Page 78 of Claimed By a Ruthless Scot
She reached for her clothes, dressing quickly, her hands moving with practiced precision. Each movement felt heavier than it should have, as though something inside her resisted every step she took away from him.
She ignored it. She had learned long ago how to ignore what she felt when it did not serve her. One by one, she began to gather her things. She gently took her herbs, then the few tools she had brought with her. Those were the small pieces of herself she had carried with her.
Her fingers stilled briefly over one of the bundles, her thoughts drifting back to the night before, the way he had looked at her, the way he had said her name as if it mattered.
Elaina closed her eyes tightly.
Thatwas the danger. It was not the men who hunted her, not her father, not Lachlan Mackenzie. It washimand the way he made her feel, the way he made her want…
She exhaled slowly, forcing the thought away. If she stayed, he would be dragged further into her past and into the violence that followed her whether she wished it or not.
Because he would not step back. She knew that now. He would fight. He would bleed. He would risk everything for her.
Her chest tightened painfully. She could not allow that. She would not become the reason he lost anything more, not when he had already lost so much.
Her fingers moved again, quicker now, as if urgency alone might silence the doubt clawing at her.
The soft rustle of fabric sounded too loud in the stillness of the room, each fold and movement breaking the fragile quiet she had tried so carefully to preserve.
She did not look back at the bed. She could not, because she knew that if she did, she might not leave.
“Elaina?” The sound of her name stilled her instantly. His voice was low and rough with sleep.
Her breath caught. Slowly, she turned.
Duncan had pushed himself up, with one hand braced against the mattress, and the other already reaching instinctively toward his wounded arm. His gaze found her immediately and then dropped to the small pile of belongings gathered in her hands. Understanding came too quickly.
“What are ye daein’?” he asked.
There was no anger in his voice.
Elaina forced herself to meet his eyes. “I’m leaving.”
The words felt heavier spoken aloud than they had in her thoughts. Duncan went still.
“Why?”
It was not loud. It did not need to be.
Elaina’s grip tightened around the fabric in her hands. “I have tae leave, Duncan,” she insisted, her voice steadier than she felt. “If I stay, he will come. He already has. Ye saw it yerself.”
Her gaze moved briefly to his arm before she forced it back to his face.
“Mackenzie is looking fer me. And if I remain here, he will nae stop until he finds me. And next time…” Her voice faltered slightly, but she pushed through it. “Next time, it may nae end the same way.”
Duncan’s expression hardened, though his eyes never left her.
“So ye think the answer is tae walk away?” he sounded incredulous. “Tae put yerself directly in his path?”
“It is nae fer me,” she replied quickly. “It is fer ye, fer yer clan. If I leave, he will follow me. He will have nay reason tae come here again.” She took a small step back, as if distance might make it easier. “Nay one else will get hurt.”
Duncan rose from the bed. The movement was slow and controlled, but there was tension in it now, unmistakable and growing.
“I cannae let ye dae that, Elaina,” he told her as if he were merely confirming that the sun rose in the east.
Elaina shook her head, while a small, frustrated breath escaped her. “Ye cannae stop me, Duncan.”
“I can,” he replied immediately. “And I will.”
