Page 125 of Ruined By the Ruthless Highlander
Their eyes lingered on the blood at her temple, the way his tunic wrapped around her, and her face—a peaceful contrast to everything else. They bent their heads as he passed, but their murmurs soon picked up as they lifted their heads again, craning their necks with curiosity.
“’Tis her,” one of the men said a touch too loudly, and the others nodded in agreement.
A few of them leaned closer, not daring to raise their voices further.
“Aye. The English lass from London… the one with the claim.”
“She spoke like she had nay fear at all,” another murmured, as though recalling it only now.
A wave of hushed whispers followed, before a woman asked softly from behind, “What has happened to her?”
A maid near the steps clasped her hands together, her gaze fixed on Marian’s still form as though struggling to reconcile her peaceful face with her bloodstained dress.
Just then, Lilly burst out through the castle door, wrenching free of Mrs. Campbell’s grasp.
“My Lady,” she sobbed loudly, throwing herself at Lachlan’s feet and blocking his path. “Forgive me, my Lady. I have failed you.”
Mrs. Campbell rushed forward, pulling her up from the ground as Marian stirred lightly in Lachlan’s arms.
His eyebrows drew together, slightly irritated that the noise would wake Marian before they were inside the castle.
“Silence.” The command was quiet but sharp enough to still every man present. “Lady Marian is injured,” he added, glancing at Lilly. “But she is well.”
The maid’s eyes widened instantly, relief flashing across her face as she released a heavy breath.
Lachlan turned away from her. “Her chambers arenae fit to receive her,” he said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “She will stay in mine until they are restored.”
There was to be no discussion about it.
His eyes fell on Mrs. Campbell, and she nodded immediately, dragging Lilly along as she directed the others away from the corridors.
Lachlan did not slow down as he carried Marian through the castle doors, but his steps were careful as he ascended the stairs with her in his arms.
Eventually, he stepped into his bedchamber, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
Marian’s eyes fluttered open as her back met a soft mattress.
The warmth of the room enveloped her, contrasting sharply with the biting cold that had whipped at her face on the ride back to Glen Carrick.
The last thing she remembered was Lachlan’s voice as he had muttered soothing words in Gaelic that she did not understand.
Mo chridhe.
She had kept the word in her heart and remembered it now, exhaling softly.
She blinked, her vision blurring slightly at the edges.
Where am I?
The room around her looked unfamiliar, and she knew immediately that it was not her chamber. Her gaze drifted across the stone walls to the hearth, where the flames danced lazily.
Her ears caught the low whistle of the breeze that usually came from the ridges along the glen, and she sighed in relief.
Glen Carrick.
She shifted slightly, feeling the thick pile of soft fur beneath her. A shadow moved at the edge of her vision, and she turned her head slightly, pain flaring instantly at her temple.
She winced. Her hand flew to the spot where she had been bleeding, and the memories immediately came back to her.
