Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Finn MacRae was a man of his word, and that was precisely the problem.
Since their agonizing standoff on the edge of the world, he had maintained a polite, impenetrable distance.
He did not seek her out in the quiet hours of the morning.
He did not corner her in the shadowed alcoves of the great hall.
When they sat beside each other at the high table during supper, he ensured there was a respectable inch of space between their shoulders, addressing her only when the council members were actively watching them.
It was exactly what Claire had demanded.
Then why do I feel as though I am walking through a desert, dying of thirst?
she thought miserably, pacing the length of her bedchamber for what felt like the hundredth time that morning.
He is honoring the arrangement. I should be relieved.
But every time he looks at me and immediately pulls his gaze away, it makes me feel sad.
"If ye wear a hole through the floorboards, the Laird will likely charge yer father for the timber," Molly murmured from the corner of the room.
She was currently folding a linen chemise, her tone gentle but laced with a heavy sigh.
"Sit down, Claire. Ye are making me dizzy, and ye havenae eaten more than a bite of yer bread. "
"I cannae sit, Molly," Claire replied, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "Leo's rider should have returned by now. It has been days. What if the letter was intercepted on the road?"
"If yer father’s men cross the border, that giant brute downstairs will chop them into pieces and feed them to the hounds," Molly said matter-of-factly, tossing the folded linen into an open trunk.
"For all his scowling, the man guards this castle like a dragon sitting on a pile of gold. Ye are safe here, lamb."
A deep, resonant horn suddenly blew from the outer watchtower, the sound echoing sharply off the stone walls of the keep.
Claire froze, her heart leaping straight into her throat.
"Riders!" a guardsman shouted from the courtyard below, his voice carrying through the thick glass of the window. "Open the gates! A carriage approaches!"
Leo’s response.
Claire didn’t wait for Molly to speak. She grabbed her cloak, threw it on, and hurried out the door, down the stone staircase. Her leather boots slapped loudly as she rushed through the hall, ignoring the surprised clanswomen by the hearths.
By the time she burst through the heavy timber doors and out into the crisp, biting Highland air, the courtyard was already humming with cautious activity.
Several MacRae warriors had gathered near the stables, their hands resting warily on their sword hilts as a grand, heavy traveling coach rolled to a halt in the center of the muddy yard.
Claire recognized the crest painted on the timber door instantly. It was the silver stag of Clan MacSween.
She rushed forward, her breath pluming in the cold air, fully expecting one of her cousin’s rugged guards to step down and hand her a heavily sealed parchment containing Leo's instructions.
Instead, the carriage door swung open, and a woman stepped out.
She was wrapped in a thick, luxurious traveling cloak of deep blue wool, her dark hair pinned back perfectly despite the arduous journey.
She stepped down into the mud with the effortless, commanding grace of a queen inspecting a battlefield, her sharp blue eyes scanning the rough stone of Rosewood Castle before landing directly on Claire.
Claire stopped dead in her tracks, the breath leaving her lungs in a massive, overwhelming rush. "Violet?"
Violet MacSween turned fully toward her. For a split second, the elegant, rational composure of the MacSween lady held firm. Then, it shattered.
Violet marched straight across the muddy courtyard, her heavy skirts swishing violently.
Before Claire could even open her mouth to apologize for the absolute chaos she had caused, Violet raised her gloved hand and slapped Claire sharply across the arm, hard enough to make it sting through the velvet cloak.
"Ouch! Violet…"
"Ye impossible, reckless creature!" Violet exclaimed, her voice echoing loudly enough to make two nearby MacRae guards jump.
Before Claire could rub her stinging arm, Violet grabbed her and pulled her into a fierce hug.
Tears of relief pricked her eyes as she hugged back.
"Do ye have any idea what ye put us through?
" Violet demanded, squeezing her tighter.
"When yer letter arrived, Beatrice dropped a pitcher of wine, and Leo nearly attacked yer messenger! "
"I am sorry," Claire whispered, voice cracking. "I had no choice, Vi. I couldn't go back to London or marry that man."
Violet pulled back, looking her over—borrowed Highland gown, flushed cheeks, wild curls. "Well," Violet said, regaining composure, "ye look alive, maybe a little feral, but alive. I expected you in a dungeon, not thriving in the mud."
"It’s been... an eventful few days," Claire managed, wiping a tear with a laugh.
"I can imagine," Violet said, her eyes drifting to the courtyard.
Claire turned to see Finn walking with Douglas—muscular Highlanders, moving with predatory grace, stiffening the guards.
Finn in leather, plaid, and heavy broadsword, looking like the Devil of the North—immense and dangerous.
Claire’s pulse quickened as Finn’s gaze briefly met hers before settling on Violet.
"Laird MacRae, I presume," Violet said, her tone perfectly calm.
Finn stopped a few feet away, his expression an unreadable mask of stone. "Lady Violet. Welcome to Rosewood."
"Thank ye," Violet replied smoothly. She folded her gloved hands together in front of her cloak. "I bring greetings from me brother. I should also inform ye that Leo MacSween is currently deciding whether to murder ye personally for compromising his cousin."
A stunned, horrifying silence fell over the courtyard. Douglas choked on his own breath, his hand freezing on the hilt of his dirk. Claire closed her eyes, bracing for the inevitable explosion of Finn's temper.
Instead, a low, deep sound rumbled from Finn’s chest.
It took Claire a full second to realize he was laughing. It wasn't a roar of amusement, but a dark, genuine chuckle that softened the harsh lines of his face entirely.
"He is welcome to try, Lady Violet," Finn said, a rare, breathtaking smile touching his lips.
To Claire's complete astonishment, he bowed his head slightly toward her, gesturing toward the great hall.
"But until he makes his decision, ye are me guest. Come inside out of the cold.
Douglas will see to yer guards and yer horses. "
Violet’s eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch in mild surprise, clearly having expected a far more barbaric reaction. She cast a sideways glance at Claire, a highly suspicious glint entering her blue eyes.
"He smiles," Violet whispered to Claire as they followed him. "They told me he was a monster who ate Englishmen for breakfast, and yet he smiles."
"Only when he is being threatened with murder, apparently," Claire muttered back.
Within half an hour, the great hall was transformed into a flurry of hospitality.
Mrs. Campbell, the castle's sharp-tongued but nurturing housekeeper, had practically shoved a plate of steaming roasted fowl and hot bread into Violet’s hands.
The fires blazed brightly, chasing the Highland chill from the walls.
Finn sat opposite them at the high table, placed on a raised dais that set them apart from the rowdy benches of the lower hall.
Douglas sat beside him, happily devouring a leg of mutton while Isla, his wife, poured fresh wine for the guests.
"So," Violet lowered her voice, elegantly slicing a piece of meat with her small eating dagger. "A false betrothal. I must admit, Laird MacRae, when Leo read Claire's letter he was surprised. He assumed ye were holding her for ransom."
"I have no need for MacSween gold," Finn answered evenly, his green eyes steady. "I offered yer cousin a shield against raiders. And in return, her presence quiets me own council. It is a mutually beneficial arrangement."
"Is it? And how long is this mutually beneficial arrangement meant to last? Because Leo is currently rallying a vanguard to march south and fetch her."
Finn’s jaw tightened. "She will leave when the roads are safe, and when the danger from Westerly’s raiders has completely passed. Nae a day sooner."
"I see," Violet mused, dabbing her lips with a linen napkin.
"And ye intend to keep up this charade of a passionate romance until then?
Tell me, Laird MacRae, how exactly do ye plan to convince yer fierce councilmen that ye are madly in love with me cousin?
Ye hardly look the part of a lovestruck fool. "
Douglas snorted loudly into his ale. Finn shot him a lethal glare before turning back to Violet.
"We manage," Finn said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that made the hair on Claire's arms stand up. His gaze drifted across the table, locking onto hers. "Lady Claire is a very... convincing woman."
"We simply act cordially in public," Claire interjected quickly, sitting up straighter and refusing to break eye contact with him. "It is a performance, Violet. Nothing more. We attend supper together, we smile at the elders, and then we go our separate ways. It is a very beneficial arrangement."
"Beneficial," Violet repeated, the word dripping with blatant disbelief. She looked at the heavy flush on Claire's neck, then looked at the way Finn’s large hand was resting on the table, his knuckles white with tension.
"Well," Violet said smoothly. "That is very reassuring to hear. Because if ye were mistreating her, I would have had to poison yer ale, and I hear yer housekeeper makes excellent stews that I should hate to miss."
Douglas burst into a booming roar of laughter, slamming his hand against the table. "By the saints, Finn! The MacSween women are terrifying! Ye should have warned me to wear me armor to supper!"
Douglas faced Violet, a reluctant respect shining in his eyes as he looked at Violet. "Ye are welcome to try the ale, Lady Violet. Though I warn ye, I have a very strong constitution."
"We shall see," Violet countered playfully.