Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"Me laird!"
Lachlann had barely made it halfway back to his chamber when the voice called out from behind him. He turned to find young Malcolm sprinting down the corridor, his face flushed with exertion.
"What is it?"
Malcolm skidded to a halt, bending forward to catch his breath before straightening and bowing quickly. "Beggin' yer pardon, me laird, but there's somethin' that needs yer immediate attention. Captain Fraser sent me tae find ye."
The urgency in the boy's voice killed whatever warmth still lingered from Alba's kiss.
"Where is he?"
"Yer office, me laird. Just returned from border patrol."
Lachlann's jaw tightened. James wouldn't have sent for him unless it was serious.
"Lead the way."
He followed Malcolm through the corridors at a swift pace, his mind already shifting from the softness of Alba's lips to the sharp-edged focus required for whatever threat had materialized.
The pleasant haze of desire gave way to cold calculation with each step.
They reached his office in minutes. Malcolm pushed the door open, revealing James standing by the windows, still in his riding leathers, mud splattered across his boots and cloak.
"Out," Lachlann said to Malcolm without looking at the boy.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
"Talk."
James turned from the window, his expression grim. "Torquil's men. Spotted them disembarkin' on the eastern shore about two hours ago."
Every muscle in Lachlann's body went rigid. "How many?"
"At least twenty that we could count. Could be more hidden in the tree line."
"Armed?"
"Aye. Swords, bows, light armor." James moved to the desk, pulling out a map and spreading it across the surface. "They landed here—" He tapped a point along the eastern coastline. "—and started movin' inland. We tracked them to this ridge before pullin' back tae report."
Lachlann studied the map, his mind racing through possibilities. "They're testin' our defenses."
"Or scoutin' fer weaknesses before a larger assault."
"Or lookin' fer her." The words tasted like ash.
James met his gaze steadily. "Aye. That too."
Lachlann's hands flattened on the desk. Alba. Safe in his castle. Under his protection. And now Torquil's men were on his land, close enough to—
Nay.
He shoved the thought away and focused on the map.
"Gather fifteen men," he said, his voice sharp with command. "Experienced fighters only. Full gear. We leave at first light."
"Already done."
Of course they were. James knew him too well.
Lachlann straightened, rolling his shoulders back. "Good. I want scouts posted along every approach to the castle. Double the guard on the walls. No one enters or leaves without me kennin’ about it."
"What about Lady Alba?"
"What about her?"
"Will ye tell her?"
Lachlann's jaw clenched. "Nae yet."
"Ye should tell her."
"I will." He moved around the desk, heading for the door. "After I've dealt with this."
James caught his arm. "Lachlann."
"I ken what ye're goin' tae say."
"Dae ye?" James's grip tightened. "Because it looks tae me like ye're about tae walk into a potential ambush without thinkin' it through first."
"I've thought it through plenty."
"Have ye? Or are ye just reactin' because someone's threatenin' what's yers?"
The words hit their mark.
Lachlann pulled his arm free, turning to face his oldest friend fully. "What would ye have me dae, James? Sit here and wait while Torquil's men get closer? While they scout our weaknesses and plan their attack?"
"I'd have ye use that strategic mind of yers instead of lettin' anger drive yer decisions."
"I'm nae angry."
James's eyebrow rose.
"Fine." Lachlann exhaled roughly. "I'm furious. But that daesnae mean I'm wrong."
"Nay," James agreed quietly. "But it daes mean ye need tae be careful. Torquil's hopin' ye'll come chargin' out there. He wants ye emotional and reckless."
"Then he'll be disappointed." Lachlann moved back to the desk, studying the map with forced calm. "We'll approach from the north, use the high ground tae our advantage. Keep scouts on the flanks. If it's a trap, we'll see it comin'."
James joined him, pointing to a narrow pass. "Here. If we move through this valley, we can get behind them without bein' spotted."
"Aye." Lachlann traced the route with his finger. "Split into two groups. One draws them out, the other flanks."
"I'll lead the flankin' party."
"Nay." Lachlann shook his head. "Ye stay here. Guard the castle."
"Lachlann—"
"That's an order, James." He met his friend's gaze. "I need someone I trust completely watchin' over her. That's ye."
James's jaw worked for a moment before he nodded. "Aye, me laird."
Lachlann spent the next several hours in that office, moving between the map and the window, checking equipment brought by various soldiers, giving instructions with clipped efficiency. Routes were planned. Contingencies discussed. Supplies gathered.
The sun sank lower, painting the sky in shades of amber and crimson.
Candles were lit as darkness crept across the room.
Lachlann barely noticed.
His world had narrowed to preparations, to the cold mathematics of combat, to ensuring every possible advantage before leading his men into danger.
A soldier brought reports from the scouts. No movement yet from Torquil's camp.
Another arrived with word that the armory was ready.
Malcolm appeared with a message that the men were assembled and awaiting orders.
Lachlann sent him away with instructions to rest. They'd leave at dawn.
The candles burned lower.
Outside, the castle settled into evening rhythms. Voices drifted up from the courtyard. Somewhere, a dog barked. Life continued, ordinary and safe, while Lachlann prepared for violence.
He was marking a final position on the map when the door opened without warning.
Alba pushed the office door open with her hip, balancing the heavy tray carefully as she stepped inside.
The room smelled of candle wax and old leather, maps spread across every available surface. And there, bent over his desk with complete focus, was Lachlann.
He glanced up briefly, his expression distant and preoccupied. "Alba."
"Ye havenae eaten." She moved to the desk, setting the tray down beside a pile of correspondence. "When was the last time ye had anythin'?"
His brow furrowed slightly, as though trying to remember. "I... this mornin', I think."
"Ye think." Alba lifted a plate, placing it in front of him with more force than necessary. "Eat."
"I have work tae dae."
"Eat, Lachlann." She pulled a chair around to his side of the desk, sitting down and fixing him with a look that brooked no argument. "Whatever ye're plannin' can wait ten minutes while ye take care of yerself."
For a moment, she thought he might refuse. His jaw set in that stubborn line she was beginning to recognize. But then his shoulders dropped slightly and he reached for the bread.
"Satisfied?"
"When ye've actually eaten somethin', aye." Alba picked up her own plate, taking a small bite of cheese.
Alba threaded her fingers through his, holding tight. "Be careful. Please. I heard what happened this mornin’. I ken about Torquil."
"Always am, lass."
"Nay, ye're nae." She squeezed his hand. "Ye're brave and honorable and ye'd throw yerself in front of danger without a second thought if ye thought it would protect someone ye cared about."
His thumb stroked across her knuckles. "Is that what ye think of me?"
"It's what I ken of ye." She brought their joined hands up, pressing a kiss to his scarred knuckles. "So, promise me ye'll be careful. Actually careful, nae just sayin' it tae make me feel better."
"Alba…"
"Promise me, Lachlann."
He leaned forward, his free hand coming up to cup her face. "I promise ye, lass. I'll come back. Safe and whole."
The certainty in his voice should have comforted her. Instead, it just made her chest ache.
"I’m sorry," she whispered. "Fer bringin’ trouble tae yer lands."
"Stop." Lachlann's grip on her face gentled, but his voice remained firm. "This is nae yer fault. Ye hear me? What Torquil daes, what he chooses, none of that is on ye."
"But—"
"Eat," he said softly, pulling back and picking up his own forgotten bread. "Before it gets cold and ye have grounds tae scold me further."
She managed a weak smile. "I'm very good at scoldin'."
"Terrifyin’, even." He took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. "Remind me never tae cross ye."
"Too late fer that. Ye've already walked in on me bathin'."
"Accidentally."
"Yer face when ye turned around." Alba laughed despite everything, the sound surprising her. "I thought ye might expire from pure mortification."
"I was bein' a gentleman."
"Ye were bein' ridiculous." She tore off another piece of bread, offering it to him. "Though I suppose I should thank ye fer yer restraint."
He took the bread from her fingers, his lips brushing her skin. "Should ye now?"
Heat bloomed in her cheeks. "Aye. Most men wouldnae have—"
"I'm nae most men, Alba." His eyes held hers. "And ye're nae just any woman."
The air between them shifted, growing warm and charged. Alba's pulse quickened.
"We should eat," she said, her voice not quite steady.
"Aye." But neither of them moved.
Lachlann broke first, reaching for the cheese and cutting a small piece. He held it up to her lips. "Open."
Alba's eyes widened. "What are ye—"
"Open," he repeated, his voice dropping lower. "Unless ye plan to lecture me about table manners?"
She opened her mouth.
The cheese melted on her tongue, rich and sharp. Lachlann's gaze tracked the movement of her throat as she swallowed, his attention so focused it made her skin prickle with awareness.
"Yer turn," Alba managed, cutting a piece for him.
He accepted it, his lips closing around her fingers briefly before she could pull away. The warmth of his mouth sent shivers down her spine.
They fell into a rhythm after that, feeding each other small bites, conversation flowing easily between mouthfuls.
The tension didn't disappear, but it transformed into something softer. Something intimate.
"Dae ye remember," Lachlann said, reaching for his cup, "that summer when Calum convinced us all tae go swimmin' in Loch Moy?"
Alba laughed. "The one where Euan nearly drowned because he forgot about his leg?"
"He didnae forget. He was just too stubborn to admit he shouldnae be divin' off rocks." Lachlann grinned at the memory.
"I remember." Alba's smile turned mischievous. "I also remember ye losin' yer balance and fallin' in fully clothed."
His eyes narrowed. "How would ye ken that? Ye werenae there."
"Wasnae I?"
"Alba MacKinnon." Lachlann set his cup down slowly, turning to face her fully. "Were ye spyin' on us?"
"Spyin' is such an ugly word."
"What would ye call it then?"
"Observin'." She lifted her chin. "From a safe distance. Behind appropriate cover."
"Appropriate cover." His lips twitched. "And where exactly was this appropriate cover?"
"The tree line near the shore." Alba's cheeks flushed but she refused to look away. "I may have... followed ye all there. Without permission."
"How old were ye?"
"Sixteen."
"Sixteen," Lachlann repeated, something dark and warm entering his voice. "Old enough tae ken better."
"Old enough tae be curious about what me braither and his friends were up tae."
"Is that what ye were curious about?" He leaned closer. “Yer braither and his friends?"
Alba's pulse hammered. "Perhaps I had... specific interests."
"Specific interests." His hand found her knee beneath the table. "Care tae elaborate on that, lass?"
"Nay."
"Nay?" His thumb stroked slow circles through the fabric of her skirt. "Even if I said I might have noticed ye watchin' from those trees? Even if I admitted I may have stayed in that freezin’ water longer than necessary just because I kent ye were there?"
Her breath caught. "Ye... ye kent?"
"I suspected." His hand slid higher, just above her knee. "Confirmed it when Calum mentioned a few weeks later that his wee sister had been askin' very detailed questions about whether I could actually swim or if I just flailed about pretendin'."
"I never—" Alba stopped, biting her lip. "He told ye that?"
"He thought it was hilarious." Lachlann's smile turned wicked. "Asked if I wanted him to tell ye I was actually quite accomplished in the water. Among other things."
"Other things?"
"Shall I show ye?" His voice dropped to a murmur. "When this is all over?"
Heat flooded through her. "Lachlann—"
"When I come back," he continued, his hand leaving her knee to cup her face instead.
"When Torquil's men are dealt with and ye're safe and we dinnae have tae worry about patrols or threats or anythin' else—" He leaned in until his lips nearly touched hers.
"—I'm goin' tae take ye tae that loch. And ye can watch me swim all ye want. "
"That's—" She couldn't finish the thought. Couldn't think at all with him this close.
"Scandalous?" He brushed his nose against hers. "Probably. Dae ye care?"
"Nay," Alba whispered. "I dinnae care at all."
His laugh was soft and rough. "Good. Because I've spent too many years pretendin' I didnae notice ye noticin' me. I'm done with that."
The door burst open.
They sprang apart as James strode in, stopping short when he saw them.
"Sorry to interrupt me laird," he said, though his expression suggested he wasn't sorry at all. "Just wanted tae let ye ken everythin’ is ready fer the patrol tomorrow."
“That’s good tae ken, James.”
James coughed. "I'll just... leave ye tae what ye were daein’ then."
He was out the door before either of them could respond.
Alba turned to Lachlann, finding him already watching her with an intensity that stole her breath.
"Unfinished business?" he asked softly.
"Aye." She stepped closer, tilting her face up. "Something about showin' me how accomplished ye are. In the water and... other things."
His arms came around her waist, pulling her flush against him.
"Lass," he murmured against her lips, "that's goin' tae take considerably more than one night."
"Then ye’re lucky," Alba whispered back, "that I'm nae goin' anywhere."
His kiss swallowed whatever else she might have said, deep and claiming and full of promise.