Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Cannae sleep either?"
Alba nearly dropped the candle she was carrying. She spun around to find Lachlann standing in the doorway of the kitchen, a wry smile on his face and a wine bottle in his hand.
"I—ye startled me," she said, pressing a hand to her racing heart. "I just came down fer some water."
"Water's over there." He nodded toward the barrel in the corner. "But I'm havin’ wine if ye'd prefer somethin’ stronger."
Alba hesitated. She should say no. Should take her water and return to her chamber like a proper lady. But the thought of going back to that room, to lying awake in the dark with only her thoughts for company, made her chest tight.
"Aye," she heard herself say. "Wine sounds good."
Lachlann's eyebrows rose slightly, but he pulled out two cups and poured generous measures of dark red wine. He handed one to Alba and gestured to the rough wooden table where the kitchen staff took their meals.
They settled across from each other, and Alba took a sip of wine. It was stronger than she'd expected, much stronger than what had been served at dinner, and it burned pleasantly down her throat.
"That's... potent," she said, coughing slightly.
"Aye, it's the good stuff. From the cellar me grandfaither built." Lachlann took a long drink from his own cup. "Couldnae sleep?"
"Nay. Every time I close me eyes, I..." Alba trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence. Not wanting to admit that she kept seeing Torquil's face, kept feeling his dagger at her throat.
"I ken," Lachlann said quietly. "It takes time. After something like that."
"Daes it get easier?"
"Eventually. The memories fade a bit. Become less sharp." He stared into his wine. "I still sometimes dream about holdin’ me braither while he died. But it's nae every night anymore. Just... sometimes."
Alba's heart clenched at the pain in his voice. "I'm sorry. I didnae mean tae bring up somethin’ so sensitive."
"It's fine." He looked up at her, his grey eyes steady. "Ye asked an honest question. I gave ye an honest answer."
They sat in silence for a moment, both drinking their wine. Then they started talking about all kinds of things. Alba felt the warmth of it spreading through her chest, loosening the tight knot of anxiety that had been sitting there since dinner.
"This is strange," she said suddenly.
"What is?"
"This. Sittin’ here with ye. Talkin’ like..." She gestured vaguely between them. "Like we're friends instead of... whatever we're supposed tae be."
Lachlann's lips quirked. "What are we supposed to be?"
"I dinnae ken. Laird and guest? Braither's friend and younger sister?" Alba took another drink, feeling the wine making her tongue looser than it should be. "When I was younger, I used tae hate that ye and Calum were so close."
"Did ye?"
"Aye. Because it meant ye were always around, and I was always being told tae leave ye alone, tae stop followin’ ye about.
" She laughed, though there was a bitter edge to it.
"I wanted tae be included so badly. Wanted tae train with ye, tae go on yer adventures, tae be part of the Covenant brotherhood even though I was just a lass. "
"I remember." Lachlann's voice was soft. "Ye were fierce, even then. Ye used tae sneak intae our trainin’ sessions and try tae copy what we were doing."
Alba felt her cheeks heat. "Ye noticed that?"
"Of course I noticed. We all did." His smile widened slightly. "Calum used tae get so frustrated tryin’ tae keep ye away. Ye were determined."
"I was annoyin’."
"Ye were persistent. There's a difference."
Alba drained her cup and immediately regretted it as the room tilted slightly. She blinked, trying to focus. "How much wine did ye give me?"
"Same amount I gave meself." Lachlann's eyes danced with amusement. "Are ye telling me ye cannae hold yer wine, Lady MacKinnon?"
"I can hold me wine just fine," Alba said indignantly, even as she gripped the edge of the table for balance. "This is just... stronger than I'm used tae."
"Maybe ye should slow down, then."
"Maybe ye should mind yer own business."
Lachlann laughed and the sound made something flutter in Alba's chest. When was the last time she'd heard him laugh like that? When was the last time she'd made anyone laugh?
"I should probably tell ye somethin’," she said, the words coming out before she could stop them.
"Oh?"
"When I said I wanted tae be included? That I wanted tae be part of yer group?" Alba leaned forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially even though they were completely alone. "That wasnae the only reason I was always tryin’ tae follow ye around."
"Nay?" Lachlann leaned forward too, matching her posture. "What was the other reason?"
Alba opened her mouth to tell him. To admit that she'd had the most ridiculous, impossible crush on him when she was younger. That she'd spent hours watching him train, memorizing the way he moved, the way he smiled, the sound of his laugh.
But some small, sober part of her brain screamed a warning.
"I... naethin’," she said quickly, sitting back. "Never mind. I'm talkin’ nonsense."
"Alba."
"I should go." She stood up too quickly and had to grab the table again as the room spun. "I've said too much already. The wine, I'm nae used tae it."
"Let me walk ye back."
"Nay." The word came out sharper than she'd intended. "I can find me own way. Thank ye fer the wine."
She fled before he could respond, leaving him sitting alone in the kitchen with two half-empty cups and a confused expression on his face.
Back in her chamber, Alba pressed her forehead against the cool wood of the door and cursed herself thoroughly.
What had she been thinking? She'd almost told him. Almost admitted to feelings she was supposed to have buried years ago.
The wine had made her reckless. Stupid.
She had to be more careful. Had to remember that Lachlann was her brother's best friend, that anything between them was impossible, that she was only there temporarily until it was safe to go home.
She couldn't afford to let herself hope for anything else.
The next morning, Alba woke with a pounding headache and a mouth that tasted like something had died in it. She groaned and pulled the pillow over her face, trying to block out the too-bright sunlight streaming through her window.
Why had she drunk so much wine? Why had she stayed in that kitchen talking to Lachlann? Why had she almost—
She forced herself not to finish that thought.
A knock on the door made her wince. "Come in," she called, her voice rough.
Orla entered with a tray. "Good mornin’, me lady. I brought ye some bread and tea, and—" She stopped, taking in Alba's disheveled state. "Are ye feelin’ all right me Lady?"
"Just tired," Alba lied, sitting up slowly. "Thank ye, Orla."
The tea helped. So did the bread, though her stomach protested at first. By the time she'd bathed and dressed, she felt almost human again, though the memory of the previous night's conversation still made her cringe.
"Will ye be joinin’ the laird fer breakfast in the hall?" Orla asked as she helped Alba braid her hair.
Alba's first instinct was to say no. To hide in her chamber and avoid seeing Lachlann after her near-confession. But that would only make things more awkward, more obvious.
"Aye," she said with more confidence than she felt. "I will."
The great hall was already busy when she arrived, clan members filing in for the morning meal. Alba paused in the doorway, scanning the room for an inconspicuous seat—somewhere she could eat quietly without drawing attention.
But before she could move, a servant appeared at her elbow. "This way, me lady."
Alba followed, assuming she'd be seated somewhere along one of the lower tables. Instead, the servant led her directly to the high table, where Lachlann sat with his senior household members.
And without asking, without even pausing, the servant pulled out the chair directly beside Lachlann and gestured for Alba to sit.
Alba stiffened, very aware of the sudden quiet that fell over the nearby tables. Of the eyes turning to watch. Of the whispers that would start the moment she sat down.
But what choice did she have? Refusing would cause an even bigger scene.
She sat, keeping her back straight and her expression neutral.
"Good mornin’," Lachlann said quietly beside her.
"Morning," Alba murmured back, not quite meeting his eyes.
Food was served—porridge with honey, fresh bread, cold meat from last night's dinner. Alba took small portions of everything and focused on eating, trying to ignore the weight of curious stares.
The table around them had gone noticeably quiet.
Malcolm, the old council member, kept glancing between her and Lachlann with undisguised interest. Morag from the kitchens watched with a knowing smile. Even James, sitting across from them, looked amused.
Alba ate faster, barely tasting her food. This was exactly what she'd been afraid of. People were already talking, already speculating about why she was there, what her relationship with Lachlann might be.
First the ball, where half the Highland lords had seen Lachlann rescue her from Torquil. Then, seated at his right like she was something more than just a guest seeking protection.
Her reputation was already precarious. If rumors started spreading that there was something inappropriate between them—
She couldn't let that happen.
Alba set down her spoon, even though she'd barely eaten half her porridge. "Excuse me," she said to no one in particular, and stood.
She left the hall quickly, ignoring the murmurs that followed her exit. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and anger, not at Lachlann, exactly, but at the situation. At the impossible position she'd been put in.
She'd barely made it halfway down the corridor when she heard footsteps behind her.
"Alba. Wait."
She stopped but didn't turn around. "What?"
Lachlann came around to face her, his expression concerned. "That seating, it wasnae intentional. The servants just assumed—"
"I ken it wasnae planned," Alba interrupted, her voice sharper than she'd intended. "But that daesnae mean it was harmless, Lachlann."
"I dinnae understand what ye mean."
"People are talkin’!" The words burst out of her. "They're already wonderin’ why I'm here, why ye brought me all the way tae Barra instead of findin’ some other solution. And now I'm being seated beside ye at every meal like I'm—like we're—"
She couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't voice what people might be thinking.
"I'll speak tae the servants," Lachlann said immediately. "Make it clear that ye should be seated elsewhere."
"That'll just make it worse. Make it look like somethin’ happened that ye're tryin’ tae hide.
" Alba pressed her fingers to her temples, feeling the headache returning.
"At the ball, half the Highland lords saw ye intervene with Torquil.
Saw us dance. And now I'm here, in yer castle, eatin’ at yer table. Dae ye nae see how this looks?"
Lachlann's jaw tightened. "Ye're here because ye needed protection. Because I'm honorin’ me obligation tae yer braither. Anyone who thinks otherwise—"
"Will talk anyway. That's what people dae." Alba finally looked up at him, and the concern in his grey eyes made her chest ache. "I'm worried about me reputation, Lachlann. About what this will mean when I return home. Calum will defend me, I ken that, but the whispers... they dinnae just go away."
Silence fell between them. Lachlann stood very still, his hands clenched at his sides like he wanted to reach for her but was holding himself back.
"I'll fix this," he said finally. "I'll make sure the seatin’ arrangements change. I'll... I'll keep me distance. At meals, around the castle. Whatever ye need tae feel comfortable."
The thought of him keeping his distance made something twist painfully in Alba's chest, but she forced herself to nod. "Thank ye."
"Alba—"
"I should go." She turned away before he could say anything else. "I'll see ye at dinner. Or... maybe I'll take me meals in me chamber fer a while. Until things settle."
She left him standing alone in the corridor and returned to her chamber, closing the door firmly behind her.
Then she sat on the edge of her bed and dropped her face into her hands, fighting back tears of frustration and confusion and something else she refused to name.
This was impossible. All of it. Being there, being near him, feeling things she had no right to feel.
She had to go home. Had to get back to her own clan, her own life, where everything made sense and she didn't have to worry about wine-loosened confessions or dangerous proximity or the way her heart raced every time Lachlann looked at her.
But until the roads were safe, until Torquil was dealt with, she was trapped there.
Trapped in Lachlann MacNeil's castle, trying desperately not to fall even deeper into feelings that could only lead to heartbreak.