Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Finn stepped out of the stable into a courtyard that had already been prepared for her departure.
Two mounted guards waited beside the carriage, their horses shifting impatiently against the morning chill, while the driver stood near the lead mare, nervously tightening a leather strap that had absolutely no need of tightening.
Finn's gaze lifted toward the keep just as the doors opened and Claire stepped outside. For one foolish, agonizing heartbeat, he completely forgot how to breathe.
God help me.
She had changed back into the gown she had arrived in, though it no longer looked like it belonged to England. Standing against the grey stone of Rosewood Castle, she looked as though she had always been meant for the Highlands.
Finn forced himself to move forward, taking one heavy step and then another until he reached the carriage where she had stopped directly opposite him. Neither of them spoke as the cold wind slipped between them, carrying the crisp scent of damp earth and pine.
Say something. Say anything but goodbye.
Claire offered him a small smile, though it trembled almost at once. "So," she said softly. "This is goodbye."
The word stole the air from his lungs.
"For now," Finn answered. Lie to her if ye must, he told himself fiercely. Just get her safely away.
Her fingers tightened anxiously around the leather gloves she held in her hands. "For now," she echoed, though they both clearly heard the deep uncertainty wavering in her voice.
Molly stepped forward quietly and held out the satchel.
"I will take it," Finn offered, and the maid surrendered the bag without argument before drifting back toward Mrs. Campbell, giving them what little privacy she could manage in the busy courtyard.
Finn placed the satchel inside the carriage, carefully checking the leather straps securing it before checking them a second time just to keep his hands occupied. Claire watched him for a moment before speaking quietly.
"Ye have inspected that poor carriage three times already."
"It will be a long road," Finn replied gruffly.
"Aye," she agreed, and a heavy silence settled over them once more.
She stepped closer, lowering her voice so only he could hear. "Last night..."
His broad shoulders stiffened instantly. "Claire," he warned gently.
"I only wished to say..."
The words faded before they ever truly reached him, because he simply could not bear to hear them. He could not listen to her confessions now, not when every part of his soul was threatening to undo everything he had so painfully decided.
"The roads are safer than they were," he said instead, clinging to the tactical excuse.
A faint laugh escaped her lips, though there was absolutely no humor in the sound. "Ye are still trying to convince yerself," she noted sadly.
His green eyes lifted to meet hers. "This is about keeping ye alive."
"I ken," she nodded slowly. "I simply wish..." She swallowed hard. "I wish the reason dinnae hurt quite so much."
If ye stay, they will come for ye, he thought miserably. If ye leave, I will lose ye anyway.
He reached for her before he even realized he had moved, offering only his hand and nothing more.
"Come," he instructed softly.
Claire looked down at his outstretched hand before slowly placing her gloved fingers into his palm. The simple, trusting touch unraveled something profound inside him.
Dinnae hold on, he commanded himself desperately.
He led her carefully toward the carriage.
As she placed one foot upon the iron step, the damp metal slipped treacherously beneath her leather boot, causing her to lose her balance.
Finn caught her instantly before she could fall, one strong arm circling her waist while his other hand steadied her grip.
She gasped, clutching the front of his dark tunic to right herself, and suddenly neither of them could move.
She was pressed so close against him that he could feel the warmth of her breath fanning across his jaw. Her grey eyes searched his face intensely before drifting, almost unwillingly, down to his mouth.
One kiss, his mind urged frantically. Just one. His gaze dropped to her parted lips, and he swore to God he could still taste her sweet heat from the night before.
A draft horse stamped sharply against the wet cobblestones, the sudden noise completely shattering the fragile moment. Finn eased her upright, though his hand remained lingering at her waist a heartbeat longer than it ever should have. Claire's fingers slowly released their tight grip on his tunic.
"Thank ye," she whispered faintly.
His throat felt too tight to offer an answer, so instead, he silently helped her up into the dim cabin of the carriage. She turned around before stepping fully inside, and for a long, agonizing moment, neither of them could look away.
"Send word," he finally said. She waited in silence, forcing him to continue, and his voice came out far rougher than he had intended. "So I will ken ye are safe."
The profound sadness in her fragile smile nearly broke him in two.
"I will," she promised, before finally disappearing inside the shadowy cabin.
Finn rested one large hand against the outside of the carriage door, the polished wood feeling freezing cold beneath his palm.
Open it, his heart screamed at him.
Tell her to stay. His fingers tightened around the frame, but before he could betray every logical decision he had made, he forcefully pushed the heavy door closed. The iron latch clicked softly, putting a final, physical barrier between them.
The carriage began to roll slowly across the muddy courtyard, but Finn did not move an inch.
The massive gates creaked open to allow their passage.
Through the small window, Claire never looked away from him, and he refused to look away from her.
For one impossible, desperate moment, he truly thought she might ask the driver to stop the horses.
She did not. The carriage crossed beneath the stone gatehouse and finally disappeared beyond the outer wall.
Still, Finn stood exactly where she had left him. Go after her, his instincts demanded, but his jaw tightened with stubborn resolve.
Nay.
The rhythmic sound of heavy hooves slowly faded into the distance, and the courtyard gradually returned to life around him. Stable lads crossed toward the barns carrying heavy buckets of grain, while a pair of guards resumed their usual patrol along the upper walls.
Finn slowly lowered his gaze to the ground, spotting a pale scrap of leather resting in the freezing mud right beside the fresh carriage tracks. It was one of Claire's gloves, which must have slipped from her hand when he had caught her on the iron step.
He bent down and picked it up, finding that the soft leather was somehow still warm from her skin. His thumb brushed absentmindedly across the delicate stitching at the wrist.
He closed his fist securely around the glove, his fingers tightening until the soft leather creased against his palm.
Heavy footsteps approached across the cobblestones, and Douglas stopped quietly beside him. Neither man spoke for a long time as they stood together, looking out toward the empty, misty road stretching beyond the gates.
"Ye could still catch them," Douglas suggested quietly.
Finn's grip tightened around the forgotten glove. "I willnae," he answered flatly.
Douglas nodded once in understanding. "I ken."
A heavy silence settled comfortably between the two warriors.
A biting, cold wind swept forcefully through the open gateway, stirring Finn's dark hair and tugging lightly at the leather glove clenched tightly in his hand.
Douglas looked down at the scrap of leather, and then back up at his oldest friend.
"Ye love her," Douglas stated simply.
Finn stared blankly at the empty road, struggling to swallow his grief as no words came. He remained silent because Douglas was right, and speaking aloud would make it real. Admitting that his heart had ridden away inside that carriage made him doubt his actions.
Douglas said nothing further, respecting the Laird. By midday, Rosewood Castle returned to its busy rhythm, or so everyone thought. Finn walked purposefully into the council chamber, Douglas behind him, where Angus and two guards awaited beside the long oak table with a map of the estate.
"Me Laird," the men greeted, straightening to attention as he entered the room.
Finn offered them a curt, dismissive nod. "The southern wall?" he demanded immediately.
"Finished before noon," Angus replied promptly, pointing to the map. "Though we will need to quarry more stone before the month's end."
"And the patrols?" Finn pressed.
"We have doubled the western route exactly as ye ordered," Angus confirmed.
Finn studied the map with a hard stare. "Good, keep them there for another fortnight."
The grey afternoon had just begun to fade into dusk when the frantic sound of galloping hooves completely shattered the quiet of the keep.
Finn looked up from his position on the upper battlements, spotting a lone rider pushing his mount incredibly hard and fast. The exhausted horse was lathered with white sweat long before it even reached the outer gate.
"Open the gates!" T he rider's desperate cry echoed wildly through the courtyard.
The guards hurried to pull the heavy wooden gates wide, and the rider barely waited for them to stop moving before swinging recklessly from his saddle. He stumbled heavily as his boots struck the cobblestones, breathing raggedly from the punishing journey.
"Me Laird," the man gasped out as he looked up at the walls.
Finn descended the stone steps two at a time, landing in the courtyard with a heavy thud. "What is it?" he demanded instantly.
The messenger reached a shaking hand beneath his mud-splattered cloak and withdrew a folded letter. "The MacSweens sent me with haste," the man panted.