Page 53 of Ruined By the Ruthless Highlander
In the flesh.
Lachlan’s jaw clenched.
After the meeting ended, a few of the elderly clansmen requested a private audience with Marian, but she had already slipped out of the hall.
He set out to look for her as soon as he could, telling himself that it was only to finish what had been started in the hall. She had walked away from a matter that concerned his entire clan, and he would not have her slipping through his fingers whenever it suited her.
And yet, when he found her at the far end of the estate, he stopped dead in his tracks.
Marian was just a few paces away from him, walking ahead with her lips stretched into a grin. Her eyes were fixed on the ground, and she didn’t notice his presence.
Within a moment, Lachlan decided it was much worse that she was laughing alone with no one else around.
Is somethin’ wrong with the lass?
He had come out here for a confrontation. Or at least, that was what he told himself. But there was no hint of defiance or anger on her face, and that unsettled him.
His gaze dropped briefly, taking in the way the sun kissed her skin and the way her green dress complemented her complexion.
Her smile faltered once she looked up, and his heart sank with a strange feeling of disappointment.
Aye. There she is now.
His jaw tightened slightly as he took a few steps forward, stopping directly in front of her.
“Thought ye could run from me?” he said, his voice barely a murmur.
His eyes darkened with satisfaction as she raised her chin, her familiar defiance creeping back into her features.
“You’re insufferable,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.
Lachlan took a step closer, catching a whiff of her scent.
Has she been playin’ with flowers?
His eyes narrowed at her frown, and yet a small smile tugged at his lips.
“Aye,” he said, leaning in slightly despite himself. “But ye seem to like it, me Lady,” he teased, his voice lowering with every word. “’Tis why ye’re out here, smilin’ to yerself and thinkin’ of me.”
Marian scoffed, stepping back abruptly. Her cheeks reddened as she broke eye contact, looking everywhere but at his face.
“Why are ye here, me Laird?” she asked, her voice wavering slightly.
She didnae deny it.
Lachlan cleared his throat and straightened his back. “Ye left the meetin’ without me permission,” he said, his voice low and measured. “And I willnae have it.”
Marian tilted her head slightly, her eyebrow rising as she looked at him. “The meeting ended long before I left, my Laird. It is not a discussion that concerned me, as I did not understand a word of what was being said.”
“And yet, ye spoke in Gaelic,” he pointed out. His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes. “Ye daenae ken Gaelic.”
Marian’s lips pressed together. “No,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I do not understand Gaelic, and yet you surround me with it against my will.”
Lachlan’s expression hardened. “’Tis me land, Mairi. I speak me language, and I make the rules.”
“Do you?” Her tone was too soft. Too polite. “Because from where I stand, my Laird, you break them far more often than you care to admit.” She took a small step forward, closing the space she’d created earlier. “You forbid me from interfering in the castle’s affairs, yet you drag me into your meetings.”
Her eyes held his. “You agree that I am to remain your guest, yet you treat me as though I am nothing but an intruder, removing my blankets and ruining my breakfast.”
