Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Finn did not waste a single second with gentleness.
He laid out the reality of her situation as plainly and brutally as if he were mapping a battle strategy on a war table.
He explained that word traveled across the glens faster than a wildfire.
The raiders who had fled, the handful of villagers huddling beneath the market stalls, the merchants who had watched her point that trembling finger— they would all talk.
By nightfall, the story would be traded for ale in every tavern along the border. Everyone would know a highborn woman had publicly claimed the feared Laird of Clan MacRae as her wedded husband.
"And once me enemies and neighboring clans hear it," Finn said, his deep voice slicing through the crackle of the hearth, "the questions will begin. They will look for the weakness in it. They will wonder what kind of alliance I am building in secret."
Claire stared at him, her mind frantically trying to find a loophole in his logic.
Think, Claire, think. There has to be a way out of this. I cannae have traded one cage for another.
"Then tell them the truth. Tell them I am a liar. Tell them I am a madwoman who lost her wits in the storm."
“I cannae do this. I daenae even ken ye, Laird MacRae. Ye are a stranger with a sword and a temper, and ye expect me to simply... belong to ye for three weeks because it suits yer council? Me father wouldnae allow it even if I begged him. He has already promised me to another man."
He took a slow step toward her, the sheer size of him casting a long shadow over her sodden blue silk gown.
"Worse still," Finn continued, his jaw tightening as he spoke the words, "me own council has already begun pressuring me.
They have been baying at me heels for months to marry, to secure the succession, to give the clan an heir before our enemies challenge the MacRae leadership openly.
They want a bride. And today, in front of witnesses, ye stood up and declared yerself as mine. "
Claire felt a cold spike of indignation pierce through her panic.
She took a sharp step back, her wet heels clicking against the floorboards.
"Oh, how incredibly convenient for ye! So I am to be the sacrificial lamb to quiet yer old men by the fire?
I willnae do it. I willnae bind me life to another arrangement designed by men who are simply seeking control over me future. "
"Ye think this is an arrangement of me design?" Finn let out a short, harsh sound that was entirely devoid of humor. "Lass, an hour ago I was inspecting a stone wall. Now I am trapped in an inn with a Duke's daughter who has managed to compromise herself and me with a single sentence."
"I was saving me life!"
"And ye destroyed yer reputation to do it," Finn countered, his voice dropping into a low, deadly serious register. He stepped closer, cornering her with the brutal truth she already knew deep down, the one she had been trying to outrun since she read her father's letter.
"Let us look at the reality of it, Lady Claire. Ye have been traveling through the Highlands with a small guard. Ye fled into the forest. Ye have now spent hours alone in an isolated inn with me, after publicly claiming me as yer man before armed raiders."
He paused, letting the silence stretch between them until the only sound was the howling wind against the shutters.
"London society will devour yer reputation alive," he said flatly. "They will tear ye apart before ye even set foot in the city."
Claire went entirely rigid, her breath catching painfully in her throat.
God, he’s right. He’s completely right.
A sick, hollow feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. She could already hear the vicious whispers in the drawing rooms of Mayfair.
She could see the judgmental glares of the matrons, the sneers of her former acquaintances. A woman who spent a night in the Highlands with Finn MacRae would be ruined. There would be no recovering from a scandal of this magnitude.
But it was not only the loss of her virtue that terrified her. It was the realization of what would happen next.
There will be no escaping the old Lord waiting for me in England now. None at all.
If she returned to London with a blackened name, her father would not listen to her pleas.
He would not have a change of heart. If anything, the Duke would be ecstatic.
To avoid the lingering stain of the scandal, her father would marry her off in a heartbeat to the highest bidder who would still take her.
He would force her down the aisle toward Lord Westerly before the ink on the gossip rags could even dry.
She thought of that old widower. A man old enough to be her grandfather, looking at her with those cold, calculating eyes, viewing her as nothing more than a piece of property to manage.
A visible shiver of pure disgust rippled through Claire’s frame.
"The truth," Claire said quietly, her voice losing its sharp edge as she turned away from him, walking toward the storm-dark windows, "is that the fate awaiting me in London is horrible. It is a slow death in a gilded cage."
Finn watched her back, his expression softening by a fraction of an inch, though his posture remained rigid. "Then this serves us both."
Claire walked farther toward the windows, pretending to study the heavy sheets of rain lashing against the glass, though she could see nothing but her own pale reflection. Her thoughts were racing wildly, a chaotic blur of strategies and desperate gambles.
I have to think. I have to protect myself. If I am going to play this game, I must dictate the rules. I will not be a pawn for his council, and I certainly will not let him think he owns me.
She took a deep, steadying breath, smoothing down the damp velvet of her cloak, and finally turned back toward him. Her eyes were bright with a sudden, fierce resolve.
"But I have one condition," she announced firmly.
Finn folded his massive arms slowly across his broad chest, leaning back slightly against the edge of the heavy oak table. A dark eyebrow drifted upward. "A condition? The lady in distress is now dictating terms to the Laird?"
"The lady in distress is the only reason yer council isnae going to riot tomorrow morning," Claire shot back, a spark of her usual wit returning to her tongue.
She took two steps toward him, her chin held high.
"This is a false betrothal. It is a charade, Laird MacRae, and nothing more.
We play the part until the harvest is over.
Me cousins are Leo and Violet MacSween. Once matters settle and the roads are clear, I will go to them. They will harbor me."
Finn suddenly looked genuinely startled. His arms uncoiled from his chest, his entire frame going perfectly still as he stared at her.
"MacSween?" he repeated slowly, the name rolling off his tongue like a heavy stone. "Ye are cousins to Leo MacSween? The Laird of the southern valleys?"
"Aye," Claire said, a small sense of triumph blooming in her chest at his reaction.
Finally, something that shakes his iron composure. Thank heavens for Leo's terrifying reputation.
"He is me first cousin on me mother's side. We spent our childhood summers together. If I send word to him that I am in need of shelter, he will bring a hundred swords to these borders to fetch me."
Finn let out a low, heavy breath through his nose, a muscle in his jaw flexing as he processed the information. He rubbed a large hand across his brow, looking at her as if she had just transformed from a southern rose into a barrel of gunpowder.
"Is he yer enemy?" Claire asked carefully, watching him closely.
"Nae yet," Finn said dryly, his green eyes cutting back to her face. "But it is good to ken it, because if I pretend at betrothal to his cousin without his permission, he likely will become one. The man is notoriously protective of his bloodline."
Despite herself, Claire nearly smiled. The mental image of her fiercely protective cousin Leo storming Finn’s castle was almost comforting. "Then ye had best be very careful to ensure everyone believes this is a grand romance, Laird MacRae. For both our sakes."
"A grand romance," Finn muttered, a low scoff escaping him. "I daenae do romance, lass."
"Clearly," Claire said, running a critical eye over his mud-splattered boots and the dark hair dripping down his neck. "A bit more practice with yer manners wouldn't hurt, either. London gentlemen usually offer a lady a dry towel before they begin threatening her with social ruin."
"This isnae London," Finn said softly.
Then, he stepped closer.
Claire’s breath hitched as he closed the small distance between them in a single, fluid stride. She took an instinctive step backward, but her spine immediately met the rigid, freezing stone of the wall beside the window.
He didn't stop. He took another step, and another, until his body caged her fully against the cold stone.
The sheer, radiating heat coming from his frame stole her breath instantly. Claire’s hands pressed flat against the stone behind her, her fingers digging into the rough mortar as her heart began to race for an entirely different reason.
Finn raised his arms, his large, calloused hands bracing firmly against the stone on either side of her head.
He was trapping her completely, pinning her within the circle of his embrace without a single inch of his skin truly touching hers.
Yet, the proximity was so intense that she could feel the whisper of his wool plaid brushing against the silk of her damp bodice.
Her pulse stumbled, a wild flutter in her throat that made it impossible to swallow.
Oh, sweet heavens. He is too close. He is entirely too close. Why is me skin burning? I can feel the heat of his chest through me gown. I should push him away. I should hit him. Why can't me hands move?
Finn lowered his head slightly, tilting his sharp jaw until his face was only inches from hers. When he spoke, his voice was a rough, velvety murmur that brushed warm and intoxicating against the sensitive skin of her ear.
"I have one condition too," he said quietly.
Claire forced herself to look up, her gray eyes locking onto his. Her breathing was shallow, her lips parting slightly as she tried to draw air into her tight lungs. "And... and what is that?"
Finn’s green eyes held hers mercilessly, dark with an intensity that seemed to pull the very air from her chest. The flecks of emerald in his gaze seemed to burn in the shadows.
"If a false betrothal is truly all ye want this to be…" he whispered, his eyes drifting down to her lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back to her gaze, "daenae come to me later pretending I havenae offered ye a real marriage."
A sudden, heavy wave of heat curled low in Claire’s stomach, thick and sweet and entirely terrifying. It was a reckless, wicked sensation that defied every bit of her highborn training.
A real marriage? To him? To a man who rules with flint and steel? But God help me, the way his voice sounds right now makes me want to do something entirely foolish.
She swallowed hard, lifting her chin by a fraction of an inch to maintain her defiance, though her voice was barely more than a breath. "I willnae."
Finn’s gaze narrowed slightly, tracking the small, telltale pulse throbbing violently at the base of her neck.
He recognized the reaction. He could see the way her gray eyes had widened, the way her chest was rising and falling in rapid, uneven breaths.
A slow, dangerous satisfaction flickered deep in his green eyes.
He knew exactly what he was doing to her, and he wasn't doing a single thing to ease the tension.
"Good," he continued, his voice roughening further as he leaned in just a fraction closer, his chest almost whispering against hers.
"Three weeks. That is the bargain. Ye will play the role properly, Lady Claire.
Ye will wear me colors, ye will stand at me side at every feast and council meeting, and ye will let every man in the Highlands believe ye belong to me completely. "
Some reckless, hidden part of her reacted to his words, a sudden spark of defiance that refused to be utterly dominated by his size. "And what if I don't? What if I decide your cold castle is too much to bear, Laird MacRae?"
“If ye try to flee before this arrangement ends," Finn murmured, his head tilting further, his lips so close to her cheek she could feel the individual hairs of his stubble, "I will come after ye myself.
I will track ye down to the very edges of the southern sea, and I will bring me bride back to her proper place. "
The sheer intensity of his threat should have terrified her. But as she stared into those emerald eyes, trapped between his massive body and the freezing stone, the heat in her belly flared into a roaring flame.
God help me, Claire thought, her fingers tightening against the stone until her knuckles ached. I have truly struck a deal with the devil.
"We have a bargain then," she whispered, her eyes refusing to flinch away from his.
"Aye," Finn said, his gaze lingering on her face for one long, breathless second before he finally pulled back, releasing her from the cage of his body. "We have a bargain."