Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Claire spent all night awake, replaying the previous day's events in an endless loop: Finn’s coldness, Violet’s sudden arrival, and Finn’s intense gaze across the table, as if she were a puzzle he wanted to solve but looked away when she met his eyes.
"If ye continue staring at that porridge as though it personally offended ye, I shall have to ask Mrs. Campbell to cook it again," Violet announced breezily, taking the seat beside Claire at the high table.
Violet looked radiant, her dark hair pinned back flawlessly, her blue velvet day gown a stark contrast to the rough-hewn timber of the hall. She began spreading thick, sweet butter over a piece of warm crust.
"I am nae hungry, Vi," Claire murmured, finally pushing the bowl away.
"Ye are nervous," Violet corrected, taking a delicate bite of her bread. "Which is unnecessary. Leo’s men are camped just beyond the perimeter, ye are perfectly safe, and yer imposing Laird hasnae stopped glowering at me since he walked into the hall."
Claire looked up. Finn was striding toward the high table, flanked as always by Douglas.
Finn had not slept either. Exhaustion marked his sharp face, shadows under his green eyes visible in the morning light. He wore a dark leather doublet, heavy plaid, and his broadsword strapped to his hip, as if ready for battle.
"Good morning, Laird MacRae," Violet greeted cheerfully as he sat opposite them. "I trust ye slept well?"
"I slept as well as a man can when his keep is suddenly occupied by MacSween guards," Finn replied, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that sent an entirely unwanted shiver down Claire’s spine.
He reached for a pitcher of ale, filling his horn.
"To what do we owe the pleasure of yer bright mood this morning, Lady Violet? "
"I require fresh air," Violet stated simply, folding her hands on the table. "The walls of this fortress are terribly thick, and the fires are too warm. I wish to ride out and see these glens ye MacRaes boast so much about."
Finn’s jaw tightened instantly. The very air around him seemed to harden. "That is highly ill-advised. The roads are still muddy from the storms, and though the raiders have scattered, the borders are nae secure."
"I am nae asking to ride to the borders," Violet reasoned, tilting her head. "A short ride through the immediate glens. Surely ye and yer men can manage to keep two women safe for an hour in the daylight? Unless the great Devil of the North is frightened of a bit of mud?"
Douglas, who had just sat down with a plate piled impossibly high with roasted meats, choked violently on a piece of sausage. He pounded his fist against his chest, his face turning a brilliant shade of purple.
"By the saints, Finn," Douglas wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. "I like her. I truly do. Ye cannae argue with a woman who threatens yer pride over a morning ride."
"Keep yer mouth closed, Douglas," Finn growled.
He looked at Claire. His green eyes swept over her pale cheeks, the dark circles beneath her eyes, and the rigid tension in her shoulders.
Daenae look at me like that, Claire thought, lifting her chin and meeting his gaze squarely. Like ye can see straight through me.
A muscle feathered along Finn’s jawline. He let out a slow, heavy breath, leaning back in his chair.
"A short ride," Finn conceded. "Keep to the inner ridge. Douglas and I will ride with ye. No one else. I willnae have this look like a marching army."
"Splendid," Violet declared, rising gracefully. "I shall fetch me riding cloak. Claire, do try to find some color for yer cheeks before we leave. Ye look like a ghost."
An hour later, the small party rode out through the iron gates of Rosewood Castle.
The Highland morning was breathtaking. The heavy storm clouds had finally broken, allowing brilliant sunlight to spill across the rugged peaks. The light cast long shadows over the deep green valleys, illuminating the wet heather until it sparkled like scattered jewels.
Claire rode a steady gray mare, her heavy crimson cloak draped warmly over her shoulders.
Violet rode beside her on a fine chestnut gelding, looking entirely in her element, chattering animatedly about the scenery.
Ahead of them, Finn and Douglas led the way.
Finn sat atop his massive black warhorse, his dark plaid snapping in the crisp wind, his posture perfectly straight and commanding.
The journey began peacefully enough. The fresh, biting air worked wonders on Claire’s frayed nerves, clearing the stifling fog from her mind.
"Look at him," Violet murmured to Claire. She nodded toward Finn’s broad back. "He rides as if he expects an assassin to jump out from behind every single boulder."
"Finn carries the weight of the entire clan on his shoulders," Claire replied softly. "He doesnae ken how to rest. He is constantly watching the horizon."
"Aye, he is watching," Violet observed with a sharp smile. "He has looked over his shoulder at ye no less than four times since we cleared the gates. He is highly observant when it comes to ye, Claire."
"He is observant of everything, Vi. It is his duty to keep us alive."
"Duty," Violet scoffed lightly, adjusting her leather reins. "If that man looks at ye out of mere duty, then I am the Queen of England. I saw the way he looked at ye in the courtyard yesterday. A man doesnae look at a political arrangement as though he wants to devour her whole."
Claire opened her mouth to argue, to insist that Violet was imagining things, but the words died in her throat as the terrain suddenly shifted.
The grassy path narrowed as they neared a steep ridge over a rushing, rain-swollen river. The ground was treacherous, with slick mud and loose shale from storms. The river below roared loudly, white water crashing against jagged black rocks.
"Keep the horses in the center of the track," Finn called back over his shoulder, his voice carrying clearly over the sound of the rushing water. He guided his black warhorse carefully, his eyes scanning the unstable earth.. "The edge is soft."
Douglas guided Violet’s horse carefully along the inner wall of the ridge, keeping himself between her and the drop.
Claire followed, her hands steady on the leather reins. Her gray mare was usually incredibly sure-footed, stepping carefully over the loose stones. But as they rounded a particularly narrow bend, the earth beneath the mare’s hind hooves suddenly gave way.
The mud slid downward with a sickening, wet sound.
The mare let out a sharp, panicked whinny, her hind legs dropping as the edge of the ridge crumbled into the river below.
Claire gasped, her heart leaping into her throat. She gripped the reins tightly, her boots sliding in the stirrups as the saddle tilted at a terrifying angle. Panic, cold and absolute, flooded her veins.
"Steady!" Claire cried out, trying to pull the horse's head up, but her own sudden panic only fueled the animal's terror. The mare scrambled wildly, her iron-shod hooves striking sparks against the remaining rock, but she was losing her footing. The ground was tearing away.
"Claire!" Violet screamed from ahead.
Before Claire could process the deadly fall awaiting her, Finn surged forward.
His massive black horse closed the distance in two thunderous strides. Finn leaned out of his saddle. His large, heavily scarred arm wrapped around Claire’s waist like a band of pure iron.
With a guttural grunt of sheer, terrifying strength, Finn hauled her directly upward.
Claire was ripped from her slipping saddle and flew through the air before crashing against Finn’s chest. He pulled her against him, settling her sideways on his saddle as her mare scrambled forward, finding solid ground and rushing toward Douglas.
Claire could not breathe.
Her hands were tangled in the heavy wool of Finn’s plaid, her fingers gripping his leather doublet as if it were the only anchor left in the world. Her heart was hammering so frantically it felt as though it might shatter her ribs.
She looked up, her gaze locking onto his, and found his green eyes wild with a raw intensity that made her entire body thrum. He wasn't just holding her; he was consuming the space between them.
She felt the unyielding heat radiating from his skin through the leather of his doublet. Her hip was pressed firmly against the solid weight of his thigh, a searing reminder of their precarious closeness.
It was a chaotic, intimate tangle of limbs and racing pulses, and for that suspended second, the world beyond the rhythm of his hammering heart didn't exist.
"I have ye," Finn murmured, his chest heaving violently against hers.
His rough voice was low and soothing. "Ye are safe, lass.
I have ye." His hand remained splayed across her waist, his thumb tracing a slow, agonizingly deliberate circle against her side as if he couldn't quite bring himself to break the contact.
"Are ye alright?" Violet demanded, having forced Douglas to turn their horses around. Violet’s face was deathly pale, her blue eyes wide with genuine fright. .
Claire swallowed hard, forcing air back into her tight lungs. "Aye. Aye, I am well. Only shaken."
"The gray mare is safe, me Laird," Douglas reported, pointing up the trail where the riderless horse had stopped to graze nervously on a patch of heather.. "But the ridge is too unstable to risk putting the lady back on her. The ground is falling away."
"She rides with me," Finn commanded, his tone leaving no room for debate.
He adjusted his grip, his powerful arm locking tightly around Claire’s waist to secure her against him while his other hand took up the thick leather reins.
"Douglas, lead the way back to the castle," Finn ordered, his green eyes dark and unreadable. "The ride is over."
The journey back became unbearable torture.
The adrenaline from the near-fall was fading, leaving her nerves hyper-aware and burning. She sat pressed against Finn’s chest with no cloak between them, just her gown and his doublet separating her skin from his heat.
Every step the black warhorse took made her move in perfect, painful sync with him. As the horse descended a slight incline, Claire’s hips shifted, pressing her back against his abdomen. When climbing, Finn’s thighs braced her legs, caging her with his body.
It was intoxicating.
Finn’s jaw was locked so tightly the pale scar on his cheekbone stood out in stark relief. He stared straight ahead, refusing to look down at her, but the iron band of his arm around her waist felt possessive, heavy, and deliberate.
Ahead of them, Douglas and Violet were engaged in quiet, steady conversation, guiding the horses carefully over the rocky path, effectively giving Finn and Claire a small, fragile bubble of privacy amidst the vast, open glens.
Claire knew Violet sensed the tension behind them. The silence between her and Finn was growing too loud and revealing. Their push-and-pull was fraying. She needed to break the silence and remind them this was a political charade before losing her mind.
She tilted her head back slightly, looking up at his sharp, uncompromising profile.
"I bet ye regret this arrangement now," Claire whispered softly.
She expected him to agree. She expected a dry, sarcastic comment about how southern women were entirely too much trouble, or a gruff complaint about nearly losing a good horse to the river.
Instead, Finn’s arm tightened almost imperceptibly around her waist, his large fingers pressing warmly into her side, right against her ribs.
"Every morning," Finn answered, his voice a raw, gravelly rasp.
Claire’s stomach dropped. The blunt admission hit her like a bucket of icy water. She turned her face away, staring blindly at the passing heather, her throat tightening with a sudden, humiliating sting of tears.
Of course, he regrets it, she thought miserably. He is a Laird. He needs peace, and I have brought him nothing but chaos, danger, and a meddling cousin. I am a burden he never asked for.
"I am sorry for the trouble, Finn," she whispered, her voice incredibly small, fighting to keep it steady. "It is only a few more days."
Finn did not reply immediately.
The black horse stepped carefully over a large, moss-covered stone. As the beast shifted, Finn leaned forward slightly.
His mouth brushed far too close to her ear. The warm, ragged puff of his breath sent a violent, wicked shiver straight down her spine, making her gasp softly.
"Ye misunderstand me, lass," Finn murmured, his voice dropping into a dark, intimate whisper that belonged in a shadowed bedchamber, not the open Highland air.
Claire froze, her breath catching in her throat.
"I daenae regret the danger," Finn breathed against her ear, his lips almost grazing the sensitive skin. "I regret the arrangement."
He paused, his chest expanding as he drew in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of her hair.
"Because every day I wake wanting to do things to ye I shouldnae."
Heat exploded through her entire body instantly.
It was a flash fire, a sudden rush of desire that swept away her rational thought. Her pupils dilated, fingers curling into his dark plaid. His primal hunger shattered his iron discipline, exposing her to his deep want.
“And I shouldnae, because ye’ll be leaving soon, and we willnae have anytime together.”
Claire could not speak. If she opened her mouth, she knew she would beg him to pull the horse off the path, to take her into the shadows of the pine trees and show her exactly what he woke up wanting to do.
She leaned her head back, yielding completely to the heavy, secure cage of his chest. Finn let out a low, ragged sigh, his cheek resting briefly against her dark, wind-blown curls as the black horse carried them steadily toward the distant stone walls of Rosewood Castle.