Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Claire walked through the muddy pathways with Violet at her side, fascinated by the chaotic life of the MacRae stronghold. Molly trailed a few steps behind them, engaged in a passionate, highly dramatic argument with a local merchant over the price of a small wooden comb.
"I am telling ye, the wood is chipped!" Molly declared loudly, waving the comb in the air. "I wouldnae use this to brush the knots out of a hound's tail, let alone me lady's hair."
The merchant, a burly man with a thick red beard, crossed his arms and scowled. "It is fine ash wood, woman. And it is two coppers. Take it or leave it."
"One copper," Molly countered stubbornly. "And ye should throw in a ribbon for the insult."
Violet watched the exchange with a highly amused smile, her blue velvet cloak contrasting sharply with the rough-spun wool worn by the villagers. She leaned closer to Claire, keeping her voice low over the noise of the market.
"Yer maid possesses the negotiating skills of a battlefield commander," Violet noted lightly. "Leo could use a woman of her talents on the clan council."
"Molly takes her duties very seriously," Claire laughed, pulling her own crimson cloak tighter around her shoulders against the biting wind. "She has been arguing with that poor man for ten minutes. I am half tempted to give him a silver coin just to end his suffering."
"Daenae do that," Violet advised smoothly. "It would ruin her fun."
They continued their walk past the blacksmith's forge.
The rhythmic, ringing strikes of a heavy hammer against glowing iron provided a steady heartbeat to the market's noise.
Several villagers bowed their heads respectfully as they passed.
A few women offered bright, welcoming smiles, calling out greetings to the "future Lady MacRae. "
Claire returned their smiles, offering polite nods, but every time she heard that title, a strange, heavy knot tightened in her stomach.
It is all a performance. They look at me and see their Laird's bride. They see a future for their clan. They daenae realize I am only a temporary shield, bound to leave them before the winter snows even begin.
"They like ye," Violet observed, her sharp blue eyes missing absolutely nothing. "The people here. They look at ye with genuine affection. It is quite a rare thing for a clan to accept an outsider so quickly."
"They are good people," Claire replied softly, looking around at the worn, resilient faces of the MacRaes. "They have suffered through famine and war. Finn built this stability for them with his bare hands. They trust his choices completely. Because he chose to bring me here, they accept me."
Violet stopped walking. She turned to face Claire, her expression turning surprisingly serious. The playful, teasing light in her eyes vanished, replaced by a quiet, calculating focus.
"I am leaving tomorrow morning, Claire," Violet announced plainly.
Claire froze, the bustling noise of the market fading into a dull, distant hum.
"Tomorrow?" Claire repeated, her voice sounding incredibly small to her own ears. "But ye only just arrived. Ye cannae leave so soon."
"I must," Violet said gently, reaching out to take Claire's hands in her own. "I brought Leo's message, and I have seen with me own eyes that ye are safe."
"But what am I to do?" Claire whispered, panic rising hot and fast in her throat.
I cannae be left alone here. If Violet leaves, I will have no one to anchor me. I will be at the mercy of this arrangement, and worse, at the mercy of a man who makes me forget how to breathe.
"Ye will do exactly what ye have been doing," Violet instructed, squeezing her hands reassuringly. "Ye will survive. Ye will play yer part in this false betrothal until the roads are safe, and then ye will come north to MacSween lands. It is a simple plan, Claire."
"It doesnae feel simple," Claire admitted, looking away toward the heavy stone walls of the keep. "Nothing about Finn MacRae is simple."
Violet offered a knowing, slightly sympathetic smile. "He is a terrifying man, I grant ye that. He looks as though he could snap a tree in half with his bare hands. But he looks at ye as though ye are the only fragile thing in his world. He willnae let any harm come to ye."
"I am nae worried about external harm, Vi," Claire sighed, dropping her gaze to the muddy cobblestones.
"I ken," Violet murmured softly. She released Claire's hands and adjusted her thick cloak. "I am going to the coach house to inspect me mares. I want to ensure they are properly rested for the journey. Take Molly and gather the linens ye will need me to take back with me."
"I will," Claire agreed numbly.
Violet turned and walked toward the stables, her posture elegant and unbothered.
Claire watched her go, a profound sense of isolation washing over her.
She took a deep, steadying breath, forcing the panic down into a tightly locked box in her chest. She turned back to the market, grabbing Molly by the arm just as the maid prepared to launch a secondary assault on a weaver selling tartan blankets.
On the other side of the courtyard, Finn MacRae sought a distraction.
He stalked the damp earth, hands on his sword belt, face a mask of stone.
He needed to find his stable master to arrange heavy timber carriages for winter grain, or do anything involving physical labor and logistics, away from Claire Abbot.
He entered the coach house, smelling fresh straw and leather, expecting his men checking grain carts, but found Violet MacSween.
"Ye leave so soon?" Finn asked, his deep voice echoing slightly in the quiet cavern of the coach house.
Violet did not look up, her hands moving expertly over the heavy iron buckles of the saddle. "I should return before me brother declares war officially, Laird MacRae. Leo has a penchant for dramatic exits, and I would prefer to be there to moderate his bloodlust."
Finn laughed, the sound dry and entirely humorless. "I suspect he will find his way to Rosewood regardless of yer intervention."
"Aye, he likely will," Violet admitted.
She gave the leather strap one final, sharp pull, the material creaking loudly under the tension. She glanced up, her blue eyes sharp and unblinking.
"Since this isnae a real betrothal, I’ve little purpose staying longer," Violet said, her voice steady. "But I ken yer position for making this arrangement. I ken pressure when I see it."
She smoothed a strand of dark hair away from her temple, her expression turning uncharacteristically grave. The playful, teasing demeanor she wore like a shield vanished completely.
"I saw it consume Leo for years," she continued, her voice dropping into a register that lacked all artifice. "The need to be the sword, the shield, and the law all at once. It hollows a man out if he isn't careful."
Finn shifted his weight, his eyes narrowing. He did not care for being analyzed, and he certainly did not care to be compared to the Laird of the MacSweens. He carried his burdens alone, and he required no pity from a visiting lady.
"I am nae Leo MacSween," Finn said, his tone clipped and hard.
"I never said ye were," Violet replied calmly, unfazed by his hostility. "But I wished to thank ye for helping Claire. She is a different woman than the one who left our lands, and I suspect ye have a great deal to do with that."
Finn stood silent, his gaze fixed firmly on the mare’s twitching ears. He felt an uncomfortable prickle of heat beneath his thick leather doublet.
I dinnae help her. I only tangled her deeper into the web I’ve spun for myself. I made her a target for me enemies, and I made her a prisoner to me own selfish desire.
Violet watched him, her gaze so incredibly steady it felt as though she were reading the very ink of his thoughts.
"Claire hides fear behind that stubborn, sharp tongue," Violet murmured, her voice turning soft. "She always has. She learned early on that if she made people laugh, they wouldn't notice she was lonely. But she’s stronger than she realizes. She survives."
Finn’s expression softened, just for a flicker of a second. The rigid line of his jaw relaxed.
"Aye. She is."
Then, as quickly as it had come, Violet’s softness vanished. Her expression sharpened, her blue eyes turning into pure, lethal flint.
"But hear me well, MacRae," she said, stepping forward to stand directly in his space, her small stature not dimming her absolute authority in the slightest. "If ye hurt her.
If ye let this situation break her. Ye should prepare for the entirety of the MacSween vanguard arriving at yer gates armed for battle. I will lead the charge meself."
Finn opened his mouth to offer a sharp retort, but the doorway was suddenly blocked by a flash of crimson velvet.
Claire stood there, Molly bustling closely behind her, carrying two heavy, half-unpacked bags of linens. Claire looked between the two of them, her dark eyebrows arching high in clear suspicion.
"Should I be concerned?" Claire asked, her gaze darting from Finn’s rigid posture to Violet’s smug, closed-off expression. "Is this discussion ending in a duel? Because if so, I would like to request that ye both leave the horses out of it."
Violet burst into a peal of melodic, clear laughter. "A duel? With me, Claire? I have better things to do than engage in fisticuffs with a man who thinks he’s an impenetrable wall."
Finn muttered something under his breath. He took a sharp step back, effectively putting distance between himself and the two terrifying women. He adjusted his heavy sword belt, his face once again a flawless mask of unyielding stone.
"I have business at the grain store," Finn stated, looking deliberately at the wall instead of Claire. He strode past them, his heavy boots sounding like rolling thunder on the packed earth of the floor. "See that the carriage is packed by noon."
Claire watched him go, her brow furrowed in deep confusion. She turned back to her cousin.
"What was that about?" Claire asked.
Violet just smirked, grabbing the thick leather reins of her mare. "Nothing of consequence, dear cousin. Only a man realizing that his walls are starting to crack.”
The departure happened before midday. The lively morning market faded into a tense atmosphere as the MacSween carriage was readied in the courtyard.
The sky over Rosewood Castle darkened with thick clouds, blocking the sunlight and casting an ominous twilight.
Claire stood near the gates with hands in her cloak pockets, while Molly dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.
"I shall see ye soon," Violet said, wrapping Claire in a final, fierce embrace. "Remember what I told ye. Daenae let him intimidate ye. He is only a man."
"I will remember," Claire promised, forcing a smile she did not truly feel.
She watched Violet step into the grand carriage. The MacSween guards mounted their horses, their armor clinking loudly in the quiet courtyard.
Douglas nodded to the departing party near the gates.
Finn was absent.
The carriage rolled out into the muddy road, wheels groaning. Claire watched until the silver crest faded into the mist.
She is gone.
A gust of wind brought the metallic scent of rain. The first heavy drop struck near her boot.
"Come inside, Lady Claire," Douglas urged gently, stepping closer. "The sky is turning foul. We are in for a wicked storm."
"I am coming," Claire whispered, tearing her gaze away from the empty road.
She turned to follow Douglas back toward the keep, but a movement near the battlements caught her eye. She looked up. Finn stood on the high stone walkway overlooking the courtyard, not looking at the departing carriage but directly down at her.
Even from a distance, his intense green eyes and the stormy setting made him formidable. He did not look away when she caught him; he stood firm, wind tearing at his hair and plaid.
Claire held his gaze, her breath catching. The distance felt irrelevant as rain struck her cheek, signaling the storm's break.
She lifted her chin in a silent, daring challenge, holding his stare for one agonizing second before turning her back on him. She gathered her skirts and walked proudly into the warmth of the great hall, leaving the Devil of the North standing alone in the rain.