Page 56 of The Laird who Craved her

"Enough."

The word came out low, barely more than breath, but it dropped over the table like a dropped blade, and Claire's laugh died in her throat.

"Finn?" She turned to him, startled.

He stood. The heavy chair scraped hard against the stone floor, loud enough to turn heads three tables down.

"Me Laird?" Douglas asked, setting down his knife, sensing the shift in the air before he understood it.

Claire's stomach dropped as she took in the stillness of him, the way every line of his body had gone taut and controlled, a man holding something back by sheer force.

"We've perimeter defenses to see to," Finn said, his voice giving away nothing at all.

"Now?" Douglas frowned. "In this weather, in the dark?"

"Now." No room in it to argue.

He gave a short nod to his senior men and turned, not once looking down at her, and walked the length of the hall with his boots striking hard against the stone.

Ewan glanced between Claire's face and Finn's retreating back, understanding dawning slowly. "Ah. Everythin' said in good faith, me lady. I meant nay disrespect to yer laird."

"I ken," Claire said quietly, watching Finn's back. "Ye did nothin' wrong."

"He's an intense man, that one."

"He is." She felt the sudden cold at her side where his warmth had been a moment before.

Finn shoved the oak doors open and was gone, out into the corridor, without another word.

"Will ye still teach me the fiddle?" Ewan asked gently, trying to draw her back.

"Perhaps another time." Whatever joy had been in her voice a minute ago had gone out of it.

"As ye wish, me lady." He gave her the space to sit with it.

Claire stared at the empty chair beside her, hands twisting in her lap, while the noise of the hall slowly climbed back to its usual roar around her.

Why didhe stormoff like that?She turned the moment over and over, searching for what she might have done, and came up with nothing at all.Perhaps that’s simply how lairds behavewhen their allies come calling.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The doors shut behind her, cutting off Ewan's laughter and the warm noise of the hall, but the corridor gave her no peace at all. She rounded the corner still burning, and a shadow peeled itself off the wall in front of her.

Finn. Blocking the passage, arms crossed, rain still darkening the shoulders of his shirt.

"Ye're blockin' the passage, Finn," she said.

"Ye should be in the hall with yer new admirer."

"I was in the hall." She kept walking straight at him, refusing to slow. "Until ye stood up without a word and walked out into a storm. I dinnae even ken what I did."

"I was securing the perimeter."

"Ye left without a word." She stopped a breath from his chest, chin tipped up. "The least ye owe me is an explanation. Now move."

He didn't. His eyes held hers, bright and furious in the dim torchlight, and something in her chest tightened at the sheer nearness of him, even now, even angry.

"Ye invite allied men into your home," she said, "seat me beside ye at yer table, and then storm off without so much as a word to me."