Page 25 of The Laird who Craved her

The memory of it all was enough to render her breathless, as if he had stolen more than just a kiss.

She had been raised in the finest drawing rooms of London, taught to maintain absolute composure, yet one kiss from a Highland warlord had shattered her.

"Ye’re flushed," Molly declared, her worry shifting into a gentle, protective suspicion as she examined Claire’s rosy cheeks. "Did somethin’ happen?"

"Nay, Molly, absolutely nothing happened," Claire lied smoothly, though her voice lacked its usual sharp edge. She walked straight past the maid toward her chambers. "I only went out to the battlements to catch some fresh air. The great hall was simply too warm."

"Fresh air?" Molly fretted, turning on her heel to follow her mistress closely. "It is practically a gale out there! Ye’ll catch a chill in yer lungs, and then what will I do with ye? Ye must get into the warm water before the frost settles into yer bones."

"I am going, Molly," Claire warned, quickening her pace. "But the bath will grow cold if ye spend the rest of the night lecturing me."

"That is exactly what I have been trying to tell ye," Molly said with an affectionate sigh.

The copper tub sat in the center of the room, sending thick plumes of lavender-scented steam into the air. Claire began fumbling with the laces of her bodice. She felt an overwhelming need to wash away the memory of the storm, to scrub her skinuntil she stopped feeling the weight of his chest pressing against her.

"Let me help ye, before ye tangle the laces," Molly murmured softly, and expertly undid the ties. "Ye are safe here, Claire. Whatever it is that has ye so rattled, it cannae reach ye in this room."

But the danger isnae outside the door. The danger is inside me own head. I provoked him. He warned me nae to play games, and challenged him. And the worst part is... I wanted him to do it.

Finn returned to his study with the taste of Claire still in his mouth.

He stalked through the corridors, his dark cloak billowing behind him like a physical manifestation of his foul mood. The moment the heavy oak door of his private study shut behind him, Finn braced both of his hands against the edge of his desk.

Christ and all Saints preserve me.What is wrong with me?

He squeezed his eyes shut, but the darkness only brought her image into sharper, more agonizing clarity. He could feel the soft press of her lips yielding beneath his.

He could feel the desperate way her hands had tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. She had tasted so sweet.

I am the Laird of Clan MacRae.I have spent years carving a stronghold out of these unforgiving mountains through unyielding discipline. I daenae lose me temper. I daenae lose me focus. And false or not, I absolutely daenae drag me betrothed into the shadows of a balcony and devour her like a starving beast.

He walked over to the side table and grabbed a crystal decanter of dark amber whiskey. He poured a heavy measure into a glass. The liquor burned a fiery trail down his throat, but it did not burn away the memory of her.

The door creaked open.

Finn set the glass down and smoothed his expressionless mask back into place. He adjusted the collar of his leather doublet, ensuring his breathing was perfectly level before he turned around.

Douglas stepped into the study, pulling the door shut behind him.

"We expect ye back downstairs," Douglas said carefully, breaking the heavy silence. "The music has stopped, and the men are finishing their ale. It is time for the Laird to dismiss the hall."

Finn straightened, lacing his hands behind his back. “Aye. I will be down in a moment."

He meant to sound authoritative, but his voice came out rougher than usual.

Douglas crossed his arms, studying Finn with a piercing gaze that had seen him through a hundred battles.

"Ye look miserable," Douglas observed bluntly.

Finn shot his friend a warning glare that usually sent men scrambling for apologies. "I am tired, Douglas. It has been a long week. Managing the border patrols, dealing with the council, and keeping our 'guest' from causing trouble."

Douglas snorted, "Aye, well. Marriage will do that to a man."

"It isnae a marriage, Douglas. Need I remind ye? It is a ruse.”

"Nae yet, it isnae," Douglas corrected dryly, turning his back to the fire to face his Laird. He offered a knowing smirk. "Ye’ll get used to it. The noise, the arguing, the way they look at ye when ye act like a stubborn mule. Janet drove me mad the first year. Now I cannae sleep if she isn't snoring beside me."

Finn almost laughed at that.