Chapter 5 #2
"I understand your grief," Lachlan continues. "And your anger. But that battle is over. Now we have peace to build, and I need men like you—men who are loyal to their own—to help rebuild this kingdom stronger than before."
He turns to Fergus. "And you—did you kill this man's brother?"
"No, my lord."
"Then why do you bear the blame for it? Why bring that battle into this hall, where we're trying to forge a new alliance?"
Fergus looks down, chastened. "I spoke without thinking, my lord."
Lachlan nods. "Both of you will spend the day working together—repairing the damage to the eastern wall. Manual labor might help you work through your grievances better than words." He looks between them. "Can you do that without killing each other?"
Both men nod reluctantly.
"Good. Go now."
As they leave, I stare at Lachlan, trying to reconcile this measured response with the brutal conqueror I expected him to be. He could have had Alastair flogged, even executed, for his defiance. Instead, he acknowledged the man's grief and offered a path to reconciliation.
"You seem surprised," Lachlan murmurs, noticing my expression.
"I expected more bloodshed."
"Haven't we had enough of that?" He takes a drink from his goblet, eyes watching the hall over its rim. "I didn't conquer your kingdom to destroy it, Fiona. I joined it to mine to make both stronger."
"Is that what you tell yourself to justify the invasion?"
A muscle ticks in his jaw, but his voice remains even. "I don't need to justify anything to you or anyone else. The strong take what they want in this world."
"And the weak?"
"The weak suffer what they must." His eyes meet mine. "But you aren't weak, are you, Princess? Despite everything, you're still fighting me."
I should deny it, pretend submission. But the truth is in my eyes, and we both know it.
"I'm not your enemy anymore," he says, his voice dropping lower, meant for my ears alone. "The sooner you accept that, the sooner we can build something worthwhile from this union."
"And if I never accept it?"
His hand covers mine on the table, warm and unexpectedly gentle. "You will. Because beneath that hatred, you're starting to see the truth."
"Which is?"
"That I might be exactly what your kingdom needs." His thumb strokes the inside of my wrist, sending an unwelcome shiver up my arm. "What you need."
I pull my hand away, disturbed by the effect of his simple touch. "You'll never be what I need."
He smiles, knowing and confident. "We'll see."
The rest of the day passes in a blur of introductions and court business.
I sit beside Lachlan through it all, watching him govern with an efficiency and clarity that surprises me.
He listens more than he speaks. Considers before deciding.
Shows mercy when least expected and firmness when necessary.
By evening, I'm reluctantly impressed, though I'd never admit it aloud. This is not the mindless brute I imagined. This is a man who built an empire through calculation as much as conquest, who understands that ruling requires more than just strength of arms.
As we retire to our chambers, I find myself looking at him with new eyes. Not forgiving the invasion, not forgetting the violence of his arrival. But seeing, perhaps for the first time, the man beneath the conqueror.
"You're staring," he observes as he closes the door behind us.
"I'm trying to understand you."
He raises an eyebrow. "And what have you concluded?"
"That you're more complicated than I thought." I move to the window, needing distance from his overwhelming presence. "Why did you really come here, Lachlan? Why my kingdom?"
He's quiet for so long that I think he won't answer. When he does, his voice has a quality I haven't heard before—something raw and honest.
"Because it was vulnerable. Because I need the port access for trade. Because uniting our territories creates a border that's almost impossible to breach." He pauses. "And because I'd heard stories of the golden-haired princess who rode like a man and spoke like a scholar. I was curious."
The admission startles me. "You knew about me before you came?"
"Of course." He moves closer, stopping just behind me. "I never go into battle unprepared."
"And am I what you expected?" I ask, not sure why I care about his answer.
His hand touches my hair, fingers tangling in the strands. "No," he admits. "You're more."
The simple words send a strange warmth through me. I should move away. Should maintain my hostility, my resistance. Instead, I find myself leaning back slightly, my body responding to his proximity in ways my mind hasn't yet reconciled.
"I still hate what you did," I tell him, needing to assert some control over this moment. "Coming here. Taking everything."
"I know." His arms slide around my waist, pulling me against the solid wall of his chest. "But you're beginning to see that there might be some benefits to this arrangement."
I should deny it. Should pull away and reassert the boundaries between us. But as his lips find the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder, as his hands span my waist with possessive heat, I can't bring myself to lie.
"Perhaps," I whisper, and feel him smile against my skin.
It's a small surrender, insignificant compared to what happened between us last night. But somehow, it feels more dangerous—this willingness to acknowledge that the man who conquered my kingdom might be more than the monster I initially believed him to be.
That beneath the beast might be a king worth knowing.