Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
"Ye're broodin'."
Lachlann didn't bother looking up from the leather lead he was inspecting. "I'm workin’."
"Ye're broodin' while workin’," James corrected, leaning against the fence of the dog enclosure. "Which is somehow worse. What happened?"
"Naethin’ happened."
"Right. That's why ye stormed out of the hall this mornin’ and came straight here instead of dealin’ with the dozen matters waitin’ fer yer attention."
Lachlann finally looked up, his jaw tight. "Did ye come here tae help or tae lecture?"
"Neither. I came tae make sure ye hadnae done somethin’ spectacularly stupid." James crossed his arms. "Have ye?"
"Nay."
"Then why daes Lady MacKinnon look like she wants tae disappear into the stones, and why are ye out here hidin’ among the dogs?"
"I'm nae hidin’—" Lachlann stopped himself, took a breath. "The seatin’ at breakfast. It made her uncomfortable. People were starin’, talkin’. She's worried about her reputation."
Understanding crossed James's face. "Ah. And ye tried tae fix it?"
"I told her I'd keep me distance. Change the arrangements." Lachlann went back to inspecting the lead, his movements rougher than necessary. "That's what she wanted."
"Is it?"
"Aye. She made that clear."
James was quiet for a moment. "And what dae ye want?"
Lachlann's hands stilled on the leather. "What I want daesnae matter."
"Daesnae it?"
"She's Calum's sister. That makes her—"
"I ken who she is, Lachlann. I'm askin’ what ye want."
Before Lachlann could answer—before he had to put into words the things he'd been trying not to think about—one of the dogs barked sharply, demanding attention.
Grateful for the interruption, Lachlann set down the lead and moved to the enclosure. "Come on then, let's see tae ye."
James watched him for another moment, then shook his head and walked away, leaving Lachlann alone with the animals.
The dogs crowded around as he entered, tails wagging, pushing against his legs for attention. Lachlann knelt and began his inspection routine—checking paws for cuts or thorns, running his hands over their bodies to feel for injuries, looking for any signs of illness or distress.
This was familiar. Comfortable. Animals didn't judge or speculate or whisper behind their hands. They just were, honest and straightforward in their needs and affections.
"Right, let's work on yer commands," he said to the largest of the dogs, a shaggy grey beast named Storm. "Sit."
Storm sat immediately, his intelligent eyes fixed on Lachlann's face.
"Good lad. Down."
The dog dropped to his belly, still watching.
They worked through the commands slowly—sit, down, stay, come. Lachlann kept his voice quieter than usual, his movements deliberate and controlled. The repetition was soothing, giving his mind something to focus on besides the hurt in Alba's eyes when she'd left him standing in the corridor.
She was right to worry. He knew that. Her reputation was already precarious after Torquil's attack and her sudden appearance at Barra. If people started thinking there was something improper between them—
But there wasn’t. He was protecting her. Honoring his obligation to Calum. That was all.
Even if his heart raced every time she smiled. Even if he'd memorized exactly how she looked in the garden yesterday, sunlight catching in her dark braid. Even if the thought of keeping his distance from her made his chest ache.
What I want daesnae matter.
That was what he'd told James. And it was true. It had to be true.
Lachlann finished with the dogs and moved to the falcon's perch. The bird watched him approach with sharp, golden eyes, shifting on her feet but remaining calm.
"Easy, lass," he murmured, reaching up to remove her hood. "Let's have a look at ye."
She allowed him to inspect her—checking her feathers, her feet, her beak. She was in perfect condition, as always. His falconer took excellent care of her.
But Lachlann took his time anyway, running his fingers gently through her plumage, checking for any broken or damaged feathers. The falcon tilted her head, watching him with that unblinking stare that always made him feel slightly transparent.
"Ye're judgin’ me too, are ye?" he asked softly.
The falcon made a soft clicking sound.
"Aye, I thought as much."
He worked methodically, cleaning equipment and resetting the training tools he used with both dogs and birds. His movements were practiced, efficient—tasks he'd done a thousand times before. But that day they felt heavier, weighted with thoughts he couldn't quite shake.
Alba's voice echoing in his head.
People are talking. Dae ye nae see how this looks?
The worry in her eyes. The way she'd pulled away from him, putting distance between them because she had to. Because propriety demanded it.
Because anything else was impossible.
Lachlann finished his tasks and found himself still sitting there, his back against the fence, watching the grounds without really seeing them. The dogs had settled around him, Storm's head resting on his knee. The falcon dozed on her perch, one foot tucked up.
He should go back to the castle to deal with the matters waiting for his attention—the reports James had mentioned, the decisions that needed making, the dozen small crises that always seemed to arise.
But he stayed where he was, surrounded by animals who asked nothing of him except food and attention, trying to figure out how to do the right thing when every option felt wrong.
"That servant had nay right tae assume where I should sit!"
Alba paced across her chamber, her hands clenched at her sides. "Without even askin', without considerin'—"
"Me lady—"
"And the way everyone stared! Like I was some sort of curiosity—"
"Lady Alba!" Orla's voice cut through Alba's tirade, firm but gentle. "Please, sit down. Ye're workin' yerself into a state."
Alba stopped mid-pace, suddenly aware that she'd been ranting. She took a shaky breath and sank onto the edge of the bed.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I dinnae mean tae take it out on ye."
"It's all right." Orla came to sit beside her. "Ye've had a difficult few days."
"It's nae just that." Alba rubbed her temples. "It's everythin'. Being here, being away from home, havin’ tae rely on Lachlann's protection when I should be handlin' things meself."
"Ye're nae a burden," Orla said firmly. "And from what I've seen, the laird daesnae think so either."
Alba's hands dropped. "What dae ye mean?"
"Just that... he seems very concerned about yer comfort. That stew last night, he specifically requested it. And this mornin', when ye left the hall, he followed almost immediately."
"He's just being dutiful. Honorin' his obligation tae Calum."
"Is that what ye think?" Orla's tone suggested she didn't quite believe it.
Alba stood and went to the window. "It daesnae matter what I think. What matters is what people will say."
"About ye and the laird?"
"Aye."
"Why? Is somethin' happenin' between ye?"
"Nay! Of course nae. He's me braither's best friend." Alba's cheeks flushed. "Anything between us would be impossible."
The quiet statement hung in the air.
Orla studied her for a long moment. "Me lady, fergive me fer speakin' plainly, but... ye mention the laird an awful lot fer someone who claims tae have nay feelings for him."
Alba's face went hot. "I—that's nae true. Maybe when I was younger, I... I might have had a bit of a crush on him," Alba whispered, sinking back onto the bed. "But that was years ago."
"And yet ye still feel somethin' fer him."
"It daesnae matter if I dae. Naething can come of it." Alba's voice was flat. "I willnae destroy their friendship."
Orla was quiet for a moment. "Have ye asked him? About how he feels?"
"Nay! That would be ridiculous."
"If ye say so, me lady."
The doubt in Orla's voice made Alba want to scream.
"I need tae clear me head," she said finally. "This conversation is going in circles."
"The gardens might help," Orla suggested gently.
"Aye." Alba grabbed her shawl. "I think I need some time alone."
"Of course, me lady. Take all the time ye need."