Chapter 43
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
They stayed like that for a long moment, staring into each other’s souls until a knock sounded at the door, breaking the spell.
Lachlan exhaled and cleared his throat. “It must be Mrs. Campbell.”
Marian blinked, her cheeks flushing.
Lachlan’s lips curled. He knew precisely what she was thinking. She was alone in his chamber with him, lying in his bed. And the fact that she still found it in her to be embarrassed despite the day they’d shared intrigued him.
He rose from the bed, quietly considering telling her that the entire clan knew where she would be spending the night, just to see which shade her cheeks would turn.
She’ll leave then.
He quickly decided against it, before turning toward the door to see to Mrs. Campbell. He opened it slightly, not enough for her to see inside the room.
Mrs. Campbell had a small smile on her face. “Healin’ ointment, me Laird,” she said quietly, as though she had a different reason to whisper.
Lachlan straightened slightly, his chin lifting without thought. He collected the small container from her, his chest tightening unexpectedly at the sight of it.
“Thank ye, Mrs. Campbell,” he replied, moving to close the door.
His jaw tightened when the woman did not leave.
“Mrs. Campbell?”
She looked up at him and blinked, then stepped to the side so someone else could step into his view.
Lilly.
Lachlan let out a breath. He could no longer be annoyed by the lass, not when her eyes were still red from crying. His eyes fell to the tea tray in her hands.
“Mrs. MacBride prepared that specifically,” Mrs. Campbell explained. “She said the Lady fancies it the most. ’Tis potent.”
Lachlan nodded, taking the tray and balancing it on one hand. His gaze darted between the two women. “The Lady would certainly appreciate yer kind gestures.”
He moved to close the door, but Mrs. Campbell raised a hand again.
“I also brought these,” she added, holding out a change of clothes and, curiously, a comb.
Lachlan’s eyebrows drew together. “A moment, please,” he said, leaving the door to set down the tray before returning for the clothes.
“Thank ye,” he said again, and closed the door before she could get one more word in.
He turned back to Marian, meeting her intrigued gaze.
“Perhaps you’d be kind to tell me what that was about, my Laird?”
“Nay,” Lachlan responded quickly. “I willnae explain it.”
She was sitting up now. The fur blanket was wrapped around her shoulders as she looked at him, watching with those blue eyes that never failed to undo him. Her cheeks were still flushed, and he felt heat coil in his chest, though he did nothing to reveal it.
He cleared his throat.
“Tea first,” he said, breaking eye contact. He set the tea tray on the small bedside table and poured the steaming liquid into a cup.
Marian accepted it with a slight tremor in her hands and brought it to her lips. She took a sip, closing her eyes as a soft sigh escaped her.
“Mrs. MacBride remembered,” she said, a mix of surprise and gratitude lacing her voice.
Lachlan settled back onto the edge of the bed. “Aye,” he murmured. “She’s nae one to forget details.” Especially not details about the English lass who’d turned his castle—and his life—upside down.
Marian drank slowly, and he watched the tension gradually leave her shoulders as the warmth spread through her. The firelight caught in her hair. Even disheveled and injured, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
When she finished, he took the cup and set it aside.
“Better?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
“Ye need to stop thanking me, lass.”
She shook her head slowly. “I cannot,” she said, her eyes meeting his. “You saved me, Lachlan. Even when...” Her voice broke.
Lachlan took her hand in his, squeezing it gently. “Ye daenae need to thank me for that, either,” he insisted. “I’d do it again. A thousand times over.”
Marian drew a deep breath, blinking back the tears that had started to well up in her eyes.
Lachlan reached for the small container Mrs. Campbell had brought.
“The ointment,” he said, distracting her from her thoughts. “It’ll help with the bruisin’.”
Marian nodded, loosening her grip on the blankets.
Lachlan dipped his fingers into the salve before warming it between his palms. The scent of herbs—lavender and something sharper, perhaps arnica—filled the air. His fingers found the marks her uncle’s hands had left, and his jaw clenched slightly. It was an ugly purple stain on her pale skin.
“Does it hurt?” he asked quietly as he rubbed the ointment over the bruises with gentle circular motions.
“A little,” Marian admitted. “But your hands help.”
His hand stilled briefly at her words, and his gaze flicked to hers. The look in her eyes made his breath catch, so he looked away, focusing on the task at hand.
Her pulse quickened beneath his touch as he massaged the ointment into her wrist, and he swallowed, meeting her eyes again. He reached for her exposed shoulder. His eyes lingered on the bruises, darker than the rest, and his face hardened.
“I should have killed him slower,” he growled.
Marian’s hand came up to cover his. “He is dead,” she soothed. “That is all that matters.”
His eyebrow arched slightly. “Is it?”
“Yes,” Marian replied, stroking his fingers in a way that calmed him. “I am here. With you. And he can no longer hurt me.”
Lachlan held her gaze for a long moment, then he leaned closer, pressing a kiss to the bruise.
Marian’s breath hitched. “Lachlan,” she whispered.
“Aye?”
“Let me see your wound.” It was not a request.
Lachlan hesitated. It was the third time she’d asked.
He had forgotten about his wound entirely, and quite frankly, he could hardly feel it.
But explaining that part of being a laird would have been harder than just showing her, so he obliged, bringing his leg slightly up so she could see it.
The blood had dried on his trews, the fabric sticking to the skin around the wound.
Marian’s brow furrowed tightly. “It needs cleaning,” she said firmly. “Properly.”
“Mairi, I’m fine—”
“No arguments.” She shrugged the fur blankets off her, wincing slightly as she moved. “I might be weak, but that doesn’t mean I will not do what is proper.”
His chest warmed at the stubborn determination in her voice. It was the first thing he had fallen for, though he had not known it when they had first met.
He moved to the washbasin and dipped a clean cloth in the already cold water for her to use. When he turned back, Marian had shifted to the edge of the bed, her bare feet touching the cold stone floor.
“Come here,” she said, patting the space beside her.
Lachlan sat quietly, and her hands went to the ties of his trews.
“May I?” she asked, her cheeks coloring slightly.
“Aye.”
She worked the laces carefully, her fingers trembling slightly as she eased the fabric away from the wound.
Lachlan hissed when the dried blood pulled.
“Sorry,” Marian murmured, pausing.
“Daenae be. Just… do what ye need to do.”
She nodded and continued, dampening the fabric before pulling it away as gently as she could.
The wound was uglier than he’d thought—a deep gash across his thigh that had bled more than he’d realized.
Marian’s face paled.
“This is bad, Lachlan,” she said quietly. “You should have had this tended to immediately.”
“I had more important things to worry about,” he reminded her.
“You could have bled to death.” Her voice rose slightly with worry.
His hand found her chin, holding it gently. “I am fine, Marian.” His voice was firm, unlike his touch. “Ye’re the one who nearly died today, nae me.”
Her chin lifted. “You’re not fine,” she insisted stubbornly. “You’re bleeding, and you’ve been walking on this leg. Despite—”
Lachlan cut her off with a kiss.
It was a short, gentle kiss, meant to stop her worry from spiraling. But she leaned in closer, softening until the damp cloth slipped out of her hand into the basin.
Eventually, she pulled back, her lips parted in surprise.
Lachlan’s mouth curved as she looked away. “Trust me, lass,” he said quietly. “I’ve had far worse than this.”
She did not look at him. Instead, she shook her head with a small, exasperated smile. “You’re impossible,” she muttered.
“Aye,” he agreed. “But ye like me anyway.”
Her smile widened just slightly. “Unfortunately.”
She turned her attention back to his leg, wringing the cloth again. Then she began to clean the wound.
“Where did ye learn to tend wounds?” he asked.
“I didn’t, really,” Marian replied, not looking up. “My father had an accident once, when I was little. He fell from his horse. The physician showed me how to clean and bandage his superficial wounds while he worked on the more serious ones.”
“And ye remember it?”
“I remember everything about my father,” she said softly.
Lachlan’s chest tightened. He remembered everything about his mother, too. And now, for the first time in a long while, he remembered some of the good moments before she had left.
“Me maither used to tend to me faither’s men before she left,” he revealed, lowering his gaze.
Marian slowed before placing the cloth in the basin and turning her attention to him.
“She couldnae stand to see people in pain, so she learned from the healers.” A small, bitter laugh escaped him.
Marian’s hand squeezed his knee gently. “Why did she leave?” she asked.
“I daenae ken,” he said, his voice tight. “But she left before the wars began and never came back,” he swallowed. “Her chamber is still as it was.”
His jaw clenched harder as Marian shifted closer, breathing softly beside him.
“Perhaps,” she said slowly, “she left because she couldn’t stand to see you suffer from the war.”
Lachlan raised his head slowly, meeting her eyes. He had never considered that possibility. And though it did not explain why his mother never returned, Marian’s simple words gave him a sense of closure he could not have found from her.
He nodded as she tied a clean cloth around his thigh, his gaze softening. “Perhaps… I can think of it that way.”
They stayed like that for a long moment.
Marian’s hand remained on his knee, and his gaze locked onto hers. Then, slowly, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.
Her kiss was shy at first. Her hand moved slowly from his knee, coming to rest on the back of his neck. She moved her lips as though she wasn’t sure what to do with them. But her breath tickled his lips, and that was enough to ignite a small fire in his chest.
He kissed her back, feeling every slight tremor in her lips. His arms came around her, pulling her closer as he avoided the tender spot on her side. His fingers trailed down her exposed shoulder, and she shivered slightly, her body pressing harder against his.
Lachlan pulled away, his eyes searching hers for a brief moment. He was hungry for her. Every nerve in his body tensed, aching for the sweet release of her touch.
He took her hand and placed it softly over his heart so that she could feel how it beat hard for her. A small gasp escaped her lips.
Her lips stayed parted, red and soft, inviting him for another kiss. And he gave in, his mouth crashing onto hers with more passion this time.
Marian’s back arched softly. She lowered herself onto the soft bedding, and he followed her. His knees pressed into the fur on either side of her, and her hand found its way around his neck, holding onto him.
Lachlan exhaled slowly.
She looked even more beautiful from that angle.