Chapter Eleven
Another blasted storm arrived before nightfall.
Wind swept down from the western cliffs with a rattling shutters wild edge and bent the pine tops until they whispered like conspirators. Clouds gathered low over the loch, thick and bruised, swallowing the last of the sun.
Claire stood at the narrow window of her chamber and watched the weather roll across the Highlands with a vengeance.
England had storms.
But English storms felt temporary—an interruption between orderly days. This storm felt like part of the land itself.
Alive and unavoidable.
A knock sounded at her door. After a quick glance back out the window, she opened it to find the laird standing there, wind-tossed and grave.
“Ye should come to the hall,” he demanded without preamble.
She gripped her hands, her nerves rattled. “Am I in danger already?”
Wariness shifted through his eyes. “No’ yet.”
She held his gaze waiting for more, an inkling of why he had taken her. “That is not comforting.”
“’Tis honest.”
Claire gathered the plaid Maddy had left on her bed, willing her heart to stop beating in her throat, trying to control her trembling hands. “Then honesty will have to do.”
# # #
The riders were spotted near the southern pass. That alone would not have troubled him. But the scouts had recognized the banner.
Ashford.
And another.
English mercenaries.
Which meant the bargain had collapsed faster than expected.
Lachlan stood near the hearth in the great hall while rain lashed the keep walls. His warriors gathered quietly around the long tables, speaking in low tones as they checked weapons and maps.
When Claire entered the hall, conversation shifted—but did not stop.
She noticed. Of course she had.
Regardless, the lady crossed the hall toward him with a calm dignity suitable for a queen, certainly more than a kidnapped English lady.
Every instinct urged him closer, and denying it felt increasingly like pain.
“What have they come for?” she asked.
Lachlan did not pretend ignorance. “Ye, m’lady.”
The words hung between them.
Claire’s expression did not crumble. What a braw lass.
Instead, something steadier replaced it. Resolve filled her blue gaze. She pulled up, straightening her spine and said, “Then I suppose the storm outside is not the only one arriving tonight.”
God help him, Lachlan almost grabbed her and crushed his mouth to hers.
Even facing danger, she spoke like a woman who refused to bow to fear. Want hit him hard and immediate. Their future lay uncertain, but his growing desire to claim her was anything but uncertain.
There was one truth tethered between them. He knew it. She knew it.
When peace had settled. When the deal he’d brokered shifted back into place, he’d woo her.
The woman before him enticed with not only her beauty, but her intelligence and he wanted, nay, needed to know her more.
“I will keep you safe.”
She tipped her head to the side. “I am not certain you can make that promise, m’laird.”
Claire was right, of course. The threat outside the keep’s walls was verra dire. Not only for her, but for the clan. He reached for her hand, held it gently in his. “I protect you with my life, m’lady.”
With a quick nod, she squeezed his hand. Lachlan wasn’t certain if it was to reassure him or her, but he relished her touch.
He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the soft skin of her hand.
She blushed as if she were but a lass.