Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Lachlann made his way to the galley, his boots heavy on the wooden planks despite his attempt to move quietly.
The adrenaline from the fight was still coursing through his veins, making his movements sharp and restless. His shoulder ached where the dirk had caught him, but he'd had much worse.
What he couldn't shake was the image of Torquil's dagger at Alba's throat. The thin line of blood. The terror in her eyes.
The galley was small but well-organized, tucked into the bow of the ship where the gentle rock of the waves was most pronounced. James was already there, after bringing Alba her food, securing loose supplies and checking that everything was properly stowed for the crossing.
"How is she?" James asked without looking up from his work.
"Exhausted. Terrified. But unharmed, mostly." Lachlann ran a hand through his hair, finding it still damp with sweat. "She'll be fine once she's had some rest."
"And bringing her tae Barra, that was the only option?"
It wasn't quite a question, but Lachlann heard the doubt beneath it anyway. "Aye. Torquil had men blockin’ every road tae Oban. We couldnae get through without a fight, and she'd already suffered enough."
James turned then, his hazel eyes sharp and assessing. "That's nae what I asked."
"Then ask what ye mean tae ask, James. I'm too tired fer games."
"Was bringin’ her here wise?" James set down the crate he'd been securing and crossed his arms. "Ye ken as well as I dae that harborin’ another clan's daughter could bring complications. Political ones."
"Naething will happen to her while she's under me protection." Lachlann's voice was flat, brooking no argument. "Especially nae while her braither is away in England, unable tae defend her himself."
"I'm nae questionin’ yer ability tae protect her," James said carefully. "I'm questionin’ whether bringin’ her all the way tae Barra was necessary, or if there were other—"
"There were nay other options." Lachlann moved past James to the small stove, checking that the fire was still burning steadily.
"Calum is me braither in everything but blood.
The Covenant binds us. If I'd left Alba tae fend fer herself, if I'd let Torquil take her, I'd be betrayin’ everything the Covenant stands fer. "
"Aye, I understand that." James watched him closely. "But yer concern daesnae sound like obligation alone, Lachlann."
Lachlann's hands stilled on the kettle he'd been reaching for. "Drop it, James."
"I'm just saying—"
"I said drop it." He turned away, filling the kettle from the water barrel and setting it carefully over the fire. "Alba is Calum's sister. She's under me protection because of the Covenant and because it's the right thing tae dae. That's all there is tae it."
James was quiet for a long moment, and Lachlann could feel his friend's gaze boring into his back. Finally, James sighed. "As ye say, me laird."
The title, formal and distant, made Lachlann wince, but he didn't correct it. Instead, he focused on measuring out herbs for tea, movements precise and controlled despite the tremor in his hands that had nothing to do with exhaustion.
Chamomile for calm. Valerian root to help her sleep. A touch of mint to settle her stomach in case the rocking of the boat made her ill.
He'd watched his mother prepare this blend countless times when he was young, back when his world had been simpler and the weight of leadership hadn't yet settled on his shoulders. Back before his brother died.
Everything would be fine.
The kettle began to whistle softly, and Lachlann removed it from the heat, pouring the steaming water over the herbs he'd placed in a simple clay cup. The scent rose up, familiar and soothing, and for just a moment, he let himself close his eyes and breathe it in.
"She means something tae ye."
Lachlann's eyes snapped open. "James…"
"I've known ye fer ten years, Lachlann. But I've never seen ye act the way ye did when ye carried her ontae this boat." James's voice was quiet but insistent. "So dinnae stand there and tell me this is just about the Covenant."
"Maybe nae, but what I feel daesnae matter." Lachlann kept his gaze on the tea, watching the herbs steep and swirl in the hot water. "She's Calum's sister. That makes her untouchable."
"Daes Calum ken how ye feel?"
"There's naething tae ken." He picked up the cup carefully, testing the temperature. "Now if ye'll excuse me, I need tae bring this tae her before it gets cold." Lachlann turned back from the ladder. "And James."
"Aye?"
"Dinnae look at me like that."
A pause. Then, "Like what, me laird?"
Lachlann didn't answer.
He carried the tea down the passage.
He knocked.
A short silence. Then her voice. "Aye?"
He opened the door. She was sitting up on the bed with one of the blankets around her shoulders, the food in front of her, a frightened look on her face. He held out the cup, she looked at it, then at him, with an expression he couldn't entirely read.
"It'll help ye sleep," he said.
"Thank ye," she said softly. "Ye didnae have tae."
The gratitude in her voice made his chest tighten.
"Aye, I did." His grey eyes held hers, and he let himself look—really look—at her for just a moment.
At the way she spoke despite her fear. At the intelligence in her gaze.
At the soft curve of her mouth as she spoke.
"Ye've been through hell today, Alba. The least I can dae is make sure ye can rest."
The least I can dae is keep ye safe. Keep ye close. Make sure that bastard never gets near ye again.
She took it. Her fingers, which were trembling, brushed his as she did. She was trying to hide her fear, lifting her chin with false bravado.
But he saw it anyway. God, he wanted to protect her.
"Ye're hurt," she said, her gaze fixing on his shoulder.
Lachlann glanced down at the blood staining his shirt where Torquil's dirk had caught him. He'd forgotten about it entirely. "It's naething."
She was quiet for a moment, something shifting in her expression that he couldn't quite read. Then: "Ye should tend tae yer shoulder. That wound needs cleanin'."
"I will. After I make sure ye're settled." He stepped back deliberately, putting proper distance between them in the narrow passage. Because standing that close to her, seeing the way the lamplight played across her features, noticing how her lips parted slightly when she was thinking—
Stop it. She's Calum's sister. Under yer protection.
"Drink the tea. Try tae rest. We'll be sailin' fer another while, but ye're safe here. I promise."
"I ken."
And the way she said it—with absolute trust, with complete certainty—did something dangerous to his heart.
"Thank ye again, Lachlann. Fer everything."
He nodded once. “Goodnight, Alba."
Then he turned and walked back down the passage. Each step away from her door felt wrong, like he was abandoning his post, leaving her unguarded.
He went back to the deck, into the cold salt air, and stood at the rail while the mainland lights grew small behind them and let himself think about exactly none of it.
The boat moved steadily south toward Barra, and Lachlann MacNeil looked at the dark water ahead and reminded himself, carefully and thoroughly, of every reason why Calum MacKinnon's sister was the one person on this boat he had no business thinking about.
He stood there until he had almost convinced himself.
Alba cradled the warm cup in her hands. She took a small sip, letting the soothing herbs wash over her tongue, and felt some of the tension begin to drain from her shoulders.
The boat creaked softly around her, a constant gentle rhythm that was oddly comforting. She could hear footsteps above, crew members moving about, securing lines and adjusting sails. The sound of water against the hull. The distant call of night birds from the shore they were leaving behind.
She drank the tea slowly, savoring its warmth, and tried not to think about what was to come. About what would happen when they reached Barra or how Calum would react when he learned what had happened.
About the way Lachlann had looked at her when he'd handed her the tea, like she was something precious that needed protecting.
By the time she'd finished the cup, her eyelids were growing heavy. She set it aside carefully and lay down on the narrow bed, pulling the blanket up to her chin.
But sleep didn't come easily.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw flashes of the attack. Heard Torquil's voice promising her a marriage she didn't want. Felt the cold press of his dagger against her throat.
She shifted restlessly, trying to find a comfortable position, trying to quiet her racing mind.
The boat creaked. The water lapped.
Time passed—she didn't know how much. An hour, maybe more. The sounds of the crew gradually faded as the night watch was set and the others retired below deck.
And then, cutting through the gentle sounds of the ship, she heard it.
Snoring.
Loud, rattling snoring that echoed through the narrow passages like a dying beast struggling for breath.
Alba sat up, listening in disbelief. It was coming from somewhere very close, the cabin next to hers, she realized. And it was so loud, so utterly impossible to ignore, that she knew sleep was now completely out of the question.
She lay back down and pulled the blanket over her head, but it did nothing to muffle the sound.
Another rattling snore, this one ending in a slight whistle.
Alba gritted her teeth and tried to focus on the other sounds—the water, the creaking wood, anything but the ungodly noise coming from the next cabin.
It didn't work.
After what felt like an eternity but was probably only another ten minutes, Alba gave up. She threw off the blanket, grabbed her shawl, and stepped into the passage.
The snoring was even louder out there, and she had no trouble identifying which door it was coming from. The cabin directly next to hers, just as she'd suspected.
She raised her hand and knocked, perhaps a bit harder than strictly necessary.
No response. Just another rattling snore.
She knocked again, louder this time.
Still nothing.
"Fer the love of—" Alba muttered, and knocked a third time, practically pounding on the door.
The snoring stopped abruptly. There was a moment of silence, then the sound of movement inside the cabin.
Alba suddenly realized what she'd done. Realized that she was standing in a narrow passage in her ruined dress, about to complain about snoring to whoever it is. She turned to leave and just then the door opened.
Lachlann stood there, shirtless, wearing only his trousers, his hair mussed from sleep and his eyes still heavy-lidded.
The lamplight from the passage cast shadows across his bare chest, highlighting the lean muscle and the old scars that marked his skin.
The fresh wound on his shoulder had been cleaned and bandaged, she noticed absently, though blood was already seeping through.
Alba froze, her mouth going dry.
"Alba?" His voice was rough with sleep, concerned. "What's wrong? Are ye hurt? Did something happen?"
She should speak. Should explain. Should do literally anything other than stand there staring at his chest like some sort of besotted fool.
"I—" she started, then had to clear her throat. "I heard a noise."
Lachlann's brow furrowed. "A noise? What kind of noise? Where?"
"A... a loud noise. Very loud. Like a..." She gestured vaguely, her cheeks burning. "Like a dyin’ beast."
Understanding dawned on his face, and to her absolute mortification, his lips twitched with amusement. "Are ye tellin’ me," he said slowly, his voice rich with barely suppressed laughter, "that ye woke me up tae complain about me snorin’?"
"It's nae snorin’," Alba said defensively, finally finding her voice even as her face flamed hotter. "It was... that was like something was dyin’ in there!"
"The injustice of it," Lachlann said, his grey eyes dancing with mirth despite his sleepy state. "Being accused of disturbin’ the peace in me own boat."
"Ye were shakin' the very boards with that racket!"
"Was I now?"
"Aye! I mean it!"
Lachlann leaned against the doorframe, and Alba tried very hard not to notice how the movement made the muscles in his chest shift, or how the lamplight caught the planes of his stomach.
"Me deepest apologies, Lady MacKinnon," he said, his tone solemn but his eyes still laughing. "I'll try tae snore more quietly in future."
Alba sputtered, embarrassment and frustration stopping her reply. She spun on her heel and fled back to her cabin before he could respond, his quiet chuckle following her down the passage.
She slammed her door perhaps harder than necessary and stood with her back against it, her heart racing and her face burning so hot she could probably light a candle from it.
She'd just complained about Lachlann MacNeil's snoring. While he was standing there half-naked.
While she was supposed to be a lady. A guest on his boat. Someone he was protecting out of obligation to her brother.
Alba groaned and buried her face in her hands.
From the cabin next door, she heard nothing. Blessed, wonderful silence.
She climbed back into bed and pulled the blanket over her head, mortification still burning through her veins.
But despite everything—despite her embarrassment, despite the lingering fear from the day's events, despite the impossible situation she now found herself in—Alba felt her lips curve into a small, helpless smile in the darkness.
And for the first time since leaving the ball, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.