Page 13 of The Laird who Craved her

Some reckless, hidden part of her reacted to his words, a sudden spark of defiance that refused to be utterly dominated by his size. "And what if I don't? What if I decide your cold castle is too much to bear, Laird MacRae?"

“If ye try to flee before this arrangement ends," Finn murmured, his head tilting further, his lips so close to her cheek she could feel the individual hairs of his stubble, "I will come after ye myself. I will track ye down to the very edges of the southern sea, and I will bring me bride back to her proper place."

The sheer intensity of his threat should have terrified her. But as she stared into those emerald eyes, trapped between his massive body and the freezing stone, the heat in her belly flared into a roaring flame.

God help me,Claire thought, her fingers tightening against the stone until her knuckles ached.I have truly struck a deal with the devil.

"We have a bargain then," she whispered, her eyes refusing to flinch away from his.

"Aye," Finn said, his gaze lingering on her face for one long, breathless second before he finally pulled back, releasing her from the cage of his body. "We have a bargain."

CHAPTER FIVE

The door of the inn’s lodge banged open, and Molly came scrambling over the threshold like a panicked hen, her bonnet hanging by a single ribbon and her apron coated in gray river silt. The storm had finally passed, but the true tempest was currently colliding in the center of the small room.

"Lady Claire! Oh, praise the saints, ye are breathing!" Molly wailed, her arms flinging wide as she threw her entire body into her mistress.

Claire didn't even flinch at the impact. She met the older woman halfway, her slender arms wrapping tightly around the maid's shoulders. She buried her face in Molly's damp cloak, her shoulders hitching with a deep, shuddering breath of pure relief.

"I am well, Molly. I am perfectly well," Claire whispered, her voice thick but steady. She pulled back slightly, her hands framing the maid's weathered face, her gray eyes searching for injuries. "Are ye hurt? Did those wretched men touch ye?"

"Nay, lamb, nay," Molly sobbed, wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve. "The big, silver-bearded one found me hiding in a hollow log. I thought he was another raider come to finish me, but he just offered me a piece of dried beef and told me to stop squawking."

Finn stood by the hearth, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched the display. His eyes, cold and assessing, traced the line of Claire’s back.

She was terrified, he realized, watching the tight knot in her shoulders finally unravel.

She stood there and threatened me, defied me, and bargained with me like a seasoned diplomat, all while her heart was bleeding for her servant.

It was an unsettling thought. He preferred his English noblewomen to be simple, fragile, and easy to read. This one was currently crawling her way under his skin, her resilience irritating him more than her lies ever could.

"The driver’s gone to repair the carriage fully," Douglas announced, walking past the weeping women without a care. He dropped heavily into a bench by the table, helping himself to a thick crust of barley bread. He chewed loudly, pointing the crust toward the window. "The axletree took a beating in the ditch, but he’ll have it patched enough to crawl. The weather’s clear enough now. We should reach Rosewood Castle before nightfall."

Finn nodded, his movements blunt and efficient as he stepped away from the fire. He picked up his broadsword, sliding the heavy iron hanger into his leather harness. He needed this journey to be over. No, he needed this woman out of his sight before he did something entirely reckless.

MacSween's cousin, he reminded himself, the thought a cold splash of water to his senses.

Leo MacSween’s flesh and blood. I had better keep her safe. And I had better keep me hands as far as possible from her, if I daenae want another bloody war at me gates.

He looked over at her. Claire had stepped away from her maid, her dark, wavy hair escaping her hood completely now, a wild halo around a face that was far too pale.. She caught him staring. Instead of looking down like a proper English lady, she held his gaze, her jaw setting in that stubborn, beautiful line he was already beginning to recognize.

"Well, Laird MacRae?" she asked, her tone dripping with a sweet, dangerous sarcasm. "Are we to stand here admiring the floorboards all day, or do ye intend to escort me to me new prison?"

"It isnae a prison, lass," Finn rumbled, stepping into her space to retrieve his gloves from the mantelpiece. He leaned down slightly, letting his shadow fall over her. "It is me home. And if ye intend to survive the council tomorrow, I suggest ye lose that sharp tongue before we cross the drawbridge."

"Oh, me tongue is perfectly behaved when I am surrounded by gentlemen," she shot back, her eyes flashing with gray fire. "I shall let ye know when I find one."

Douglas choked on his bread, letting out a loud, booming laugh that echoed off the rafters. "Christ, Finn, she has ye there. I like her. Can we keep her?"

"Move yer boots, Douglas," Finn growled, his temper flaring for no damn reason at all.

By the time they resumed their travel, it felt like the longest day of his life. The storm had left the air crisp and biting, the sky like crushed velvet beneath the pale sunlight. Finn rode his great black stallion at the front of the small procession, his eyes scanning the ridges, his fingers resting casually on the hilt of his blade.

Douglas seemed determined to test his patience entirely. The man would not stop talking since they had left the inn. Claire and Molly were conversing easily with the old man-at-arms as he trotted his horse alongside the wooden frame.

"And ye say the Laird drank an entire cask of elderberry wine by himself?" Claire's voice carried clearly through the crisp air.

"Aye, Lady Claire!" Douglas yelled back cheerfully. "Two winters ago, when the frost closed the passes. He sat in the high hall, brooding like a gargoyle, swallowing pints until his eyes turned red. We thought he’d gone mad."