Page 2 of The Laird who Craved her

Douglas was still watching him, his arms remaining clamped across his chest, his expression entirely unyielding.

"I have more important matters than marriage," Finn said, "as ye can see."

Douglas swore beneath his breath. The sound carried anyway, sharp as the wind. "More important than securin' Clan MacRae?"

Finn turned then. Let Douglas see his eyes. They were a cold, piercing green, mirroring the heavy clouds that hung over the peaks of the glen, dark with the promise of a storm.

"Everything I do," he said, voice low, "is for Clan MacRae."

"Aye." Douglas did not flinch. He never did. That was why Finn kept him close. He was the only man in the entire territory who looked at the feared Laird of the MacRaes and spoke the absolute truth without a flicker of hesitation. "And what happens when ye die?"

The words hung between them.

Finn's jaw tightened. "I've held this clan together for ten years."

"Nearly destroyed yerself doin' it." Douglas stepped closer, lowering his voice so the men working nearby would not hear. He gestured with a calloused hand toward the line of the outer gate. "The MacRaes need stability, Finn. They need an heir. They need protection, and ye ken this."

Finn looked away.

Marriage.

The word tasted like ash in his mouth.

He wanted none of it. No wife watching him across the supper table with cautious eyes, wondering if he would return from the next skirmish alive. No soft-handed noblewoman shivering in his cold castle while enemies circled his gates, weeping for the comforts of the south. No… h eir.

The thought of a child made something in his chest tighten. A child meant someone to lose. Someone the enemy could reach. A vulnerability that a Laird could not afford when the survival of hundreds rested on his blade.

I willnae bury a wife. I willnae bury a child.

Finn drew a breath, letting the cold fill his lungs until the burning in his chest matched the tension in his limbs.

"I will never marry," he said flatly. "Ye ken this."

Douglas's expression did not change. He had heard this before. They both had. Every season, the argument returned, growing heavier with each passing year that left Finn's high halls empty of life.

"I'll continue doin' what I've always done," Finn continued. "Fight for me people. Protect them. Feed them." He swept an arm toward the field, the half-built walls, the men who wouldfollow him into hell if he asked. "What more do they want from me?"

Douglas stared at him.

For a long moment, the only sounds were the wind, the hammers, and the distant shout of a man calling for more stone from the quarry carts.

Then Douglas spoke.

"They want hope."

Finn stilled.

"They want to look at their Laird," Douglas said quietly, "and see a future. Nae just another battle. Nae just survivin' until next winter. A future." He gestured toward the castle, barely visible through the gray light, its ancient stone towers rising from the crag like a natural extension of the rock itself. "The clans already whisper ye are weak because ye have nay heir. Ye think I enjoy tellin' ye this? The MacRaes gather strength every season. They watch us. They wait. And if somethin' happens to ye tomorrow?"

"Nothin' will happen."

"Ye cannae promise that." Douglas's voice rose, then dropped again as a few men glanced their way, their tools pausing for a split second before resuming their rhythm. "If somethin' happens to ye tomorrow, there will be bloodshed over who rulesthis clan. Ye ken it as well as I do. The cousins will tear the estate apart piece by piece, and the people will pay the price."

Finn's hands curled into fists at his sides. The leather of his gloves creaked against the strain.

"I said enough."

But Douglas did not stop. He stepped directly into Finn's path, forcing the taller man to look down at him.