Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"There's only one bed."
Alba stood in the doorway of the tavern room, staring at the narrow bed that took up most of the small space. The room was barely larger than a closet—just the bed, a small table with a cracked washbasin, and enough floor space for perhaps one person to stand comfortably.
Certainly not enough space for two people to sleep separately with any degree of propriety.
"Aye," Lachlann said from behind her, his voice carefully neutral. "It's all they have. The other rooms are taken by travelers."
Alba turned to look at him. He stood in the hallway, still holding both their saddlebags, his expression unreadable but his posture tense.
"We could ride back tae the castle," she offered, though the thought of another hour on horseback made her want to weep. Her legs were already sore from the day's ride, and exhaustion was pulling at her like a weight.
"Nae in the dark. The roads arenae safe, and the horses are tired." Lachlann's jaw tightened. "I'll sleep on the floor. Ye take the bed."
"Lachlann—"
"It's nae up fer discussion, Alba." He moved past her into the room, setting the saddlebags down. "Ye've had a long day. Ye need proper rest. Me men dinnae ken we are sharin’, dinnae fash."
Alba wanted to argue, but the truth was she was too tired to fight. The work in the village, the dancing, the constant awareness of Lachlann's presence—all of it had left her drained in a way that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion.
"At least take a blanket," she said finally. "The floor will be cold."
"I've slept on worse." But he pulled his heavy traveling cloak from his saddlebag and spread it on the floor beside the bed. The space was so narrow that when he lay down, his shoulder would nearly touch the bed frame.
They prepared for sleep in awkward silence. Alba turned her back while Lachlann removed his boots and sword belt. She could hear the rustle of fabric as he settled onto his cloak, the quiet creak of the floorboards.
"Ye can turn around now," he said, amusement coloring his tone. "I'm perfectly decent."
Alba turned to find him lying on his side, his head pillowed on his folded doublet, watching her with those steady grey eyes.
He'd removed his outer layers but kept his shirt and trousers on, and even in the dim light from the single candle, she could see the lean muscle of his shoulders.
She looked away quickly, focusing on removing her own boots. The bed was just wide enough for one person, the mattress thin but clean. She climbed onto it carefully, very aware that Lachlann was right there, close enough to touch if she reached down.
"Comfortable?" he asked.
"Aye." Alba pulled the blanket up to her chin, trying to ignore how strange this was. How intimate. They were alone in a room together, in the dark, with only inches separating them.
If anyone found out, her reputation would be destroyed. But somehow, she couldn't bring herself to care as much as she should.
"Now get some sleep. We've got a long ride tomorrow."
"Goodnight, Lachlann."
"Goodnight, lass."
Alba lay very still, listening to his breathing slow and deepen.
The candle guttered and went out, plunging the room into darkness. Outside, she could hear the muffled sounds of the tavern below—laughter, conversation, the clink of cups.
But in their small room, there was only silence and the warmth of Lachlann's presence so close beside her.
She told herself to sleep. To close her eyes and let exhaustion claim her.
But her mind wouldn't settle. It kept replaying the dance—the way he'd looked at her, the way he'd held her, the way the entire village had watched them move together like they were made for it.
The way she'd realized, with crystal clarity, that she loved him.
What was she supposed to do with that? How was she supposed to pretend she didn't feel it, when every moment in his presence made it harder to breathe?
Time passed.
Alba shifted restlessly, trying to find a comfortable position on the narrow mattress. The bed was pushed against the wall, and she'd instinctively moved toward it, away from the edge.
Alba woke with a gasp as she pitched sideways off the bed.
For a heart-stopping moment, she was falling, her arms flailing for purchase. Then she landed on something solid and warm, and everything became a tangle of limbs and muffled curses.
"Christ—" Lachlann's voice, rough with sleep and surprise. "Alba, what—"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Alba babbled, trying to push herself up. But the floor space was so narrow and Lachlann was right there, and every time she tried to move, she just seemed to press closer against him.
His chest was warm beneath her palms. She could feel his heart racing, matching the frantic rhythm of her own. His hands had gone up automatically to steady her, gripping her waist, and the heat of his touch burned through the thin fabric of her shift.
"Are ye hurt?" Lachlann asked, his voice strained. "Did ye hit yer head?"
"Nay, I rolled off the bed." Alba tried again to push herself up, but her knee slipped on his cloak and she fell forward, her face ending up inches from his.
They both froze.
In the darkness, Alba could just make out the outline of his features—the strong line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the way his eyes had gone wide. His breath was warm against her lips, coming faster now.
"This is..." Alba started, then stopped. Because what was it? Ridiculous? Mortifying? Dangerous?
A surprised laugh bubbled up from her chest, breaking the tension. "I'm sorry. I didnae—I didnae mean tae fall on ye like a sack of grain."
Lachlann's mouth twitched. "Ye're slightly lighter than a sack of grain. Slightly."
"How gallant."
"I'm a paragon of chivalry, clearly." But he was smiling now, she could hear it in his voice. "Are ye planning tae sleep here, or should I help ye back up?"
Alba knew she should move. Should scramble back onto the bed and put proper distance between them. But she was so warm, and he was so solid beneath her, and the way his hands were still resting on her waist made her feel safe in a way she couldn't explain.
Lachlann's hands tightened on her waist.
Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough that she could see his eyes now, dark and intense and fixed on her face with an expression that made her pulse race.
"Alba," he said, and it sounded like a warning and a plea all at once.
She leaned closer. Just a fraction. Just enough that their noses nearly touched.
Lachlann's breath hitched. One of his hands moved from her waist to cup the back of her head, his fingers threading through her loosened braid. His thumb brushed against her cheek, gentle and reverent and—
The reality of what they were about to do crashed over Alba like cold water.
She pushed herself upright abruptly, scrambling away from him and back onto the bed with none of her earlier grace. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might burst from her chest.
"I'm sorry," she gasped. "I didnae mean—that was—"
"It's fine." Lachlann's voice was carefully controlled, but she could hear the strain beneath it. "Ye just surprised me, that's all."
Alba pulled the blanket up to her chin like it could protect her from the feelings rioting through her body. From the want that was still thrumming in her veins. From the knowledge that if she hadn't pulled away, if she'd let that moment continue...
"Goodnight, Lachlann," she managed.
"Goodnight, Alba."
She turned to face the wall, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to calm her racing heart.
Behind her, she heard Lachlann shift on his cloak, settling back down. But she knew, somehow, that he wasn't sleeping any more than she was.
They lay there in the darkness, separated by inches and propriety and all the reasons why what had almost happened could never, ever happen.
No matter how much Alba wished it could.
The ride back to the castle the next morning was quiet. They reached just as the sun climbed to its peak.
Lachlann dismounted and moved to help Alba down, but she'd already slid from Shadow's back on her own. Their eyes met briefly, and Lachlann saw his own confusion and want reflected back at him before she looked away.
"I'll... I'll see ye at dinner," Alba said, her voice carefully neutral.
"Aye. At dinner."
She hurried away toward the keep, and Lachlann watched her go, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
"Ye're an idiot," James said cheerfully, appearing at his elbow.
"I ken."
"Whatever happened last night—"
"Naethin’ happened last night."
"Right. Naethin’." James's tone made it clear he didn't believe that for a second. "Which is why ye both look like ye've been gut-punched and can barely stand tae look at each other."
Lachlann turned to glare at his friend. "Drop it, James."
"Just saying. Whatever this is between ye two, ye're going tae have tae deal with it eventually. Ignorin' it isnae workin’."
Before Lachlann could respond, one of the gate guards called out. "Me laird! Messenger just arrived. Says he's got urgent letters from England."
Lachlann's stomach dropped.
England.
Calum.
He strode toward the castle, James following. The messenger waited in the courtyard, travel-stained and weary. He bowed as Lachlann approached.
"Messages from Laird Calum MacKinnon, me laird. He said they were urgent."
Lachlann took the sealed letters, two of them.
One thick and addressed to him in Calum's bold script. The other thinner, with "Alba MacKinnon" written in a hand that seemed less steady.
"Thank ye. Get yerself to the kitchens. Tell Cook I said tae feed ye and find ye a bed."
The messenger bowed again and left. Lachlann stared down at the letters in his hands, dread coiling in his gut.
"Want me tae stay?" James asked quietly.
"Nay. I'll read it alone."
He made his way to his office and closed the door firmly. Then, with hands that weren't quite steady, he broke the seal on his letter and began to read.
Lachlann,
I received yer message about Alba. Thank ye fer keeping her safe. I ken ye'll protect her with yer life, and that gives me some peace while I'm trapped here in these interminable negotiations.
However, I need tae warn ye about a complication. Torquil MacLean has sent word tae several clans—including tae contacts here in England—claiming that Alba was betrothed tae him. He's saying that ye stole her after the ball, that the attack on her carriage was fabricated tae cover the abduction.
It's complete shite, of course. But with me away and nae immediate proof tae contradict his claims, the story is spreading. Some are believing it. Some are just using it as an excuse tae stir trouble.
I've written tae Alba separately tae assure her she's safe with ye. But Lachlann, ye need tae be careful. If Torquil pushes this hard enough, if he gets the king's ear, this could turn intae something bigger than a simple dispute.
Guard her well, braither. And write tae me immediately if anything changes.
Calum
Lachlann read the letter twice, his jaw clenching harder with each pass. Torquil was claiming Alba had been betrothed to him and was painting Lachlann as the villain in this story.
And without Calum there tae refute it, without proof of what had really happened that night...
He looked down at the second letter. Alba's letter.
He would give it to her right away, so she could read Calum's reassurances privately.
His feet carried him through the corridors toward her chamber before he could talk himself out of it.
He knocked. Waited.
Alba opened the door, and the careful neutrality on her face crumbled when she saw what he held.
"Is that—"
"From Calum. Fer ye." Lachlann held out the letter.
Alba took it with trembling fingers, her eyes scanning the address. "Did ye—dae ye ken what it says?"
"Nay. But I got one too. He's... he's heard about Torquil's claims. He says ye were betrothed tae him. That I stole ye."
Alba's face went pale. "What?"
"Read yer letter. Calum will explain better than I can."
She broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. Lachlann watched her eyes move across the words, saw her expression shift from shock to relief to something that looked like determination.
"He says..." Alba's voice was thick. "He says I'm safe with ye. That he trusts ye completely. That Torquil's lies willnae stand because the truth will come out eventually."
"Aye."
"He says..." She looked up at Lachlann, her sea-blue eyes bright with unshed tears. "He says he's sorry he wasnae there tae protect me himself. That he's grateful ye were."
Something in Lachlann's chest loosened at her words. Calum trusted him. Still considered him a brother despite everything.
"Ye got yer wish," he said, the words coming out before he could stop them. "Being with Calum's friends. Being part of the adventures instead of being left behind."
Alba's cheeks flushed. "Dinnae speak of that night in the kitchen."
"Why nae?"
"Because..." She clutched the letter tighter. "Because Calum wouldnae approve of us being this close, of me being here, in yer castle, in yer care, if he kent what happened then or last night—"
"Naethin’ happened last night," Lachlann interrupted, but his voice lacked conviction.
Alba shook her head. "It daesnae matter. What matters is that ye're me braither's best friend. And I'm his sister. And there are lines we cannae cross."
"What if I told ye that despite everything, despite duty and propriety and all the reasons this is impossible—I dinnae want tae be far from ye, Alba."
Alba's breath caught. "Lachlann—"
"I'm nae askin' fer anything. I'm just tellin’ ye the truth. Because ye deserve that much."
"Be careful what ye say," Alba whispered, her eyes wide. "Because if ye say these things, ye need tae mean them. Ye need tae be certain."
"I am certain."
He moved closer but stopped himself.
Because what could he say? That he couldn't court her properly? Couldn't ask for Calum's blessing when Calum was trapped in England? Couldn't give her the future she deserved because of politics and timing and Torquil's schemes?
Alba looked at him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face like she was trying to memorize every feature. Then she stepped back, putting distance between them.
"I need tae think," she said quietly. "About Calum's letter. About everything. I need... I need time."
"Take all the time ye need."
She nodded and closed the door gently.
Lachlann stood in the corridor, staring at the solid wood, his heart pounding.
As he walked back to his office, Calum's letter heavy in his pocket, Lachlann knew he wouldn't have taken the words back even if he could. have
Because they were true.