Chapter 7
seven
. . .
Fiona
Five days of being Lachlan Drummond's shadow, and I'm losing my mind.
Not from boredom—I almost wish it were that simple.
No, I'm losing my mind because I'm starting to understand him.
Five days of watching him govern, negotiate, train, command.
Five days of seeing not just the conqueror but the king.
Five days of his constant presence—his scent, his voice, his casual touches that send unwanted heat spiraling through my body.
He's made good on his threat, keeping me at his side from dawn until we fall into bed at night, where his possession of my body is as thorough as his possession of my time.
The worst part isn't the lack of privacy or the stares from his men.
The worst part is that sometimes, in moments I immediately try to forget, I find myself admiring him.
And that terrifies me more than any punishment he could devise.
"Pay attention," Lachlan murmurs, his breath warm against my ear as he leans closer in the council chamber. "Lord Brennan is about to tell us why his border taxes have been consistently lower than expected."
I straighten in my chair beside him, focusing on the nervous nobleman fidgeting before us.
Lachlan's hand rests possessively on my thigh beneath the table, a constant reminder of my captivity.
Yet I can't help noticing the shrewdness in his eyes as he watches Lord Brennan stammer through an explanation about poor harvests and merchant caravans taking different routes.
"Interesting," Lachlan says when the man finishes.
"Because my scouts report the southern road busier than ever, and the granaries on your lands are full to bursting.
" His thumb traces small circles on my thigh, a casual intimacy that makes it hard to concentrate.
"So I'll ask again—where is the missing gold? "
Lord Brennan pales. "My lord, I assure you—"
"Don't." Lachlan's voice hardens, though his touch on my leg remains gentle. "Don't compound theft with lies. Not in front of your queen."
The mention of my position makes Lord Brennan glance at me, perhaps hoping for intercession. I keep my expression neutral, though inwardly I'm surprised. Lachlan could easily have conducted this interrogation without me. Instead, he's deliberately including me, making me witness to his governance.
"I..." Lord Brennan swallows hard. "There may have been some... accounting errors."
"Errors that coincidentally enriched your personal coffers.
" Lachlan leans forward, his hand finally leaving my thigh as he places both palms flat on the table.
"Here is what will happen. You will repay every coin, with interest. You will open your books to my steward for review.
And you will personally oversee the repair of the eastern road, which has been neglected while you've been busy stealing from your king. "
"But, my lord, those repairs would cost—"
"Less than your head," Lachlan finishes for him. "Which is the alternative."
The room falls silent. I expect Lord Brennan to protest further, to beg or bargain. Instead, he bows deeply. "You are merciful, my lord. It will be done as you command."
After he's dismissed, I turn to Lachlan, curiosity overcoming my determination to remain aloof. "You knew before he came in. About the theft."
Lachlan nods, leaning back in his chair. "I make it my business to know who's stealing from me." His eyes study my face with unsettling intensity. "Just as I make it my business to know who's plotting against me."
The reference to my escape attempt makes me stiffen. "Then why bother with the audience? Why not just punish him directly?"
"Because public confession and restitution serve a purpose. They remind everyone watching that I see everything. That I know everything." His hand returns to my thigh, possessive and warm. "That nothing escapes me."
I should move away from his touch. Instead, I find myself asking another question. "Why didn't you take his lands? Or imprison him?"
Lachlan's eyebrow rises slightly, as if surprised by my continued interest. "Because he's otherwise competent, and his people respect him. Replacing him would cause more disruption than it's worth." His mouth curves slightly. "Not all problems require a sword to solve, Princess."
The admission of such pragmatic mercy doesn't fit the brutal conqueror I want him to be. It would be easier if he were simply cruel, simply tyrannical. This glimpse of wisdom, of calculated restraint, complicates the hatred I've been clinging to.
"Besides," he adds, his voice dropping lower, "his daughter is married to Lord Mackenzie, whose loyalty I need. Family connections matter in governance." His eyes hold mine meaningfully. "As you well know."
The reminder of our own political marriage stings, though it shouldn't. It's nothing I haven't told myself repeatedly—that I'm nothing more than a convenient alliance for him, a way to legitimize his claim to my kingdom.
The council meeting concludes, and Lachlan stands, automatically offering me his arm.
I take it without thinking, the gesture becoming habit after days of being constantly at his side.
We proceed to the training yard, where his captains are drilling new recruits—a mix of his men and mine, learning to fight together rather than against each other.
"Sit," Lachlan instructs, guiding me to a stone bench at the edge of the yard. "This won't take long."
He joins his men in the training circle, stripping off his finer tunic to reveal the simple linen shirt beneath.
Even through the fabric, I can see the play of muscles as he demonstrates a particular sword maneuver to a young soldier struggling with the technique.
His movements are fluid, powerful, a lifetime of warfare evident in every precisely controlled motion.
Despite myself, I watch with fascination.
There's something mesmerizing about his absolute command of his body, the economy of his movements, the patience with which he corrects the young man's form.
This is not the behavior of a mindless brute.
This is a warrior who has earned his reputation through skill as much as strength.
When he finally returns to me, sweat dampening his shirt and making it cling to the contours of his chest, I find myself unable to look away.
"See something you like, Princess?" he asks, his voice teasing but his eyes intent.
"I was just thinking that you fight better than you govern," I reply, attempting to mask my unwelcome reaction to his physical presence.
He laughs, a genuine sound that draws glances from nearby soldiers. "A compliment and an insult in the same breath. You're becoming more diplomatic."
Before I can retort, a messenger approaches, his face grim. Lachlan's expression immediately sobers as he reads the scroll the man hands him. Without a word, he pulls me to my feet and leads me swiftly back toward the castle.
"What's happened?" I ask, hurrying to keep pace with his long strides.
"Riders approaching from the south. Not flying any banner we recognize." His hand tightens on mine. "Could be nothing. Could be trouble."
We reach the eastern tower, climbing the narrow staircase to the uppermost chamber where a large map table dominates the center of the room. Callum is already there, pointing to positions on the map where scouts have been dispatched.
"How many?" Lachlan demands, releasing my hand to examine the map.
"Thirty, perhaps forty," Callum answers. "They'll reach the outer village by nightfall if they maintain their current pace."
"Have the villagers been warned?"
Callum nods. "Those who wish to come within the walls may do so. Extra guards have been posted at all gates."
I stand back, watching the exchange, struck by the efficient calm with which they address a potential threat. There's no panic, no posturing—just swift, decisive action.
"What can I do?" The question leaves my mouth before I can consider it.
Both men turn to look at me with surprise.
"You want to help?" Lachlan asks, eyebrow raised.
"These are my people too," I remind him. "If they're in danger—"
"Organize space in the great hall for villagers who come seeking shelter," he says after a moment, his expression unreadable. "Work with the steward to ensure there's food and water available."
It's a meaningful task, not a token assignment to placate me. The acknowledgment of my role, my usefulness, sends an unexpected warmth through me.
For the next several hours, I throw myself into the preparations, temporarily free from Lachlan's immediate supervision as he coordinates the castle's defenses. The work keeps me too busy to dwell on my conflicted feelings, on the growing confusion in my heart.
By evening, nearly a hundred villagers have crowded into the great hall, mostly women, children, and the elderly. I move among them, offering reassurance, making sure blankets are distributed, ensuring that no one is overlooked in the chaos.
"You're good at this."
I turn to find Lachlan watching me, his tall frame silhouetted against the torchlight. He looks tired, lines of tension around his eyes that weren't there this morning.
"I was raised to care for my people," I say, more defensively than I intended.
"I know." He steps closer, lowering his voice. "The riders have been identified. Mercenaries, likely hired by Lord Aiden from the southern province. Testing our defenses, seeing how unified we are."
"Are we in danger?"
"Not immediately. They're not enough to breach our walls." He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture of weariness I've never seen from him before. "But it means Aiden is moving against us sooner than I expected. I'll need to deal with him before he gathers more support."
The "us" in his statement catches me off guard. As if we're truly a united front, not conqueror and conquered.
"You look exhausted," I observe, surprising myself with the concern in my voice.