Page 7 of Ruined By the Ruthless Highlander
It was no news to her that the Highlanders kept to their own customs. But to openly disregard the Crown like that… she hadn’t expected it.
She could feel the eyes of every Highlander burning into her. There was a fierce loyalty in their gazes, and it was clear where they all stood—right behind their Laird.
Perhaps they are right to be so. Glen Carrick is their home.
The castle was her rightful inheritance, but only under the assumption that it had been unoccupied for years. She hadn’t been aware that Clan MacLeod still existed and that they lived here.
Yet, her pride stiffened her voice as she spoke.
“Ownership is not a matter of tradition.”
I cannot let them force me away, either.
The Laird’s eyes flashed with something wild. His mouth curved faintly, but his expression was not amused.
“Aye,” he said, nodding like he was about to agree with her. “’Tis a matter of law. And law burns well in a hearth!”
She blinked, caught off guard by the vehemence in his tone.
Laughter rippled through his gathered men, and he turned to face them, slapping his hand against his chest twice.
Marian scoffed.
I cannot let their actions get to me.
“I did not come here to take anyone’s home,” she raised her voice, loud enough to interrupt their cheers. “But neither will I abandon what I was sent to claim.”
The silence that followed rivaled that of a graveyard.
The air shifted in the courtyard. Amusement ceased, and the atmosphere vibrated with a new, dangerous energy.
Laird MacLeod turned back to her, his eyes brimming with tightly leashed anger as he closed the space between them.
“Careful,Sassenach,” he said softly, his voice now far more dangerous than his earlier mockery. “I’ve been patient with ye so far. Daenae mistake that for weakness, or ye may find yerself learnin’ exactly how far me patience stretches.”
Marian’s heart skipped a beat. She felt a shiver run down her spine, but she could barely tell if it was from the rain or his cold tone.
“You cannot threaten me, sir,” she whispered, avoiding his eyes for the first time since their meeting.
“Laird,” he corrected coolly.
She straightened, lifting her chin. “My Laird…” She swallowed, the words feeling bitter in her mouth.
If she was going to get anything out of this, she had to play by his rules. For now.
She bent her head ever so slightly. “I beg your pardon. My manners seem to have deserted me. I was… rather taken by surprise.”
The Laird nodded, although he did not seem satisfied. His expression softened for a second before shifting again.
“Ye’re bold for someone who hasnae yet survived a night here, Mairi,” he said, smirking.
Mairi? Mairi?
The name struck her like a small slap, thick with his accent.
Can the Highlander not pronounce English names?
“It is Marian,” she said softly, trying not to sound indignant.
