Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Claire stood barefoot on the freezing floorboards of her bedchamber, her heavy wool blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders.
Sleep had abandoned her. Every time she had closed her eyes, she was thrust right back onto that balcony, feeling Finn’s mouth crushing against hers, his large hands gripping her waist as if he wanted to devour her entirely.
I am losing me wits, she thought, pressing her warm forehead against the icy glass of the windowpane. It was a moment of madness. A slip of control. He is a warlord, and I am a temporary problem. I must stop letting me mind wander back to the taste of him.
A shadow moving across the damp cobblestones of the courtyard caught her attention.
Through morning mist, a lone figure emerged from the keep: Finn, in a dark tunic and MacRae plaid, with black hair blowing in the wind. He crossed the yard to the stables, strides purposeful.
A few moments later, he led his massive black mare out into the yard, securing the leather saddle straps with sharp, forceful jerks.
Claire's heart gave a sudden, violent kick against her ribs.
Before she could reconsider, Claire turned away from the window.
She threw off the blanket and put her traveling cloak on over her day gown. She shoved her feet into her boots without bothering to lace them fully, and hurried out the door.
She slipped out the side door, the freezing morning air hitting her face.
Finn had just swung his massive frame into the saddle when she reached the edge of the stable yard.
"Running away before the sun rises, Laird MacRae?" Claire called out, her breath pluming in the cold air.
Finn pulled back on the reins instantly.
The black mare danced sideways, her hooves clopping loudly against the stones.
He looked down, a flash of genuine shock breaking through his chiseled features before his jaw locked into that familiar, unyielding line of stone.
In the pale light, the exhaustion etched around his green eyes was impossible to miss.
"I am leaving," he told her immediately, his voice a low, rough rumble that sent an unwanted shiver straight down her spine. "Get back inside before ye freeze, Claire. We will speak later."
"We willnae speak later," Claire countered, marching directly up to his horse’s side. She tilted her chin up, refusing to let him see how wildly her pulse was hammering in her throat. "Ye were planning to avoid me all day. Daenae insult me intelligence by pretending otherwise."
"I am inspecting the perimeter," Finn said flatly, his large hands tightening on the leather reins until the leather creaked. "And ye have nay cloak pin. Ye are shivering already."
"At this hour? Without Douglas or yer vanguard?" Claire arched a brow, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "I daenae need an old lady to tell me when a man is fleeing."
"I am nae fleeing," he growled, the muscle in his jaw feathering dangerously.
"Then prove it. Wherever ye are going, I am going too." She stepped closer to the mare, planting her hands on her hips. "We speak now, Finn. I willnae spend another day locked in this fortress while ye brood in the mountains."
"Claire…”
"I am coming with ye," she interrupted, staring up into his face with absolute defiance. "Unless ye plan to trample me to get out the gate."
Finn stared down at her. The silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the nervous snorting of his horse.
Claire watched his gaze drop to her sleep-tousled hair, trace the stubborn line of her jaw, and finally lock onto her eyes.
She could see the internal battle raging behind his emerald gaze, the desperate urge to push her away warring with something entirely different.
Tell me no, her breath hitched as the tension thickened. Order me back inside like the arrogant brute ye are.
But Finn didn't order her back. Without another word, he let out a harsh, defeated sigh, kicked his boot out of the iron stirrup, and offered his large, leather-clad hand down to her.
Claire looked at his palm, her stomach doing a dangerous, weightless flip, before she placed her hand in his.
His fingers closed around hers with absolute strength. In one effortless motion, he hauled her up. Claire let out a sharp gasp as she was lifted off the ground, her skirts tangling before he settled her sideways across the saddle.
The physical contact was overwhelming. Her back was pressed against his chest. His large thighs framed her hips, caging her on the saddle, while his heavy arms reached around to grasp the reins.
It was a trap, and she had walked into it willingly. She reminded herself she was only here until the harvest ended, until the roads cleared and she could ride north to Leo’s safety.
But the rhythm of his heart felt far too synchronized with her own. Did he feel the jolt of it, too, or was she just a convenient shield? She remained rigid, terrified that if she leaned back into his strength, she would never find the will to leave at all.
"Hold on," Finn murmured, his breath brushing the shell of her ear, sending a wicked pulse of heat straight through her.
He spurred the mare forward, and they rode out through the iron gates of Rosewood.
They rode in silence for the first mile.
The horse's rhythm made Claire move with him, friction causing slow, painful torture.
The cold Highland air bit her cheeks, but where she touched Finn, she burned.
He radiated masculine heat, with scents of pine, leather, and rain, wrapping her until she felt dizzy.
"Are ye trying to freeze me to death to solve yer political problems?" she finally whispered.
"If I wanted ye dead, lass, I’d have left ye in the muddy ditch," Finn replied, his voice a deep vibration against her back.
"I suppose I should be grateful for the company, then," Claire muttered. "Even if yer sword hilt is making sure I dinnae forget how close ye are."
"Then stop squirming," he commanded smoothly, though she felt him pulling her just a fraction closer. "Ye insisted on this folly. I told ye to stay by the fire."
"I insisted on an explanation, nae a kidnapping," she shot back.
"Ye hijacked me horse, lass. If anyone is kidnapping anyone, it is ye."
"And miss the charming company of the Devil of the North?" she teased, though her voice sounded slightly breathless. "Never."
She felt his chest rise and fall with a heavy sigh. Without stopping the horse, Finn unclasped the heavy iron brooch at his shoulder. With a swift movement, he dragged the thick, warm expanse of his MacRae plaid over her shivering shoulders, trapping her body against his beneath the heavy wool.
"Better?" he asked gruffly.
"Aye," she whispered, her throat dry. It was far too intimate. Under the dark plaid, surrounded by his scent and his heat, the rest of the world completely vanished.
Eventually, the dense pine forests gave way to open, rocky terrain. The sound of the wind grew deafening, as water boomed against stone. Finn steered the mare up a steep incline, finally bringing the beast to a halt.
Far below them, the dark, churning waters of the Atlantic crashed violently against the jagged black rocks. The vast horizon was just beginning to bleed with the pale pinks and grays of dawn. It was a beautiful place.
Finn dismounted first, landing with a heavy thud. He didn't step back. He turned immediately, reaching to help her down.
Claire placed her hands gingerly on his broad shoulders. Finn’s hands settled firmly around her torso, his thumbs resting just beneath her ribs. His grip was absolute, his fingers spreading wide across her sides.
He didn't pull her down quickly.
He lifted her from the saddle and let her slide down the hard length of his body with agonizing slowness.
Through the layers of wool and velvet, she could feel every hard line of his chest, the taut muscles of his abdomen, and the heavy, solid bracing of his thighs as her boots finally met the earth.
He didn't release her immediately. They stood toe-to-toe on the edge of the world.
Claire looked up into his face. His green eyes were entirely dark, his pupils blown so wide they almost swallowed the emerald entirely.
His gaze was fixed on her mouth. She could feel his chest expanding rapidly against hers as he took a deep, ragged breath, literally breathing her in, and the slight tremor in his large hands where they gripped her waist.
"I come here when I need to clear me mind," Finn said softly, his voice barely audible over the roaring sea.
His hands dropped from her waist, leaving her skin feeling cold, though he remained standing close enough to block the worst of the wind.
"Ye’ve dragged me to the edge of the world, Laird MacRae," Claire murmured, her hands trembling as she pulled her cloak tighter. "I’d hoped there was a reason for it beyond the view."
"Ye dragged yerself," he replied, his gaze fixed on the churning Atlantic. "I told ye to stay by the fire."
"So we’re nae to speak of it, then?"
"There’s nothing to speak of." He did not look at her when he said it, his jaw set like granite.
"Of course not," she said, forcing a brittle, aristocratic calm into her voice. "A moment’s madness. I’d nearly forgotten it myself."
Finn turned his head, his eyes cutting into hers with an intensity that made the air in her lungs feel thin. The silence stretched between them, heavy with the things they refused to say.
He took a half-step toward her, and for a heartbeat, it seemed he might bridge the distance. His hand came up, fingers hovering near her cheek before he clenched his fist and dropped his arm.
"It was a lapse," Finn said, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that betrayed him even as he fought to sound indifferent. “The tension of the hall... it clouded me judgment."
Claire’s heart twisted, but she did not look away. She forced a hollow laugh. "Clouded yer judgment? Is that what we are calling it? I assure ye, Laird MacRae, I am composed now. We understand each other perfectly."
"Aye," he said, his eyes darkening. "Perfectly."
But he did not step back. He remained so close that the scent of him, pine and rain, seemed to suffocate her. The denial hung between them, a lie so fragile that even the wind seemed to mock it.
As she stood shivering on the edge of the cliffs, staring at the man who insisted he felt nothing, Claire realized the true torture wasn't the kiss—it was the devastating truth written in the way he refused to touch her, and the way she was dying for him to break his word.
Only a few days left, she reminded herself desperately, turning her back on the breathtaking view and the maddening man beside her to walk toward the waiting horse.
In a few days, I will ride north to Leo. I will leave this freezing castle, and I will never have to look into those green eyes again.
"Come then," Finn said gruffly, following her to the mare.
He reached out, his hands gripping her waist to lift her back into the saddle. His fingers lingered on her sides for just a fraction of a second too long, his thumb pressing warmly through the velvet of her gown before he finally pulled away.
As she settled onto the leather, looking down at his dark, unreadable face, Claire knew the next few days were going to be absolute torture.