Page 8 of The Laird who Craved her

Molly had vanished somewhere in the chaos behind her, swallowed by the tree line, and there had been no time to look back. Claire told herself she would find her again, that Molly was too stubborn and too quick to have been caught, but the not-knowing sat like a stone in her chest all the same.

Claire's spine went rigid.

The warrior was still staring at her. The same way he had stared at the raiders. Like she was prey. Like she was something to be hunted.

"I may have other plans for ye," he said.

CHAPTER THREE

"Where have ye taken me?"

The question left Claire’s mouth sharp and demanding, though she could not entirely stop the small tremor beneath her words. The fire crackled low inside the small, shadowed room of the wayside inn, the orange flames casting long, dancing shadows across the timber walls while storm winds battered the heavy wooden shutters outside. The air smelled of woodsmoke, wet wool, and the faint, sweet scent of old ale trapped in the floorboards.

Claire stood near the stone hearth, her wet velvet cloak heavy on her shoulders, dripping rainwater in steady, slow pools across the dark wood. Her heart was still hammering against her ribs, a wild, frantic rhythm that had not slowed since she fled the carriage.

Across the small room, the two Highlanders occupied the opposite side of the space, their massive frames castingimposing silhouettes against the low ceiling. The older, bearded one stood near the heavy oak door, his hand resting casually on his belt, his eyes watchful but not entirely unkind.

But the larger one…

He stood in the center of the room, unbuckling his wet leather sword belt with steady, deliberate movements. He was like a predator deciding whether to eat her or not, his movements entirely fluid, his focus completely locked onto her. Every breath he took seemed to fill the small space, narrowing the distance between them without him even taking a step.

"This is absurd," Claire snapped, crossing her arms tightly over her chest to hide the way her hands were shaking. She forced herself to meet his piercing green eyes, refusing to let him see the sheer terror gripping her belly. "I thanked ye already for dispersing those men. Quite properly, I believe. There is no need to keep me under lock and key."

"Aye," the large Highlander said calmly.

He set his heavy broadsword onto the sturdiest table by the wall, the iron pommel hitting the wood with a dull, echoing thud. Slowly, he began removing his leather gloves, pulling at each finger with agonizing precision, his gaze never once wavering from her face.

"And ye also told armed raiders ye were me wife."

Claire lifted her chin stubbornly, her shoulders squaring beneath her damp cloak. She refused to apologize for surviving. "I was trying to save me life…"

“It worked.”

"It did," the older, bearded warrior near the door chimed in, a sudden, broad grin breaking through his silver-streaked beard. "And a fine performance it was, lass. The way ye pointed at him, I nearly took off me own bonnet and offered me congratulations to the happy couple."

"Douglas," the large one warned, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that cut the older man’s amusement short.

Douglas merely chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I'm just sayin', Finn. She has a fierce tongue for a bit of a thing. Most lasses faint when the steel comes out. She just invents a marriage."

Claire glared between them, her irritation momentarily overriding her fear. "I dinnae see either of ye offering a better suggestion while four men with rusted claymores were tracking me through the pines."

That dangerous, almost-smile appeared again briefly on Douglas’s face, a subtle twitch at the corner of his firm mouth that vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving his features as unreadable as chiseled stone.

"It worked," he agreed, his low voice washing over her skin like a physical touch. He stepped a fraction closer, the firelight catching the sharp line of his jaw and the damp gleam of his dark hair. "But a lie spoken in a crowded market square doesnae stay in the square, lass. Half that village heard ye declare yerself me wife. Did ye think they would simply forget it by suppertime?”

"I did what I had to do to save me skin," she insisted, taking a half-step forward, the desperation finally cracking through her noble facade. "And I have to go back to the forest. I have to make sure Molly and our driver are safe."

She looked between the two men, her gray eyes wide and pleading now, the anger melting into genuine panic. "Please. Molly has been with me since I was a child. She was terrified. If those men found her…"

"Douglas," the large Highlander said, not looking back.

He gave the older man a nod of sorts, a silent command that required no elaboration. The bearded warrior immediately straightened from the door, his expression turning serious as he checked the dirk at his hip.

"Aye, me Laird," Douglas said, his rough voice completely obedient.

Claire froze slightly, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth as the title echoed in her mind.

Laird? God.