Page 31 of The Laird who Craved her

Douglas burst into a booming roar of laughter, slamming his hand against the table. "By the saints, Finn! The MacSweenwomen are terrifying! Ye should have warned me to wear me armor to supper!"

Douglas faced Violet, a reluctant respect shining in his eyes as he looked at Violet. "Ye are welcome to try the ale, Lady Violet. Though I warn ye, I have a very strong constitution."

"We shall see," Violet countered playfully.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Claire spent all night awake, replaying the previous day's events in an endless loop: Finn’s coldness, Violet’s sudden arrival, and Finn’s intense gaze across the table, as if she were a puzzle he wanted to solve but looked away when she met his eyes.

"If ye continue staring at that porridge as though it personally offended ye, I shall have to ask Mrs. Campbell to cook it again," Violet announced breezily, taking the seat beside Claire at the high table.

Violet looked radiant, her dark hair pinned back flawlessly, her blue velvet day gown a stark contrast to the rough-hewn timber of the hall. She began spreading thick, sweet butter over a piece of warm crust.

"I am nae hungry, Vi," Claire murmured, finally pushing the bowl away.

"Ye are nervous," Violet corrected, taking a delicate bite of her bread. "Which is unnecessary. Leo’s men are camped just beyond the perimeter, ye are perfectly safe, and yer imposing Laird hasnae stopped glowering at me since he walked into the hall."

Claire looked up. Finn was striding toward the high table, flanked as always by Douglas.

Finn had not slept either. Exhaustion marked his sharp face, shadows under his green eyes visible in the morning light. He wore a dark leather doublet, heavy plaid, and his broadsword strapped to his hip, as if ready for battle.

"Good morning, Laird MacRae," Violet greeted cheerfully as he sat opposite them. "I trust ye slept well?"

"I slept as well as a man can when his keep is suddenly occupied by MacSween guards," Finn replied, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that sent an entirely unwanted shiver down Claire’s spine. He reached for a pitcher of ale, filling his horn. "To what do we owe the pleasure of yer bright mood this morning, Lady Violet?"

"I require fresh air," Violet stated simply, folding her hands on the table. "The walls of this fortress are terribly thick, and the fires are too warm. I wish to ride out and see these glens ye MacRaes boast so much about."

Finn’s jaw tightened instantly. The very air around him seemed to harden. "That is highly ill-advised. The roads are still muddyfrom the storms, and though the raiders have scattered, the borders are nae secure."

"I am nae asking to ride to the borders," Violet reasoned, tilting her head. "A short ride through the immediate glens. Surely ye and yer men can manage to keep two women safe for an hour in the daylight? Unless the great Devil of the North is frightened of a bit of mud?"

Douglas, who had just sat down with a plate piled impossibly high with roasted meats, choked violently on a piece of sausage. He pounded his fist against his chest, his face turning a brilliant shade of purple.

"By the saints, Finn," Douglas wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. "I like her. I truly do. Ye cannae argue with a woman who threatens yer pride over a morning ride."

"Keep yer mouth closed, Douglas," Finn growled.

He looked at Claire. His green eyes swept over her pale cheeks, the dark circles beneath her eyes, and the rigid tension in her shoulders.

Daenae look at me like that, Claire thought, lifting her chin and meeting his gaze squarely.Like ye can see straight through me.

A muscle feathered along Finn’s jawline. He let out a slow, heavy breath, leaning back in his chair.

"A short ride," Finn conceded. "Keep to the inner ridge. Douglas and I will ride with ye. No one else. I willnae have this look like a marching army."

"Splendid," Violet declared, rising gracefully. "I shall fetch me riding cloak. Claire, do try to find some color for yer cheeks before we leave. Ye look like a ghost."

An hour later, the small party rode out through the iron gates of Rosewood Castle.

The Highland morning was breathtaking. The heavy storm clouds had finally broken, allowing brilliant sunlight to spill across the rugged peaks. The light cast long shadows over the deep green valleys, illuminating the wet heather until it sparkled like scattered jewels.

Claire rode a steady gray mare, her heavy crimson cloak draped warmly over her shoulders. Violet rode beside her on a fine chestnut gelding, looking entirely in her element, chattering animatedly about the scenery. Ahead of them, Finn and Douglas led the way. Finn sat atop his massive black warhorse, his dark plaid snapping in the crisp wind, his posture perfectly straight and commanding.

The journey began peacefully enough. The fresh, biting air worked wonders on Claire’s frayed nerves, clearing the stifling fog from her mind.

"Look at him," Violet murmured to Claire. She nodded toward Finn’s broad back. "He rides as if he expects an assassin to jump out from behind every single boulder."

"Finn carries the weight of the entire clan on his shoulders," Claire replied softly. "He doesnae ken how to rest. He is constantly watching the horizon."