Chapter 42 Natasha
NATASHA
“When I carried ye …” Lachlan’s voice cracked “… outta your da’s nightclub, I knew I wasn’t gonna let you go. Can’t let you go, Natasha. You belong to me.”
This wasn’t the right time to lose myself in the magnificent summer pools of Lachlan’s eyes or the pure distraught look that tore his beautiful face apart on the plane ride.
While Lachlan slept on the plane and later on that bed, I hadn’t gotten hold of Pop or Momma. My entire family seemed to have vanished off my radar. But as I peered up at Lachlan, the answer that zinged from the top of my head to the soles of my feet and sang through my body was yes.
Breathless, that word barely brushed past my lips. “Yes.”
“Aye?” Lachlan took another step forward. A formidable force.
Throat achy from emotion, I murmured, “Yes, Lachlan MacKenzie. I’ll marry you today.”
And that formidable force swooped down to clasp me into his arms, like a rag doll except infinitely more graceful. This man, my man, was strength without threatening. He’d subdued his power for my sake. Always did and always would.
“Tonight,” I said, “overlooking the lake.”
“Loch Ness? That’s perfect, Tash.”
“I’m gonna try my parents again. And Sima. I have to tell Sima. They’d better answer this time too.” I pulled out my phone—at 50 percent. “Does this place have electricity?”
Lachlan chuckled as he strolled toward the door and pushed a silk drape that covered the wall, showing an outlet. He dug into his duffel bag for an iPhone cord. “Your parents haven’t spoken with you yet? Not even after I fell asleep?”
My hand shook a little. “No. I’m sorry. I’ve left a ton of voicemails. I don’t know why―”
“We’ll get through to them. Maybe they’re traveling here.” He cleared his throat, not finishing that statement with words of war. “We explain, then get married.”
If the world were perfect. I sat in a paisley lounger, then dialed Pop, next Momma. I was restless hearing Vass’s voicemail. Last, I tried Simona.
“Girl, why won’t you people answer me?” I’d called her once this morning—or sometime last night during the extensive flight—in between slamming my parents with voicemails. “I have news. So, call me. Did Pop catch Borya? Just call me, or I’ll call the twins and Luka.”
After trying Uncle Simeon and Aunt Anastasiya’s numbers, I decided not to leave them messages, letting on how annoyed I was. I almost shoved the phone away when it rang. Simona.
My thumb tapped Accept. “Sima? Hey, you haven’t answered me.”
After a second, Simona spoke. “Sorry. I’ve been busy. Vassili. Simeon.”
Why was she calling them by their name? Not Uncle or Father? Even when angry with her dad, she still called my pop, dyadya.
“They’re planning an assault, Natasha.”
I braced a hand on my chest, forced a long inhale. “Stop them, Sima!”
“I will try.”
“Tell my pop to call me. And if you’re in Scotland this evening, I’m getting married.”
“Married?”
Simona Resnova. No emotion. I sighed. “Yes.”
“Is it because …”
I arched a brow. So weird. My blunt cousin never hedged statements. “Because?” Spit it out already, Sima!
“Is Lachlan forcing you? Or you’re afraid your family will murder them all?”
“Sima”—I snorted—“quit reading those crazy action stories. Call me back.” I hung up and pocketed the phone.
“You’re thinking?” Lachlan said.
About her saying you forced me into marriage? No. “She sounds off.”
“Do you think she’s still freaked out from last night?” Lachlan rubbed my shoulders from behind.
“Actually, she doesn’t scare easily.”
“Good, she can help us.” His mouth, hot and tender against my neck, was a vow, and I was the promise. I promised to believe whatever Lachlan said. As he kissed me, his hands splayed over my stomach, then he stepped back.
“I can wait. Tonight,” he groaned.
Laughter cut through the torture of us nurturing and protecting our growing love for each other. Outside the floor-to-ceiling window, children jumped into the lake. Lots of children.
“Are those your nieces and nephews?”
“Mostly, and the crazy part? Most of them belong to Cam and Willow. C’mon, let’s bundle you up.”
After dressing in jeans and a matching jacket, courtesy of Willow or Chevelle, Lachlan had forgotten who had agreed to bring extra clothes, I followed him.
The oak door creaked as he pushed it open.
The chill in the castle’s stone corridor nipped through my jean jacket, a stark contrast to the lingering warmth of his body pressed against mine minutes ago.
We descended a spiral staircase and exited glass-paned doors.
We walked across the green lawn, and, in the distance, the glimmering loch mirrored the gray sky.
Lach pointed to the lanky boy who’d just cannonballed into the lake, fully clothed. His splash sent ripples dancing across the surface. “That’s Leith Junior.”
He looked to be a junior or high school senior. “Brave. The water’s so cold it smokes. Mia’s his sister, right? The one who’s close in age to Jake and Romeo Rory? You grew up like siblings with her?”
“Nae, she’s our niece. She called me Uncail Lachlan.”
“Ah, I see.” The cool breeze made me brush my hair back. “The world’s youngest uncle wasn’t relinquishing his title. Now, why haven’t I seen Jake?”
“He rarely attends clan gatherings. Only comes to steal Mam’s Tupperware and leftovers.”
I laughed, the air condensing before my lips. My eyes swept across the lakeside chaos again. “Who are those two?” On the dock, the chubby cuties huddled, wet in matching sweats.
“Brittany and Justine.”
“Does Little Brody have sons?” I asked.
“Do not mention that. Sore spot.”
“What’s a sore spot?” A smooth voice cut in. Jordyn swaggered toward us, hips rolling with queenly confidence in a bikini that shimmered gold against her dark skin. Everyone else had jumped in—steam rising off their clothes. I still wanted more than this thick denim, but she looked gorgeous.
“Nothing,” I muttered, dropping the subject.
“What is it?”
“Brody. Being broody,” Lachlan tried.
Jordyn’s eyes narrowed. “Lachlan MacKenzie, I already threatened to break your legs if you hurt Cutie Pie. Add to the list—I break legs when people lie.”
“No lie,” Jamie cut in, voice steady, as if he didn’t realize the potential pun. He stood off to the side, dressed in jean cutoffs that fell below his knees and a flannel shirt rolled to his elbows. The water lapped his ankles, but he seemed unbothered by the cold.
I tried to redirect, nodding toward the lake. “Why does everyone jump in fully clothed?”
“Tradition.” Jordyn tapped manicured stilettoed nails, arms folded. “Usually upon arrival. But everyone needed sleep.” Her eyes flicked back, sharp as knives. “Now spill.”
Lachlan rubbed the back of his neck. “Brody’s sore spot is … he has no sons.”
The words landed like a stone thrown into the loch. Jordyn’s expression froze, then hardened. The trickle effect stiffened her shoulders. She stormed toward the castle walls, wet footprints darkening the pale flagstones.
I started after her, guilt twisting my gut.
“Allow me,” Jamie murmured, already moving, his steady presence shadowing hers.
“No.” Something in my chest told me the newlyweds didn’t need another storm. Not today.
“Okay.” His fingers bounced against his long legs. So nervous. You’d think I’d asked him to leave his soulmate stranded on an island.
Figuring I had a few minutes before Jamie took over, I jogged up the path and into one of the many entrances, slamming into Rory.
“Hey,” he picked up his phone and turned off the Live.
“Did you speak with your cousin, Simona? We were all worried when we, uh, told her we’d meet her at the hospital.
My dad is angry about that. Mom and her decisions without updating us. ”
“Simona didn’t mention it.” I shrugged. “Can’t be too angry. Sima agreed to warm up Pop and Uncle Simeon. Now, which room belongs to the newlyweds? And which is your parents? I’d like to … apologize about the other night.”
Rory gestured with his chin, and we strolled through a vast corridor, lined with stone pillars. “Don’t apologize, Natasha.”
“For my family? Yes, I must. But you can let me borrow your sweatshirt?” Before I freeze to death.
“Keep it. I’ve already done a couple of sponsored videos for the brand.
Good money, but it ain’t my style.” He unknotted the bright red hoodie with Los Angeles in a spray-painted graffiti font from around his waist. “You wanna find my parents? The have their own tradition. They sneak off to a dock farther down the loch. Beautiful place.” His mouth twisted.
“Never mind. Just apologize the next time you see them.”
“It’s beautiful? Like photography beautiful.”
“Among other things …” His throat cleared.
“Oh.” I got it. The MacKenzie genitors had their own way of letting off steam in the cold.
I thanked him for pointing me toward Jordyn and Jamie’s room.
After a few minutes of knocking with no answer, I turned the carved iron knob and pushed open the heavy oak door. Empty, except for a bedazzled phone.
Back in the corridor, I caught sight of Jamie. He wasn’t storming exactly, but with his six-foot-seven frame and lean, muscled build, the ground quaked.
“Natasha.” His brogue thickened. A tremor flickered through his hand as he ran it through his long hair. “Wot did she say?”
“She’s not in the room, Jamie. Sorry. Her phone’s on a chaise lounge. Let’s find her?”
He gave a stiff nod, jaw ticking. “Lach shouldn’t have said that!”
“I’m sorry.”
He shook his head, as though blaming wouldn’t help. “I’d give her anything, Natasha. A hunner bairns. My soldiers are marching. Trust me—she made us check.”
“And her eggs?” I frowned. Lord, give her a baby, please.
“The doctor has a few more tests. We’re on a wait list.”
“Let’s find her,” I said, “and tell her she’s moved up the waitlist. My pop—”
“Wants to murder my clan.” A rough laugh barked from his lips as we strolled down another corridor, glancing into stonewalled rooms.
“I’ll figure something out.”
He stopped mid-hall, runner rug stretching endlessly beyond him. “You’ve been a sister to her. Thank you.”
A long while later, rolling green fields surrounded Lachlan and me.
A farmhouse sat in the distance, and we passed a hobbit-like door tucked into a hill, searching for Jordyn.
Eventually, we climbed a cliff overlooking Loch Ness.
The water gleamed like a mirror, catching every blade of grass and patch of sky.
Lachlan’s phone rang. After a brief call, he hung up. “Jamie found his bride. She’s with Ava.”
“Who?” I frowned.
“Kieran’s wife. The only Irishman my father tolerates.
Rumor is Ava can’t have kids, after—we believe she had a kid in the past. Anyway, anyone who asks risks a Glasgow smile.
If they’re together, Jordyn won’t feel alone.
” Lachlan scrubbed a hand over his face.
“Hopefully, Ava helps. I saw fear in Jamie’s eyes.
Haven’t seen it in years. Mam won’t survive if … ”
I curled myself into his arms. “It will happen. The best doctors in the world will make it happen. Pop has always wanted to give them more than the money he stuck in her bridal bag. Jordyn deserves a baby.”
He pressed his lips to my forehead. “Are you marrying me tonight, Natasha?”
“Ye—” A pure light source captivated my periphery. Woah. I ran down the hill toward the dock. The sunset hit the lake at an angle that made me frame my hands together, imagining the shot.
That shot.
“Actually,”—I grinned, stepping onto the wood planks—“I’ll marry you tomorrow. At this exact time. Twenty-four hours.”
“No.” He strode over the wood, passing a rowboat that lazed in the water. “Marry me this second.”
Lachlan pulled me into his arms, pressing himself against me. “You can’t …” His voice lowered enough to caress like desire over my skin. “Can’t say no. Not to me.”
“But,”—I began in between kisses—“the sunset. My family … I’ll marry you tomorr―”
“I’ll marry you every day of your life, Natasha. Always be a grand affair. Always be me serving you, loving you, praising you …” He bit the flesh at the hollowest point of my throat. “Turning your every wish into my command. My condition?”
“No,” I purred, hardly coherent enough to string a simple word together. My legs locked around his waist, and he lowered me to the dock. “No conditions.”
The dock rocked gently underneath our weight, wood damp from the loch mist. Lachlan’s lips brushed mine, slow at first, then greedy. This gorgeous man couldn’t drink me in fast enough. His hands framed my face, rough and calloused, yet holding me like I was something fragile.
My pulse raced, skin hot under his touch. “You’re impossible.” The damp wood was beneath me as his weight pressed into me, heavy and delicious. My phone slipped from my pocket and clattered against the planks. Why did people wear clothes? Obstacles.
“Say yes, Natasha.” His hands moved in a leisurely pursuit over the hollowest point of my belly button.
Pure torture. Passion throbbed through me and fluttered my stomach. Why hadn’t I married this man the day we met? Speaking of twenty-four hours, we should’ve walked down the aisle the next day. I moaned against his mouth, tasting the love and the groan on his lips.
My fingers threaded through his tussled tresses. Not even thinking straight anymore, I murmured, “Our baby needs this hair.”
“Nae,” he whispered, “our bairn will have your beauty, your fire. Nothing else matters.”
“Yes, Lachlan, yes.” The dock creaked beneath us, the loch whispering against the shore. For a heartbeat, nothing existed but him—his mouth, his hands—the heat flooding between us. The surge of need. And the race between us to taste, caress, touch.
I popped the first button of his crinkled linen—
Crack. A sound like a subdued crackle rent the air.
The sound snapped the world in half.
Lachlan’s body stiffened over mine.
Crack. Another shot. Rifle. Suppressor. The sound reminded me of Pop and Uncle Simeon testing new weapons.
The dock splintered inches from my head, shards of wet wood spraying my cheek. Someone was … shooting at us!
“Down!” Lachlan roared, twisting us hard. My scream choked off as he rolled us over the wet wood. Wood and sky spun. Then the freezing bite of Loch Ness swallowed us whole.