Page 35 of The Laird who Craved her

"If ye call me weaving a cabbage one more time, I will wrap this yarn around yer neck!" the first grandmother shouted.

The older woman beside her muttered something in rapid Gaelic. The weavers burst into laughter, echoing off the stone rafters. This distraction drew attention away from the two highborn cousins sitting by the fire.

"To be fair," Violet murmured quietly, picking up her thread once more. "Beatrice said the exact same things before Leo ruined her completely. She insisted it was just a political arrangement, right up until they were inseparable."

Claire snorted softly despite herself. "Finn isnae Leo, Vi. He is consumed by his duty. He told me himself that it was a mistake. He regrets it."

"Men always say it is a mistake when they realize they are losing control," Violet dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand. She tilted her head, her sharp gaze dropping to Claire’s hands resting in her lap. "Is that nae Bea's ring ye’re wearing? The one from the bridal ritual at the loch?"

Claire looked down at the ancient, silver band resting on her right hand. She twisted it slowly around her finger.

"Aye," Claire admitted. "I found it in the heather that night."

"Is it burdening yer finger then?" Violet asked, a teasing lilt in her voice. "Are ye feeling the pressure of destiny pressing down upon ye?"

"It is just a ring, Violet. It doesnae burden me at all," Claire said, trying to sound as rational as possible. "Stop this foolishness. I am just relieved. I am nae marrying that horrible old man in London. That is the only reason I am smiling."

"If ye say so," Violet hummed, though she clearly did not believe a single word.

Claire looked around, taking in the golden light, the warmth radiating from the hearths, the women’s shared laughter, and the deep, profound sense of community. It was a harsh life in these mountains, but it was incredibly rich.

She touched the silver ring on her finger.

I never thought I would find a place where I truly fit,she thought quietly.I spent me entire life molding meself to please London society. Yet here, surrounded by mud and wild winds, I feel myself.

I am finding myself, but I am not certain if this version of me is a woman who can survive the man who keeps me here.

"Perhaps someday we will find our own happiness," Claire whispered softly, looking back at her cousin. A small, teasing smile appeared on her lips. "As our Leo did with Bea."

Violet smiled back, a genuine, warm expression that softened her sharp features. "I certainly hope so, Claire."

The heavy oak door of the weaving room suddenly creaked open.

The rhythmic clacking of the looms slowed instantly. The laughter tapered off into respectful murmurs as Finn MacRae stepped into the room.

He looked immense, with a doorway barely accommodating his broad shoulders. His dark leather doublet, sword on his hip, and black hair pushed back emphasized his fierce appearance. Sunlight highlighted the scar on his cheekbone, emphasizing his dangerous warlord look.

Douglas walked half a step behind him, carrying a large ledger book.

"Mrs. Campbell," Finn’s deep voice rolled through the room, commanding absolute attention. "I need the inventory for the southern grain store. Douglas says the numbers are short."

"They are nae short, me Laird, Douglas simply cannae count past ten," Mrs. Campbell retorted, wiping her hands on her apron as she marched toward them.

The women in the room chuckled softly. Finn did not smile, but the tension in his broad shoulders eased slightly at the housekeeper's reprimand.

Claire froze on her bench, her teacup suddenly feeling incredibly heavy in her hands.

Look away,she ordered herself fiercely.Daenae look at him.

But it was impossible. Finn’s green eyes swept across the room while Mrs. Campbell scolded Douglas. His gaze drifted past the looms, past the sleeping children, until it landed squarely on the corner by the hearth.

The moment their eyes met, the rest of the busy, noisy room seemed to completely vanish.

Claire’s breath hitched. The physical reaction was immediate and violently intense. The memory of his mouth brushing against her ear on the horse ride came rushing back, sending a heavy, sweet ache pooling low in her stomach.

Finn went perfectly still. His jaw locked tightly. He stared at her, his emerald eyes turning a shade darker, completely dilated. He did not look away. He looked at her mouth, then at the pulsebeating frantically at the base of her throat, before his gaze dragged slowly back up to her eyes.

"Me Laird?" Douglas prompted, waving the ledger book slightly.