“What’s yer name?”
The girl blinked, falling silent for a moment.
“Catrin.”
“Catrin, where exactly is the Laird?” she asked, finally climbing out of bed, taking a cloak from where it hung over the edge of the bedpost, and draping it around her shoulders.
“He’s training with his men.”
“Then I’ll speak with him myself,” she announced, and she brushed past the maid before she could say another word and started on her way down to the courtyard.
She could not very well remember how she had gotten there in the first place, but she did not let such a thing bother her. She knew that she had to keep her focus, had to keep herself from falling into the trap that he had laid out for her.
The corridors seemed to spiral on for an eternity until she saw a spill of light through the front archway and followed it outside to where the Laird was currently occupied.
The sound of steel meeting steel exploded through the air as she stepped outside, making her jump slightly; she prayed that nobody had noticed it, sure that they would think it funny to see her in such a state.
It took her a moment to spot Lachlan; he was half-hidden from her sight, surrounded by a circle of men, standing in themidst of it all and brandishing a sword. Another man paced opposite him, the two of them feeling each other out as they waited to see who would strike the next blow. And, though she knew well that this was nothing more than training, given that the man he was up against was one of the guards who had let them in, it was difficult to recall that he was not truly out for blood.
She watched as Lachlan raised his sword, bringing it down on his opponent. As the metal clashed once more, a cheer rose from the men around them. She heard a loud grunt as the man’s blade was knocked from his grip. Lachlan spun his sword, controlling the heavy blade with ease, a grin spreading over his face as he rounded on the now-unarmed man before him. His muscles flexed beneath his tunic, and she was reminded, all at once, of how they had felt when the two of them had been dancing together; so close and tight it seemed as though he would have let nothing come between them.
And then, with a flash of frustration, she remembered why she had come here in the first place. Not to watch him fight, like some kind of simpering girl. No, to put up a battle of her own—about the wedding that he seemed so determined to force her into the next day.
“Lachlan!”
She called out to him, mustering all the certainty she could. He raised his gaze as soon as he heard her voice, and a smile crossed his lips when he laid eyes on her. He brushed through his men, who parted like water to let him through, and came to a halt before her.
“Ah, the lady rises,” he teased her.
She frowned, refusing to let him talk around the matter.
“If I am to be married tomorrow,” she told him, planting her hands on her hips. “Then I want to do it in my own dress. Not some borrowed rags that you’ve chosen for me.”
A snicker sounded amongst the men. Lachlan raised a hand, condemning it to silence instantly. Lachlan and Innes stared each other down for a moment, both waiting for the other to yield.
“I dinnae care how you find yerself at the chapel tomorrow morning,” he added. “But you will.”
“At least wait until my brother arrives to bring me some of my own clothes,” she countered, and he smirked.
“Yer brother’s not invited.”
He brushed past her and made his way towards the Keep.For a second, Innes could not respond, her fury so intense it made it impossible to think clearly. But, as soon as she had gathered herself, she launched herself after him, refusing to allow him to get away with such a claim.
“You have no right to keep my brother from me,” she called after him, tightening the cloak around herself as she followed him through the dimly lit corridor. “I ken that he is the reason ye’re doing this, but I will not allow you to take me from my family and?—”
He turned to her, stopping dead in his tracks all of a sudden and nearly sending her crashing into him.
“I’ll do as I please, lass. Tomorrow, ye’ll be my wife. And I choose who my wife does and does not spend her time with.”
Fear grasped at her heart. She had not even entertained the possibility that she might truly never see her brother again after this, but the way he was speaking, it seemed he had already decided that she would never again be granted the chance to set eyes on him.
“All this charade just for that?” she exclaimed. “To hurt him?”
“Aye, all this charade,” he replied, sea-blue eyes flashing in the darkness. “To hurt him by hurting you.”
She wished she could contend with him, convince him that he was mad for even considering this, but she doubted it would have made much difference to him either way. Everyone already thought of him as insane, and this was only proof of that. What man would pick his wife based on how much harm he could cause? Marriage was supposed to be a matter of love, not loathing, but he was already casting their union under the heavy weight of hurt.
“Just because Isobel did not choose you?” she threw back at him.
