Page 11 of The Laird who Craved her

"And once me enemies and neighboring clans hear it," Finn said, his deep voice slicing through the crackle of the hearth, "the questions will begin. They will look for the weakness in it. They will wonder what kind of alliance I am building in secret."

Claire stared at him, her mind frantically trying to find a loophole in his logic.

Think, Claire, think. There has to be a way out of this. I cannae have traded one cage for another.

"Then tell them the truth. Tell them I am a liar. Tell them I am a madwoman who lost her wits in the storm."

“I cannae do this. I daenae even ken ye, Laird MacRae. Ye are a stranger with a sword and a temper, and ye expect me to simply... belong to ye for three weeks because it suits yer council? Me father wouldnae allow it even if I begged him. He has already promised me to another man."

He took a slow step toward her, the sheer size of him casting a long shadow over her sodden blue silk gown.

"Worse still," Finn continued, his jaw tightening as he spoke the words, "me own council has already begun pressuring me. They have been baying at me heels for months to marry, to secure the succession, to give the clan an heir before our enemies challenge the MacRae leadership openly. They want a bride. And today, in front of witnesses, ye stood up and declared yerself as mine."

Claire felt a cold spike of indignation pierce through her panic. She took a sharp step back, her wet heels clicking against the floorboards. "Oh, how incredibly convenient for ye! So I am to be the sacrificial lamb to quiet yer old men by the fire? I willnae do it. I willnae bind me life to another arrangement designed by men who are simply seeking control over me future."

"Ye think this is an arrangement of me design?" Finn let out a short, harsh sound that was entirely devoid of humor. "Lass, an hour ago I was inspecting a stone wall. Now I am trapped in an inn with a Duke's daughter who has managed to compromise herself and me with a single sentence."

"I was saving me life!"

"And ye destroyed yer reputation to do it," Finn countered, his voice dropping into a low, deadly serious register. He stepped closer, cornering her with the brutal truth she already knew deep down, the one she had been trying to outrun since she read her father's letter.

"Let us look at the reality of it, Lady Claire. Ye have been traveling through the Highlands with a small guard. Ye fled into the forest. Ye have now spent hours alone in an isolated inn with me, after publicly claiming me as yer man before armed raiders."

He paused, letting the silence stretch between them until the only sound was the howling wind against the shutters.

"London society will devour yer reputation alive," he said flatly. "They will tear ye apart before ye even set foot in the city."

Claire went entirely rigid, her breath catching painfully in her throat.

God, he’s right. He’s completely right.

A sick, hollow feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. She could already hear the vicious whispers in the drawing rooms of Mayfair.

She could see the judgmental glares of the matrons, the sneers of her former acquaintances. A woman who spent a night in the Highlands with Finn MacRae would be ruined. There would be no recovering from a scandal of this magnitude.

But it was not only the loss of her virtue that terrified her. It was the realization of what would happen next.

There will be no escaping the old Lord waiting for me in England now. None at all.

If she returned to London with a blackened name, her father would not listen to her pleas. He would not have a change of heart. If anything, the Duke would be ecstatic. To avoid the lingering stain of the scandal, her father would marry her off in a heartbeat to the highest bidder who would still take her. He would force her down the aisle toward Lord Westerly before the ink on the gossip rags could even dry.

She thought of that old widower. A man old enough to be her grandfather, looking at her with those cold, calculating eyes, viewing her as nothing more than a piece of property to manage.

A visible shiver of pure disgust rippled through Claire’s frame.

"The truth," Claire said quietly, her voice losing its sharp edge as she turned away from him, walking toward the storm-dark windows, "is that the fate awaiting me in London is horrible. It is a slow death in a gilded cage."

Finn watched her back, his expression softening by a fraction of an inch, though his posture remained rigid. "Then this serves us both."

Claire walked farther toward the windows, pretending to study the heavy sheets of rain lashing against the glass, though she could see nothing but her own pale reflection. Her thoughts were racing wildly, a chaotic blur of strategies and desperate gambles.

I have to think. I have to protect myself. If I am going to play this game, I must dictate the rules. I will not be a pawn for his council, and I certainly will not let him think he owns me.

She took a deep, steadying breath, smoothing down the damp velvet of her cloak, and finally turned back toward him. Her eyes were bright with a sudden, fierce resolve.

"But I have one condition," she announced firmly.

Finn folded his massive arms slowly across his broad chest, leaning back slightly against the edge of the heavy oak table. A dark eyebrow drifted upward. "A condition? The lady in distress is now dictating terms to the Laird?"