Page 88 of Ruined By the Ruthless Highlander
We just have to get through this night.
The room felt smaller than it had been earlier. Warmer, too. Or perhaps that was only her imagination. Behind her, she heard Lachlan step inside. Then he closed the door, the key clicking in the lock with a quiet finality.
I am alone… with him.
Marian froze beside the bed—not that there was much space anywhere else in the small chamber. Her gaze moved restlessly around the room as she searched for something, anything, to distract her racing thoughts. Finally, she settled on the crackling fireplace and the long shadows it threw across the stone walls.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Until Lachlan cleared his throat, breaking the silence as he took a few more steps into the room.
He felt closer now, though he kept a careful distance from her.
“I…” He hesitated. Marian turned to see his face, catching an expression unlike any she’d ever seen on him. “I daenae ken if ye mind, but I locked the door.”
Marian blinked. She hadn’t expected him to askthat.
Of course, you locked the door.
The thought had brushed her mind when he did, but now it settled deeper, and she felt her face flush.
The door is locked.
Her eyes widened.
She shifted slightly, clearing her throat even though it did not feel tight.
“Certainly,” she said, a little too quickly. “I do not mind it, my Laird. It is for our… safety.” The last word sounded hollow the moment it left her lips.
Though it’d be better if we were locked in separate rooms instead.
Lachlan’s eyebrow rose slightly, but then he nodded and moved across the room as though nothing about the situation bothered him. He rolled up the sleeves of his tunic, revealing his strong forearms, then he pulled off his boots and kicked them toward the hearth with one careless nudge.
Marian peeled off her lace gloves in slow motion, one finger at a time. Her eyes caught her reflection in a small mirror near the bed, and her pulse quickened at how flushed her face was.
It is probably the ale.
Her eyes narrowed as she remembered that she hadn’t even had a full glass.
Perhaps it is stronger than the ale in England.
She tore her eyes away from the mirror and fixed her gaze on the bed, her pulse quickening further. Lachlan stood on the other side of the bed now, and she felt painfully aware of his presence.
She could feel the heat of his presence, the way one felt the warmth of the fire without touching it, and his scent slowly filled the room, even as he crouched near the far wall.
She stared at him as he arranged his blankets, her eyebrows drawing together slightly as though she was only just becoming aware of their sleeping arrangement.
“You do not have to sleep on the floor,” she said at last, her voice carefully neutral. The words felt strange even as she spoke them.
Surely, a laird should have better options.
Lachlan did not look up immediately. It was almost as though he had expected the words and had been waiting for them.
He paused, glancing at her for only a moment before saying firmly, “Aye, I do.”
Marian swallowed, nodding in agreement. But then her lips betrayed her again. “The bed is large enough.” She dug her nails into her arms.
The silence that followed was deafening.
