Page 67 of The Laird who Craved her

Finn stepped back, his hand falling from her waist. Without another word, he turned and left. The latch clicked softly behind him.

Claire did not turn, standing exactly where Finn had left her, her forehead still bowed as though his remained against hers.The chamber felt unbearably quiet, his lingering warmth already fading from the freezing air.

A tear slipped silently down her cheek, and she brushed it away before another could follow.

"Me lady?" Molly's voice called out gently as the door opened once more.

When Claire did not answer, the older woman entered quietly, closing the door behind her and taking one look at Claire's slumped shoulders. Her face softened completely.

"Oh, sweetheart," Molly murmured.

The familiar, tender endearment broke whatever fragile restraint Claire had left. She turned slowly, the tears she had fought so hard to keep at bay spilling freely down her pale cheeks. Molly crossed the room without another word, simply opening her arms.

She had done this countless times over the years, whenever Claire had cried herself to sleep after her mother's funeral.

Claire stepped into the embrace without thinking, a loud sob escaping her that seemed to echo through the stone chamber.

"Oh, me poor lass," Molly whispered, cradling the back of Claire's head. "Let it out."

"I dinnae want to go," Claire cried, clutching the woman's woolen dress like a lost child. "I have only just found him."

"I ken," Molly soothed, rubbing slow circles across her back.

"I thought," Claire began, laughing weakly through her falling tears. "I truly believed this morning would be different."

"Dae ye think he will truly let me go?" Claire asked, swallowing against the painful ache in her throat.

"I think if he keeps ye here, he will spend every waking moment fearing someone will use ye against him," Molly answered, smoothing a stray curl away from Claire's wet face.

"And if I leave?" Claire asked.

"He will spend every waking moment wondering whether ye are safe," Molly said honestly.

"There isnae a choice that doesnae hurt him," Claire realized, closing her eyes as another tear escaped.

"Nay," Molly agreed, kissing the top of Claire's head just as she had done when Claire was younger. "There isnae. We should get ye ready."

Together, they walked toward the bed where the thick traveling clothes waited. Molly picked up Claire's fresh chemise before turning back to her with a warm look.

"Arms up," Molly instructed.

Claire obeyed automatically, and a small laugh escaped the maid.

"Good." Molly smiled. "I was wondering if I would have to chase ye around the room."

"I have done that before," Claire managed the ghost of a smile.

"When ye were seven," Molly reminded her.

"I was convinced ribbons were instruments of torture," Claire argued lightly.

"They still are," Molly chuckled, earning the smallest, genuine laugh from Claire. "There she is."

"I fear I am making a dreadful mess of myself," Claire sighed, shaking her head.

"Me lady, I have seen ye with the pox," Molly stated flatly.

"Molly!" Claire gasped, her eyes widening.