change. If anything, her frown deepened.
“You asked me to go back to England,” she reminded him. “And I am doing exactly as you ordered.”
Her calmness grated on his nerves.
He took another step closer, too close now for distance to soften anything between them.
“I thought ye had more fight in ye, Sassenach.” The word left his mouth with less force than usual. Less bite.
Marian met his gaze without flinching. “I do not know what you expected of me, my Laird,” she said casually, as though this was just a normal conversation. “You made your position quite clear.”
Lachlan’s gaze flicked to her lips and then to her eyes. He swallowed, and for a moment, he forgot what he was going to say.
Heavens help me.
His gaze hardened. In two strides, he closed the distance between them, his hand catching her waist with a suddenness that made her eyes go wide. She drew in a sharp breath, her chest rising as her face flushed.
“I ken what I said, Marian,” he nearly groaned, his hand tightening around her waist. “But I daenae ken how to leave ye like this.”
He paused for a breath, just long enough for her to turn away if she wished, and then he leaned slowly into her, pressing his lips against hers.
The kiss that followed was nothing like the reckless challenges of their earlier encounters.
Marian rose on her tiptoes, and his hand tightened around her waist.
Her eyes fluttered shut. A moan escaped her as he nibbled gently on her lower lip, and her mouth opened slightly, welcoming his tongue.
His free hand slid up to the back of her head. His fingers curled into her hair, tugging slightly so that her chin rose, and his tongue dove deeper into her mouth.
Marian’s stomach warmed with a feeling she had never felt before, and she kissed him back desperately. Her tongue danced against his, hungry to taste more of him as her back arched against his hand.
Her body quivered with unfamiliar sensations, and his hand traveled lower, coming to rest against the small of her back. His large palm squeezed softly as he deepened the kiss, as though he were learning the shape of her body.
Marian felt a shiver run through her. Her head felt light. She wanted to push him away, but her body leaned closer instead, her chest pressing against his until she could feel it heave.
Her hands moved. First to his neck as she anchored herself in their kiss, and then to the firm muscles of his back. She felt his muscles flex beneath her touch as her fingers trailed a path down his back.
Then her body stiffened.
What am I doing?
Her heart was pounding wildly against her ribs, skipping more than a beat as her chest heated up.
This is wrong.
But none of it felt wrong. In fact, nothing had ever felt more right. And that, in itself, terrified her.