Page 34 of The Laird who Craved her

"And I am telling ye that yer eyes are failing," Elspeth shot back, snatching the thread away. "Ye are weaving a pattern that looks like a bruised cabbage."

Claire found herself smiling almost immediately. The sound of their bickering was surprisingly comforting. It felt…like home.

This feels like home,she realized, letting out a quiet breath.It is chaotic and loud, but it is entirely real.

Mrs. Campbell marched across the room with a wooden tray balanced on her hip. She stopped directly in front of Claire and Violet, shoving a large piece of warm, honey-soaked sweet bread into Claire’s hands.

"Eat that and sit before ye fall over from starvation, Lady Claire. Ye look as though a stiff wind might carry ye away to the sea."

"I assure ye, Mrs. Campbell, I am perfectly well," Claire protested weakly, though the sweet aroma of the bread made her mouth water.

"Eat," she repeated. "And ye too, Lady Violet. I willnae have the MacSween Laird marching down here claiming we starved his sister."

"I am terrified to refuse ye," Violet said, accepting a piece of bread with a gracious smile.

Mrs. Campbell nodded in satisfaction and bustled away toward the arguing grandmothers.

Claire sat on a low bench by the hearth, sipping her tea while Violet watched her carefully. Violet, sitting opposite on a stool, skillfully untangled dark blue thread. Claire knew her cousin would eventually corner her, as Violet could see through every polite mask she wore in London.

"Ye look happy," Violet observed casually.

Claire nearly choked on her hot tea. She coughed into her linen napkin, her eyes watering as she hastily set the cup down on the bench beside her.

"I daenae," Claire rasped, her cheeks flushing.

"Aye, ye do," Violet insisted. She did not even look up from her thread. "Ye have a very specific glow about ye this morning. It is quite sickening, truly."

"I am merely content," Claire defended herself, smoothing the skirts of her borrowed woolen gown. "And I have every reason to be. I received a letter from me father yesterday. Thankfully, he seems to have accepted me Highland fate. He believes the false betrothal is real, and he has abandoned his plans to marry me off to Lord Westerly. I am finally free of that terrible old man."

"A tremendous relief, I am sure," Violet agreed politely. "But relief doesnae make a woman blush every time she looks at a certain dark-haired Laird across the breakfast table."

"I daenae blush," Claire lied horribly.

But her mind betrayed her instantly. Unbidden, the memory of the previous day crashed over her. She felt the heavy, unyielding warmth of Finn's chest against her back. She felt the iron grip of his arm caging her against his thighs on the saddle.

Because every day I wake wanting to do things to ye I shouldnae.

His rough, gravelly voice echoed in her ears, sending a wicked, molten heat straight down her spine. The primal hunger in his confession had shattered her completely.He wants me.Her pulse was stumbling in her throat, yet she couldn't decide if that was a salvation or a death sentence.

Was this a genuine shift in his heart, or was he merely fighting the inconvenience of a woman who had disrupted his iron-clad control?

Violet leaned slightly closer, her blue eyes narrowing with predatory focus.

"Is there something ye arenae telling me?" Violet asked softly.

Heat rushed straight into Claire's cheeks, turning her skin a brilliant shade of crimson. She tried to look away, but Violet's gaze was absolute.

Violet’s eyes widened triumphantly. She dropped her thread into her lap. "Oh, God."

"There is nothing," Claire whispered frantically, glancing around the room to ensure no one was listening.

"Claire Abbot," Violet gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. "He kissed ye. Did he kiss ye?"

"Keep yer voice down!"

"He did!" Violet looked delighted. "The Devil of the North actually possesses a beating heart. I am astonished."

Before Claire could invent another desperate denial, a sudden commotion erupted across the room.