Page 4 of Ruined By the Ruthless Highlander
Marian wanted to protest, but the rain was getting heavier, and she needed the dispute resolved as soon as possible. Besides, there was a sharp sword waiting to slice her throat open at any moment.
One wrong move, and he’ll kill me.
“It is just… paper!” she stuttered. “A summary of the deed to the castle and parts of the MacLeod lands. To prove my inheritance.”
A few of his men burst into laughter, but she ignored them, unfolding the deed as carefully as she could, even in the rain.
“Yer inheritance,” the Highlander repeated, his tone dripping with amusement. “And who are ye?”
Marian raised her voice so it carried clearly across the courtyard, holding out her copy of the deed for him to read.
“I am Lady Marian Whitcombe,” she announced, holding her head high. “Daughter of Lord George Whitcombe and Juliet Norton, and rightful heir to the late Lord George Whitcombe, my father, who inherited this estate from his late grandmother, Lady MacLeod. The deceased?—”
“Laird.”
Marian blinked once. The interruption had been so sudden and so rude that she almost didn’t catch it.
“Excuse me?” she sputtered.
The Highlander lowered his sword slightly, rain dripping from the tip.
“Laird MacLeod,” he repeated slowly, staring at her like she was supposed to know what that meant.
Marian stared back at him, confused. “No, sir. You must have misheard me. I said, Lady MacLeod. My great-grandmother, bless her soul. She passed before I was born, but she was?—”
“Laird MacLeod,” the Highlander interrupted her again, this time pointing toward himself with his free hand.
The realization slowly dawned on her.
“You are… No… That cannot be. MacLeod lands have been without a laird for months now, and the issue of the inheritance…” she trailed off as her mind scrambled to make sense of the situation.
The Highlander stared at her as if she had lost her senses, his lips curling into a faint, humorless smile.
One of his men said something in Gaelic, which made the others break out in more laughter.
“English colors in Glen Carrick,” another man jested. Her face must have turned red because he pointed at her, snorting. “Yer faither must be rollin’ in his grave!”
Marian swallowed. She couldn’t let them see how hard the words hit her.
Her father was the most important person to her, dead or alive. And she would fight for his name by claiming his inheritance for herself, not by giving in to the crude teasing of Highlanders.
I cannot back down.
“My Lady.” Lilly gently tugged at her sleeve. “Perhaps… perhaps we should return to London for now. We can come back with your uncle and some of our own men,” she whispered shakily, her eyes fearfully scanning the fierce Highlander and his men. “You are but one lady, and these men…”
“No, Lilly.” Marian turned to her. “I do not need anyone’s help in claiming my father’s inheritance. It is my duty.”
Laird MacLeod raised his hand, and his men fell silent.
He dismounted his golden horse in one swift movement, his dark eyes fixed on her. His boots struck the wet ground with a heavythud,echoing across the courtyard.
He approached her slowly, cornering her like a predator did its prey.
Marian did not step back. She held Lilly’s hand and turned to face him, keeping her gaze on his. She stood straight against the strong Highland wind, even as her maid shrank beside her.
Her skirt snapped at her ankles. The rain whipped harshly at her face, dripping off her chestnut-brown hair. And yet she did not move. She did not lower her gaze.
Laird MacLeod’s frown deepened. His eyes flicked briefly to her soaked skirts before he looked away. Marian could see the veins in his temples bulge as he clenched his jaw.
