Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Marian stared at Lachlan in stunned silence.
Of all the things she had expected him to say, those four words were the least of them.
Ye will marry me.
It was hardly a question, though his eyes searched hers expectantly, like he had meant it as one.
Her lips parted slightly. She had never truly imagined she would receive a marriage proposal. For the longest time, she had thought she knew how that part of her life would play out. So she had rarely bothered to think about it.
Her mother would choose the suitor who best met her desires, and an arrangement would be made in private. If she were fortunate enough, she would sit in silence with him a few times over tea. If she were not, she would only come to know the man she was to wed when she stood beside him at the altar.
There was never a choice in it. It was never a question of what she wanted, and she hadn’t thought it could ever be.
And yet, now, she was sitting at the edge of her seat, in a carriage that had been used to kidnap her, covered in a mess of her own blood and sweat, as Lachlan asked her if she wanted to marry him.
He stared at her lips as he waited for a response, as though her words were the only thing in the world worth hearing.
It made no sense.
He had just discovered the twisted nature of her family, and yet he wanted to marry her. He had just rescued her from the hands of an uncle who tried to kill her with her mother’s approval. Hell, he had even slit the man’s throat for her sake.
Her lips parted again, but for some reason, no words came out.
Her gaze faltered, and Lachlan’s jaw clenched. His eyes flickered with an emotion she had never thought she would see, and her heart swelled, though it also ached slightly.
For the first time in her life, she had been given the chance to make a real choice for herself. And as ironic as it was, she had no clue what to do with it.
“I cannae imagine this land without ye in it, Sassenach,” Lachlan added, his voice roughening slightly. “And I cannae imagine meself in it if… if ye are gone.”
Marian’s throat tightened.
She had spent so long feeling unwanted. But now, Lachlan stood before her, bloodied, breathless, and utterly certain that he wanted her. And it had nothing to do with duty.
A tear slipped over, and this time, she did not try to stop it. She lifted her hand slowly, pressing it against his cheek, even though her body ached.
“I have nothing left, Lachlan,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “No family, no home… Nothing to offer to your name.”
Lachlan’s gaze softened, something fierce and unyielding flickering beneath it. He shifted his weight off his injured leg as he leaned closer to her.
“I daenae care,” he insisted. “Ye are enough for me.”
Marian let out a small, broken laugh, shaking her head slightly as more tears fell. She could still feel the burn marks on her wrists throbbing, the ache in her ribs where she’d struck the table, and the sticky warmth of blood drying at her temple.
She was a mess, covered in dirt and sweat and her uncle’s violence. And still, Lachlan looked at her like she was something precious.
“You are asking me to marry you in the middle of a battlefield,” she murmured.
“Aye,” he replied without hesitation.
“And you want me to give you an answer,” she said, a weak smile tugging at her lips.
“Aye,” Lachlan said again, taking her hand. “But ye daenae have to answer right away.”
Marian nodded slowly. Her chest ached as she swallowed, and her hand drifted to her side, pressing against the pain as she winced.
Lachlan’s eyes followed the movement, his eyebrows knitting together. “Let’s get ye out of here,” he murmured, his tone leaving no room for protest.
His arms slid around her, lifting her carefully out of the carriage, and her fingers curled slightly against him. She wanted to refuse him. To insist that she could walk on her own, especially with all his men present. But the words wouldn’t come.
In truth, she did not think that her legs would hold her up if he set her down. The thrill that had kept her upright was fading fast, leaving behind bone-deep exhaustion and pain that seemed to pulse through every inch of her being.
So she let him carry her. She let herself be cared for, perhaps for the first time in her life, even though she had never trusted anyone enough to do so before.
“Lachlan,” she whispered, noticing his slight limp as he carried her toward his horse. “You are hurt.”
He blinked, as though the thought had not occurred to him at all, but he did not slow down.
“I can barely feel it, Marian,” he said quietly. “Nae with yer pain.”
Lachlan lifted Marian atop his horse with more gentleness than he’d ever done anything else in his life.
His eyes narrowed slightly as her hand went to the torn area of her sleeve, and he mounted behind her, swearing at himself in Gaelic for not having a cloak or plaid.
He pulled his tunic loose at the collar, wrenching the thick fabric halfway free before wrapping it around her shoulders, covering her bruises. It was clumsy, but it was warm. And it was better than nothing.
He turned to face Finn, his expression flat as he gestured toward Edmund’s body. “Take care of that,” he said coldly.
Finn nodded. “Aye, me Laird.”
Lachlan did not bother to look at the corpse.
He would not give the bastard even that much consideration.
His body would disappear quietly, and no one would ask questions about what had happened to Lord Edmund Norton.
The English bastard had come to the Highlands and died on his way. That was all anyone needed to know.
He pulled the reins gently, and his horse moved, slowly at first, until he made sure that Marian was settled firmly against him.
The breeze brushed against their faces as they rode in silence, with nothing but the steady rhythm of his horse and the uneven cadence of Marian’s breathing breaking the quiet of the night.
Lachlan adjusted his grip on her slightly, one arm wrapped firmly around her waist while the other held the reins.
They rode in the dark, her damp, matted hair brushing against his jaw. Some of his men followed at a respectful distance, their horses’ hoofbeats a steady echo through the darkness.
But Lachlan barely heard them. All his focus was on the woman in his arms, on the rise and fall of her chest, and on the occasional hitch in her breath that told him she was still crying, even if she tried to hide it.
A drop of warm liquid fell on his arm, and his chest tightened.
“Marian,” he said quietly, dipping his head just enough so she could hear him. “Are ye cryin’, lass?”
Marian held her breath for a moment.
“No,” she gasped, the lie obvious. “I am only cold.”
Lachlan did not say anything.
He wanted to tell her that it was over and she was safe now, but he knew it wasn’t that simple. The physical danger had passed. Yes, her uncle was dead. But the wounds her family had left on her would take far longer to heal.
So he pulled her closer to his chest, wrapping his arm tighter around her as though it would never be enough.
“I am sorry, lass,” he murmured. “I never should have left ye with him.”
“It is not your fault,” she whispered. “He tried to kill me.”
Lachlan’s jaw tightened. “I ken.”
“My mother—” Her voice cracked. “She wanted me dead.”
Lachlan brushed his chin against her hair. “Daenae think about that now,” he said roughly.
“How can I not?” Her fingers curled into her skirt. “She is my mother. She was supposed to...”
Lachlan splayed his hand across her stomach to hold her more firmly against him. “She doesnae deserve yer grief,” he said quietly. “Neither of them does.”
Marian stilled, releasing a breath as her body relaxed in his hold. The rhythm of his horse’s gait seemed to soothe her. Or perhaps it was his heartbeat—steady and strong against her back—that anchored her.
Lachlan leaned into her ear. “Tha mi an seo, mo chridhe. Tha mi an seo.”
He whispered the words over and over until her tears ceased and her body grew heavy against him.
He let her drift off. His arm remained locked around her waist as he straightened, allowing her back to relax against his chest and her head to rest against his shoulder.
The forest gave way to open roads, and the moonlight spilled, brightening their path to the castle and casting a soft glow over them.
And then, finally, Glen Carrick came into view.