“Ye should leave,” he said finally, his voice rougher than he’d expected.
Marian’s eyebrows rose. Her full red lips puckered as she frowned.
“You did not have to carry me,” she protested, her voice tight.
“Mairi—”
“No, Lachlan,” she cut him off, holding up the hand with the torn sleeve. “You had no right to take such… liberties with me.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, and his fingers clicked slightly as they curled into fists at his sides.
Marian folded her arms, her chin lifting defiantly as she looked at him. “I told you I am perfectly fine,” she continued, taking a step closer. “But you carried me anyway.”
Her blue eyes pierced into his, even in the dimly lit library.
“Do you not have something to say for yourself?” Her voice wavered slightly as she took another step closer to him, leaving only a few feet of space between them.
She’s darin’ me.
Lachlan swallowed, biting his tongue.
“Mairi…” he rasped.
Her hand rose again. “My Laird.” Her words were quiet and heavy. “You will never listen to me, will you?”
His eyebrows rose in confusion.
What…?
She stood there, staring at him. Her blue eyes searched his face for another moment before she suddenly turned and headed toward the door.
Lachlan went after her, grabbed her arm, and pulled her back. Her back hit the shelves.
“If ye have somethin’ to say, Mairi,” he whispered, his voice low and dangerous. “’Tis best ye say it now.”
Marian huffed, and her eyes flashed with obvious, palpable anger. “That is not?—”
“It seems that ye’ve run out of words,” he cut in, his voice dropping further.
“Ye stole them all,” she fired back, her accent mocking him, “just like ye stole me castle.”
Something flashed in his eyes.
Once, he had betrayed his instincts. He had let go of himself, abandoning his restraint to protect her. And now, this.
His chest tightened with a mix of anger, frustration, and desire. His hand gripped the side of her neck, and his thumb pressed against her pulse point. It quickened beneath his fingertips, and his eyes darkened with a sudden possessiveness that he could barely control.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his face inches from hers. “Now, I’m goin’ to punish ye.” His other hand fisted in her skirt, pulling her closer.
Marian’s fingers curled into his tunic, pulling him in even though she meant to push him back. “Lachlan—” she moaned.
His lips crashed onto hers in a hard, long, all-consuming kiss. His mouth claimed hers with all the pent-up frustration from fighting and wanting each other all week.
Marian gasped against his lips, and he deepened the kiss, his hand releasing her neck to slide up into her long, wavy hair. She kissed him back just as fiercely, her fingers pulling open the front of his tunic as she drew him impossibly closer.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, she did not step back immediately.
Her lips were red and swollen. Her hands lingered, curled into the fabric of his tunic as though she had forgotten to let go. Her breath came unevenly, her chest rising and falling against his.
