Page 30 of The Laird who Craved her

"Ye impossible, reckless creature!" Violet exclaimed, her voice echoing loudly enough to make two nearby MacRae guards jump.

Before Claire could rub her stinging arm, Violet grabbed her and pulled her into a fierce hug. Tears of relief pricked her eyes as she hugged back. "Do ye have any idea what ye put us through?" Violet demanded, squeezing her tighter. "When yer letter arrived, Beatrice dropped a pitcher of wine, and Leo nearly attacked yer messenger!"

"I am sorry," Claire whispered, voice cracking. "I had no choice, Vi. I couldn't go back to London or marry that man."

Violet pulled back, looking her over—borrowed Highland gown, flushed cheeks, wild curls. "Well," Violet said, regaining composure, "ye look alive, maybe a little feral, but alive. I expected you in a dungeon, not thriving in the mud."

"It’s been... an eventful few days," Claire managed, wiping a tear with a laugh.

"I can imagine," Violet said, her eyes drifting to the courtyard.

Claire turned to see Finn walking with Douglas—muscular Highlanders, moving with predatory grace, stiffening the guards. Finn in leather, plaid, and heavy broadsword, looking like the Devil of the North—immense and dangerous. Claire’s pulse quickened as Finn’s gaze briefly met hers before settling on Violet.

"Laird MacRae, I presume," Violet said, her tone perfectly calm.

Finn stopped a few feet away, his expression an unreadable mask of stone. "Lady Violet. Welcome to Rosewood."

"Thank ye," Violet replied smoothly. She folded her gloved hands together in front of her cloak. "I bring greetings from me brother. I should also inform ye that Leo MacSween is currently deciding whether to murder ye personally for compromising his cousin."

A stunned, horrifying silence fell over the courtyard. Douglas choked on his own breath, his hand freezing on the hilt of hisdirk. Claire closed her eyes, bracing for the inevitable explosion of Finn's temper.

Instead, a low, deep sound rumbled from Finn’s chest.

It took Claire a full second to realize he was laughing. It wasn't a roar of amusement, but a dark, genuine chuckle that softened the harsh lines of his face entirely.

"He is welcome to try, Lady Violet," Finn said, a rare, breathtaking smile touching his lips. To Claire's complete astonishment, he bowed his head slightly toward her, gesturing toward the great hall. "But until he makes his decision, ye are me guest. Come inside out of the cold. Douglas will see to yer guards and yer horses."

Violet’s eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch in mild surprise, clearly having expected a far more barbaric reaction. She cast a sideways glance at Claire, a highly suspicious glint entering her blue eyes.

"He smiles," Violet whispered to Claire as they followed him. "They told me he was a monster who ate Englishmen for breakfast, and yet he smiles."

"Only when he is being threatened with murder, apparently," Claire muttered back.

Within half an hour, the great hall was transformed into a flurry of hospitality. Mrs. Campbell, the castle's sharp-tonguedbut nurturing housekeeper, had practically shoved a plate of steaming roasted fowl and hot bread into Violet’s hands. The fires blazed brightly, chasing the Highland chill from the walls.

Finn sat opposite them at the high table, placed on a raised dais that set them apart from the rowdy benches of the lower hall.

Douglas sat beside him, happily devouring a leg of mutton while Isla, his wife, poured fresh wine for the guests.

"So," Violet lowered her voice, elegantly slicing a piece of meat with her small eating dagger. "A false betrothal. I must admit, Laird MacRae, when Leo read Claire's letter he was surprised. He assumed ye were holding her for ransom."

"I have no need for MacSween gold," Finn answered evenly, his green eyes steady. "I offered yer cousin a shield against raiders. And in return, her presence quiets me own council. It is a mutually beneficial arrangement."

"Is it? And how long is this mutually beneficial arrangement meant to last? Because Leo is currently rallying a vanguard to march south and fetch her."

Finn’s jaw tightened. "She will leave when the roads are safe, and when the danger from Westerly’s raiders has completely passed. Nae a day sooner."

"I see," Violet mused, dabbing her lips with a linen napkin. "And ye intend to keep up this charade of a passionate romance untilthen? Tell me, Laird MacRae, how exactly do ye plan to convince yer fierce councilmen that ye are madly in love with me cousin? Ye hardly look the part of a lovestruck fool."

Douglas snorted loudly into his ale. Finn shot him a lethal glare before turning back to Violet.

"We manage," Finn said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that made the hair on Claire's arms stand up. His gaze drifted across the table, locking onto hers. "Lady Claire is a very... convincing woman."

"We simply act cordially in public," Claire interjected quickly, sitting up straighter and refusing to break eye contact with him. "It is a performance, Violet. Nothing more. We attend supper together, we smile at the elders, and then we go our separate ways. It is a very beneficial arrangement."

"Beneficial," Violet repeated, the word dripping with blatant disbelief. She looked at the heavy flush on Claire's neck, then looked at the way Finn’s large hand was resting on the table, his knuckles white with tension.

"Well," Violet said smoothly. "That is very reassuring to hear. Because if ye were mistreating her, I would have had to poison yer ale, and I hear yer housekeeper makes excellent stews that I should hate to miss."