Page 17 of Ruined By the Ruthless Highlander
Marian sat across from the Laird, her hands folded neatly in her lap.
Her back was straight against the cushions, and she kept a pleasant look on her face despite the growing tension in her shoulders.
How much longer must this go on?
The meeting had stretched on for longer than she thought necessary. Or perhaps she only felt that way because she had little interest in the topics the Laird had chosen to ramble about. Highland rules and customs. Ranks and clan hierarchy. Estate maintenance, alliances, foes, and things of that sort.
She strained her ears to keep up with his fast Scottish brogue. Her eyes wandered from his moving lips to his dark hair and finally to the bookshelf behind him.
It was small, unlike everything else in the castle.
It is a surprise he reads at all.
She squinted her eyes, trying to read some of the titles from where she sat.
Perhaps the books belonged to someone else. His father, or even his grandfather.
He cleared his throat, and she dragged her gaze back to him.
“I trust ye follow,” he said.
She nodded a touch too quickly. “I do.”
He leaned back in his chair, his movements causing the linen of his shirt to shift, parting briefly across his chest before settling again.
Marian’s heart skipped a beat. She tore her eyes away, glancing at his face to see if he had noticed. The corner of his lips twitched, and his gaze darkened as he stared at her, tapping a finger on the desk in front of him.
The room suddenly felt hotter.
Marian shifted in her seat, as if to move away from the source of the heat.
The Laird’s eyes narrowed as they slowly drifted to her lips, lingering there until she could no longer ignore the flutter in her chest.
She rose abruptly to her feet, the movement surprising even herself. She took a deep breath, hesitating for a brief moment before turning toward the door.
“What are ye doin’?” the Laird asked with a frown.
She folded her arms across her chest. “Leaving. I believe it is time for breakfast.”
She walked toward the door. But he moved faster, stepping around the desk and into her path before she could reach it.
The space between them vanished in an instant.
“We arenae finished.”
Marian lifted her chin, her heart pounding hard as the moment stretched between them. “Then perhaps you should have chosen a better hour to begin,” she said in a barely even tone.
The Laird’s mouth curled into a faint smile. He held her gaze for a moment, running his hand through his hair.
“Ye still daenae understand this place.” His voice was almost a low growl. He deliberately lowered himself to her eye level and added, “I’ll teach ye another way.”
Marian’s breath caught. She felt her cheeks flush, but did not speak. His proximity unsettled her more than the threat had.
She stepped past him, her shoulder brushing slightly against his side. His scent wrapped around her, filling the narrow space between them, clean and sharp beneath the smoke of the hearth like white musk carried on cold Highland air.
He moved reluctantly to give her more room before returning to his desk without another word.
She returned to her seat and smoothed her skirts as she sat, as though the conversation were perfectly ordinary.
