Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
"Ye're very quiet."
Lachlann's voice broke the comfortable silence as their horses picked their way along the final stretch of path toward the castle gates.
Alba glanced over to find him watching her with that particular expression she was beginning to recognize, the one that meant he was thinking carefully about what he was about to say.
"I'm just..." She searched for the right word. "Content. Is that strange?"
"Nay." His mouth curved. "It's perfect, actually. I'd hate tae think I'd done somethin' wrong back there."
"Ye did absolutely naethin' wrong." Alba felt heat rise in her cheeks at the memory. "Ye did... several things very right, actually."
Lachlann's laugh was low and warm. "Several."
"Dinnae let it go tae yer head."
"Too late." But his expression softened as they rounded the final curve and the castle came into view. "Alba, there's somethin' I need tae
"Lachlann—"
They'd spoken simultaneously. Both stopped.
"Ye first," Alba said.
"Nay, ye go."
"I was just goin' tae say thank ye." She smiled at him. "Fer today." She gestured vaguely, unable to quite find words for everything the afternoon had held. "All of it."
"Aye, well." Lachlann cleared his throat, a rare hint of color touching his jaw. "Thank me after I say what I'm about to say."
They rode through the castle gates, hooves ringing against stone as grooms came forward to take the horses. Lachlann dismounted first and went to Alba's side, helping her down with both hands at her waist.
But he didn't step back.
And then, to Alba's utter astonishment, he went down on one knee.
Right there in the courtyard, with grooms watching and a guard blinking from his post on the wall.
Lachlann MacNeil, Laird of Clan MacNeil, one of the five men of the Loch Eilein Covenant, knelt on the cobblestones and took her hand in both of his.
"Alba MacKinnon." His storm-grey eyes held hers steadily, nerves visible in them for the first time. "I ken the timin’ is terrible. I ken we're in the middle of a courtyard and there are at least three people starin' at us right now, and I probably should have planned this better."
"Lachlann."
"Let me finish. Please." He tightened his grip on her hand.
"I've spent years tellin' meself that ye were forbidden.
That wantin' ye was a betrayal of Calum, of the Covenant, of every promise I'd ever made.
And I believed it. Or I tried tae." His jaw worked.
"But today, seein' ye laugh in the water and listen to the old stories and look at me like I was somethin' worth havin', I realized I didnae want tae spend another single day pretendin' this wasnae everythin'. "
Alba's throat had gone tight, her eyes burning.
"So I'm askin' ye." Lachlann's voice dropped lower.
"Nae because of Torquil or politics or any of the thousand reasons I could give ye.
But because I want ye here. In this castle.
In me life. Because I love ye, Alba, and I think I have fer a very long time.
" He paused. "Would ye marry me? Stay here, at Barra, fer good? "
The courtyard was absolutely silent.
Alba looked down at that man, that stubborn, brave, complicated man who'd turned her world completely upside down, and felt something settle in her chest with perfect, unshakeable certainty.
"Aye," she said. "Yes."
Lachlann rose immediately, her hand still clasped in his, and the smile that broke across his face was unlike anything she'd seen from him before. Unguarded. Completely, radiantly happy.
A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep in Alba's chest, startled and delighted all at once.
She pressed her free hand to her mouth, trying to contain it, but it escaped anyway, bright and unrestrained, echoing off the courtyard walls.
"Ye impossible man," she managed between laughs. "Ye've already sent the letter. What if I hadnae agreed?"
"Aye, well." He brushed a loose strand of hair from her face with his free hand. "I thought if ye said nay, I could always write another letter tellin' Calum tae disregard the first one."
"And what would that letter have said?"
"'Dear Calum, never mind, yer sister came tae her senses.'"
"Lachlann MacNeil." She swatted his chest lightly, still laughing. "Ye're absolutely terrible."
"Aye." His eyes were soft on her face. "But I'm yers, if ye'll have me."
The laughter faded into something warmer, quieter.
Alba looked at their joined hands, his scarred and roughened from years of swords and ships, hers smaller and softer beside his.
"I'll have ye," she said quietly.
He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles, holding them there for a long moment.
Around them, the courtyard had resumed its usual activity.
Grooms leading horses, servants crossing with supplies, guards returning to their posts. Life continuing as normal, utterly unaware that everything had just changed.
They walked together through the courtyard, hands still clasped, exchanging glances that held entire conversations without a single word.
Alba felt the weight of the moment pressing down on her, not uncomfortably, but like something precious and permanent settling into place.
"Calum might say no," she said after a while.
"He might."
"And if he daes?"
Lachlann was quiet for a moment. "Then we'll deal with it. Taegether." He glanced at her sideways. "But I ken me braither. He wants ye happy. And if I can convince him that I'll spend every day makin' certain of that, he’ll agree."
"He'll want tae murder ye first."
"Oh, absolutely." Lachlann's expression was resigned but amused.
"He'll probably threaten me at least twice and question me intentions at least four times.
David will make some cutting observation.
Archibald will grunt and stare at me like he's decidin' where tae bury the body. And Euan will tease me, as usual."
Alba laughed again. "That sounds about right."
"But once they've all finished terrorizin' me, I hope they'll understand." His hand tightened on hers. "Because we're the Covenant. We've faced worse than one uncomfortable conversation."
"Have ye?"
"Probably nae," he admitted. "But I'm hopin' the sentiment carries."
They paused at the entrance to the great hall, the afternoon light casting long shadows across the stone steps.
"Go find Orla," Lachlann said, releasing her hand with obvious reluctance. "Ye'll want her tae hear this news before she hears it from someone else. I suspect Cook already saw us in the courtyard, which means the entire castle will ken within the hour."
"And what will ye dae?"
"Probably write another letter." He smiled ruefully. "This one tae the rest of the Covenant braithers, tae warn them before Calum daes."
"Coward."
"Tactical," he corrected. "Completely tactical."
She rose on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his jaw before he could respond, then swept inside before the pink creeping up his neck could fully reach his face.
"These lads—" Orla gestured at the three dogs currently circling her feet with frantic enthusiasm, "—are completely out of control. Me lady, I've been in the kennels fer barely two minutes and I already have paw prints on me apron and somethin' wet on me boot."
"That's just Captain sayin' hello."
"I dinnae want Captain tae say hello." But Orla moved out of the dog's path with practiced resignation. "Here. Let me take one of those bowls before ye drop it."
Alba handed one over, stepping into the kennels properly.
The familiar smell of dogs and hay washed over her, comforting and warm. Storm immediately appeared at her side, his great grey head butting against her hand for attention.
"Hello, lad." Alba scratched behind his ears, balancing the remaining bowls carefully. "Hungry, are ye?"
She set the bowls down in their designated spots and stood back as all three dogs dove in with single-minded enthusiasm.
Captain ate with dainty precision despite his excitement. Bracken inhaled his food as though he hadn't eaten in weeks. Storm ate steadily and methodically, pausing twice to check on Alba's whereabouts before returning to his bowl.
"Right." Orla leaned against the wall, her arms crossed and her eyes dancing. "Out with it."
"Out with what?"
"Ye're practically glowin', me lady. Ye've been glowin' since ye rode through those gates." Orla tilted her head. "And ye came back with pine needles in yer hair and sand on yer boots, which is interestin' given the direction ye went ridin' this mornin'."
"I fell." Alba kept her eyes on the dogs. "On the path."
"Ye fell." Orla's tone made it very clear she believed nothing of the sort. "Right."
Silence stretched.
Storm finished his bowl and came to lean against Alba's leg with his full considerable weight, as though sensing she needed the support.
"He asked me to marry him," Alba said finally.
The sound Orla made was somewhere between a gasp and a shriek that made all three dogs look up from their bowls.
"He what?" Orla pressed both hands to her mouth. "Lachlann? In the courtyard, just now, when ye rode back? Was that what happened?"
"Aye."
"And ye said aye?"
"Aye."
Orla made the sound again, louder this time.
Bracken abandoned his bowl entirely to investigate, sniffing at her boots with concerned intensity.
"And he's written tae Calum," Alba continued, smiling despite herself at Orla's reaction. "Fer permission. James left with the letter this mornin'."
"He wrote tae yer braither first." Orla's eyes were shining. "He did it properly."
"Well, he asked me before the letter technically arrived," Alba admitted. "But the intent was there."
"Me lady." Orla crossed the distance between them and grasped both her hands, heedless of the dogs circling their feet. "Dae ye love him?"
The question was simple and direct. Just like Orla.
"Aye." No hesitation. "I dae. I think I have fer longer than I want tae admit."
"And he loves ye?"
"He said as much." Alba felt warmth bloom in her chest at the memory of Lachlann's voice, rough and certain and completely sincere. "On his knee, in the middle of the courtyard, with grooms watchin’."
Orla laughed, the sound bright in the quiet kennels. "Oh, I wish I'd seen that. Lachlann MacNeil, kneelin' in the courtyard like a besotted lad."
"He was very dignified about it," Alba said, though she was grinning.
"I'm sure he was." Orla squeezed her hands. "Me lady, this is splendid, ye deserve this. Ye deserve tae be loved like that. Properly, openly, without apology."
"It's nae simple," Alba said, her smile softening to something more complicated. "Calum might refuse. Torquil is still out there."
"Torquil." Orla's expression shifted.
Something in her tone made Alba go still. "What about him?"
"I should have told ye earlier, but I didnae want tae spoil yer day." Orla glanced toward the kennels door, as though checking they were truly alone. "There are rumors, me lady. Among the servants and the guards. Word came in with the supply boat this mornin'."
"What kind of rumors?"
Orla leaned in slightly, her voice dropping. "That Torquil has written tae the king. Formally. Claimin' ye as his betrothed and demandin' Lachlann return ye."
The warmth drained from Alba's face.
"And more than that." Orla hesitated. "They say the king may be inclined tae listen. That Torquil's been generous with his donations tae the Crown lately. Very generous."
Alba's hand stilled over Storm's head where she'd been absently stroking his fur. "The king."
"Aye." Orla's eyes were worried. "Me lady, what if the king sides with Torquil, if he orders Lachlann tae hand ye over?"
"Then Lachlann would be in direct violation of royal command if he refuses." Alba's voice came out remarkably steady given that her heart was hammering. "Which is exactly what Torquil wants. He's nae just comin' after me, he's tryin' tae make an enemy of Lachlann and the Crown at the same time."
Orla nodded, her earlier joy entirely replaced by concern.
Alba took a slow breath, her fingers resuming their movement through Storm's fur. The dog pressed closer, solid and warm and unbothered by politics.
He asked ye tae marry him. He loves ye. And Torquil wants tae tear all of it apart before it's even begun.
"Who told ye this?" Alba asked.
"Cook heard it from the supply master, who heard it from a merchant in from the mainland." Orla twisted her hands together. "It may be just rumor. But it felt true."
Alba said quietly. "It feels true."
She looked down at Storm, at his patient grey face and steady brown eyes. Then she bent and picked up the empty bowls, straightening her spine and smoothing her expression into something calm and deliberate.
"Ye were right tae tell me," she said. "Lachlann needs tae ken if he daesnae already."
"And if he daes ken?"
Alba glanced toward the castle walls, toward the window she knew led to his study, probably already lit by candlelight even in the late afternoon, probably already strewn with maps and letters and strategic calculations.
"Then he's already plannin'," she said. "That's what he daes."
"And ye? What dae ye dae?"
Alba wiped her hands on her apron, brushing away sand and dog hair and the last traces of their hidden beach afternoon.
"I trust him," she said simply.
But even as the words left her mouth, worry settled cold and quiet around her heart, patient and persistent, the way storms gathered on the horizon long before anyone felt the rain.