Page 17 of The Laird who Craved her

Oh, god. Daenae cry. Not in front of the brute. But her arms feel just like me mother’s used to when the winters got too heavy.

"Janet, let the lass draw breath," Douglas said, walking up behind them with a weary chuckle.

The woman, Janet, pulled back, giving Douglas a sharp swat on his leather-clad shoulder. "And ye! Letting a highborn lady be dragged through the bogs by those black-hearted raiders! If I find out ye let her carriage go near the low road during a gale, Douglas, I’ll feed yer favorite boots to the pigs."

"It wasnae me fault, woman!" Douglas protested, raising his hands defensively while several nearby clansmen began to snicker. "The raiders were waiting in the ditch! Ask the Laird!"

Janet turned a critical eye on Finn, who was currently unbuckling his wet leather cloak. "Aye, and he looks just as sour as usual. Finn MacRae, ye bring a fine lady, and ye daenae even offer her a hot brick for her feet? Where are yer manners?"

"She doesnae want a brick, Janet," Finn rumbled, his deep voice sliding across Claire's nerve endings like a rough stone. "She wants a bath. And a quiet room."

"I can speak for me self, Laird MacRae," Claire shot back, stepping out from behind Janet’s protective bulk. She leveled a cool look at him, her gray eyes flashing in the firelight. "Though for once, he is correct. A bath would be lovely. Preferably one that doesnae involve river water."

Janet’s eyes darted between Claire and Finn, a sudden, knowing spark lighting up her hazel gaze. "Oh, ho. The rumors travel fast, but the reality is far more interesting. Come along, sweet lass, and bring yer maid too. We’ll get ye out of those wet clothes before the old men in the corner chew off their tongues staring at ye."

Claire glanced toward the far end of the hall and felt her stomach drop.

Sitting near the high table were four elderly men wrapped in heavy tartans, their white heads huddled together like ancient crows. The council. Word of Finn’s supposed betrothal had clearly outrun their own horses. They weren't just waiting; they were inspecting.

"Are those the gentlemen I am supposed to impress?" Claire whispered to Janet as they began walking toward the stone staircase.

"Gentlemen?" Janet snorted loudly. "Lass, that’s Old Morris and his brothers. They arenae gentlemen. They are just a collection of ancient aches and bad opinions. Ignore them until ye’ve had some hot broth."

An hour later, Claire sat cross-legged on a large, fur-lined bench in her new chambers, feeling human for the first time all day. The copper tub in the corner was still steaming, the scent of dried meadowsweet filling the room. She wore a borrowed kirtle of soft green wool, far too large for her, but warm enough to thaw her bones.

The heavy oak door rattled, and Finn stepped inside without knocking.

Claire immediately sat up straight, her fingers gripping the fur trim of the bench. "In London, a gentleman knocks before entering a lady's bedchamber, Laird MacRae."

"This isnae London," Finn said, repeating his favorite phrase as he closed the door behind him. He had changed into a dry, dark gray tunic, his black hair still damp from his own wash. He didn't look like an accountant now; he looked entirely like a king returning to his mountain stronghold. He walked over to the small table near the hearth, setting down a silver goblet and a small wooden bowl. "Janet sent this. Spiced wine and venison stew. Eat."

"I am nae hungry," Claire said defiantly, though her stomach chose that exact moment to let out a loud, traitorous growl.

Finn’s mouth twitched, that almost-smile breaking his stony expression. "Yer belly is a worse liar than yer tongue, Lady Claire."

Blast him and his green eyes.

Claire swung her legs off the bench and marched over to the table, her bare feet hitting the warm stone floorboards. She snatched up the silver goblet, taking a deep gulp of the spiced wine. It warmed her throat instantly, but as she set the goblet down, she realized Finn hadn't moved. He was standing less than a foot away, watching her every movement with an intensity that made the skin on her bare arms prickle.

"Why are ye staring at me like that?" she demanded, her voice dropping.

"The council is waiting downstairs," Finn said, his gaze drifting from her eyes down to the loose neckline of the green wool kirtle, where the fabric slipped slightly, revealing the pale slope of her collarbone. "They have already called a formal session. They want to see the woman who claimed me name."

"Then let us go down and get it over with," Claire said, reaching for her cloak on the chair.

Finn’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around her forearm. His grip wasn't painful, but it was absolute. The heat of his palm seared through the wool of her sleeve, sending an intoxicating shiver down her spine. Claire’s breath caught in her throat as she looked into his dark emerald eyes.

"Ye stay behind me when we enter," his voice dropping into a low, possessive murmur. "Old Morris is going to press for details. Ye will let me do the talking, do ye understand?"

Claire tried to pull her arm back, but the movement only brought her closer to his broad chest. She held his gaze a moment longer, then let her shoulders drop. “Fine. I will let ye speak first. But if they press me directly, Finn, I willnae sit there mute like a doll.”

"Lass, ye daenae understand the danger here," Finn said, his head tilting down, his breath brushing warm against her temple. "Every eye in that hall is looking for a reason to doubt this match. If they think we are playing a game, they will tear us apart. Ye belong to me for the next three weeks, Claire. Every man in this valley has to believe that."

He’s doing it for the show, Claire thought, a sudden, bitter pang twisting in her chest even as her heart hammered wildly against her ribs.

He doesn't see me. He just sees a shield to convince his council. He’s caging me just like me father did.

"I am perfectly capable of playing me part, Laird MacRae," she whispered, her gray eyes narrowing as she forced herself to ignore the wicked, tingling heat pooling low in her belly from his touch. "Now release me arm."