Page 20 of The Laird who Craved her

Instead of moving away, Finn simply stopped.

With a practiced, easy reflex, his large, battle-scarred hand shot out, catching the little girl one-handed by her waist before she could fall face-first into his iron sword belt. He lifted her an inch off the floor, stabilizing her easily.

The enormous, battle-scarred Highlander calmly listened while the girl, entirely unbothered by his size, began to ramble excitedly, her small hands gesturing toward the stable yard.

"Me Laird! Me Laird! I found a bird’s nest near the stables! It has three tiny blue eggs inside, and the mother bird wentsquawkwhen I looked at her!"

Finn crouched slightly, bringing his massive frame down toward her level, his green eyes fixed on her tiny face with absolute, serious attention. "Did ye touch the eggs, Elspeth?"

"Nae! I just looked!" the girl chirped, nodding vigorously.

"Good," Finn said, his voice dropping into a low rumble that lacked any of its usual harshness. "The mother bird willnae comeback if ye leave yer scent on them. Keep a watchful eye from the doorway, but let them be. Understand?"

"Aye, me Laird!" Elspeth squealed, giving him a bright, gap-toothed grin before she snatched up her hoop and went laughing back toward her mother.

Finn rose to his full height, adjusting his plaid. He turned his head, finding Claire staring up at him, her gray eyes wide and remarkably soft, the defensive stiffness entirely gone from her shoulders. She looked at him as if she were seeing a different man.

"But yer clan is... wonderful," the words slipped out of her before she could stop them, her voice a quiet, breathless sound that cut right through the noise of the hall.

Finn felt a sudden, fierce warmth swell in his chest. He looked around the room, at the children, the old men, the roaring fires, and a deep sense of pride settled into his features.

"Everything here survives because we survive together, lass," he said softly, his gaze dropping back to her face. "The mountains arenae kind to those who stand alone."

"Aye! And they arenae kind to those who let the venison pie go cold either!" Douglas’s voice bellowed from the high table. The old warrior was already deep into his cups, his silver beard flecked with ale foam. "Sit down, Finn! Before Janet decides to give yer portion to the hounds!"

"If I give anyone’s portion to the hounds, Douglas, it’ll be yers," Janet shouted back, prompting a roar of laughter from the surrounding tables. "The lady looks like she hasn't eaten a real meal since she crossed the border. Sit, sweet lass, and ignore the old fool."

Finn led Claire to the high table, pulling out her heavy carved chair for her.

The gathering quickly turned into a celebratory feast. Plates of roasted root vegetables, thick barley bread, and rich, steaming venison pie were passed down the tables. In the center of the floor, a young man pulled out a set of bagpipes, joined by an older clansman with a fiddle. The lively strains of a traditional Highland reel began to echo off the stone walls.

Finn sat beside Claire, pretending to focus on his meat, but his eyes kept drifting back to her. There was a desperate, hungry look in her eyes, not for food, but for the unbridled joy of the people dancing. Her small fingers were unconsciously tapping a beat against the table.

She wanted to dance. He could see it in the way her lips parted, in the way her breath was faster.

"Ye want to dance," Finn stated bluntly, setting his goblet down.

Claire’s head snapped toward him, her cheeks warming with a fierce blush. "Nae. I daenae know yer steps, Laird MacRae. London dances are formal things. I would only make a fool of me self."

Finn noticed Old Morris watching them from the corner of his eye, his gaze calculating every interaction.We need to give them a show,Finn thought, but deep down, a far more dangerous, primal urge was clawing at his gut. He wanted an excuse to touch her.

Finn rose, extending his scarred hand down to her. "I’ll lead ye," he said, his voice dropping into a low command, his fingers wrapping firmly around hers and pulling her up. "Just follow me feet, lass. And try nae to step on me boots; the leather is fresh."

The surrounding clansmen cheered, parting for them.

The music turned into a deeper, heavier rhythm. He stepped directly into her space, caging her from the rest of the room.

As he placed his palm against the small of her waist, Finn’s breath caught in his throat. Through her dress, he could feel the supple curve of her lower back. Claire let out a sharp gasp, her gray eyes widening as her hand flattened against his broad. He could feel her heart hammering against his ribs, her entire body going rigid.

"I told ye," his voice a rough, gravelly whisper as he looked down at her parted lips. "I have ye.”

He took the first step, guiding her into the rhythm of the dance. Claire was hesitant at first, her boots catching on her skirts, but Finn didn't let her fall. His grip on her waist tightened, his other hand capturing her slender fingers, lifting them. Hemoved her with ease, his body communicating every turn before it happened.

Within a minute, the stiffness melted away. Claire found the beat, her natural Highland blood taking over as she began to spin and move. A genuine laugh escaped her lips.

"Look at them!" Douglas yelled from the high table, slamming his horn down. "The Laird’s found a woman who can out-step him!"

"Keep yer mouth shut, Douglas, before I come over there and shut it for ye!" Finn shouted over his shoulder.