Page 32 of Ruined By the Ruthless Highlander
“Mairi!” the Laird called out with urgency once she reached the top, but she ignored him, looking around the upper hall in breathless awe.
It is so… different.
Marian had never been to this part of the castle before. Until that moment, she hadn’t even heard of its existence.
The air felt different, still, with a certain warmth that the rest of Glen Carrick did not possess. There were no windows overlooking the outside of the castle, and torches lit up the space, their dim light leaving pockets of shadows that stretched along the walls.
This must be where he came from.
She ran her fingers over the walls as she turned into a corridor. The stones were rougher, as though fewer hands had passed this way over the years.
Marian walked ahead, her curiosity pulling her toward the far end of the corridor, where it twisted and narrowed into older stone.
What is this place?
She touched the walls again, and this time, they were devoid of the warmth she’d felt earlier as she passed by unused chambers.
A chill ran through her, and she slowed down, approaching a cracked door that let out a sliver of soft light.
Is this where Lachlan was?
Marian swallowed. She had just thought of the Laird by his first name.
She pushed the door further open.
Her chest tightened with a feeling that she couldn’t understand, her heart breaking at the sight of the chamber.
It was not in a state of disarray. No. It was the most beautiful chamber she’d ever seen. Unlike the rest of the unused chambers she had passed by, there was not a speck of dust in sight.
She stood still at the threshold, her eyes falling on the bed beside the window—the first and only window she would find on this floor.
The bed had a tall canopy, draped in beautiful pink linen, with delicate embroidery along its edges and red tassels at its corners.
On the other side of the room stood a narrow table, with an unfinished embroidery frame and an open book atop it. Its pages were worn, and a dried rose stem was nestled between them.
A token of love, perhaps.
Her eyes stung, her throat tightening as she blinked back tears.
It is not an abandoned chamber.
She had stumbled upon a memory that was not hers, and yet she understood it so well.
The air carried a faint scent of something floral, softened with time but not entirely gone. It lingered in the linens, in the stillness, in the very space itself.
This chamber is alive.
Marian inhaled before taking a step inside, feeling the warmth of the room wrap around her in a way that felt both strange and familiar. Her gaze moved gently over the objects left behind.
She stopped in front of the open wardrobe by the door, her eyes immediately catching the intricate detailing on the first dress. She reached out to feel it, but her fingers hovered over the fabric, afraid to touch something that looked too precious.
Suddenly, someone snatched her hand from behind.
Marian jumped, letting out a gasp. She had been so absorbed in the room that she’d forgotten about his presence altogether.
Lachlan stepped in front of her, his chest heaving. He braced his other hand against the wardrobe, and she looked up at him, immediately sensing a shift.
Something in him had changed.
