Marian remained silent until it finally became unbearable.
“So,” she said at last, her voice cold enough to freeze the air in the hall, “that’s it, then.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Lachlan did not move.
He held the letter in his hand, his fingers nearly crumpling the parchment.
He had already read it twice—perhaps three times—and still, the words refused to satisfy his conflicted feelings. His jaw tightened slightly.
This was not how he had thought it would feel. The letter had been clear enough, and it had been in his favor, as he had hoped. His claim to the MacLeod lands stood entirely unchallenged. But for some reason, it did not feel like a resolution.
Marian stood motionless before him. So motionless that it seemed as though she were holding her breath, and the others were holding theirs with her.
Lachlan did not bother to look at their faces. He was the Laird, and the dispute had been resolved in favor of his clan. This was the right thing to do.
His blank expression met Marian’s cold gaze. Her blue eyes had turned icy, and yet her lips trembled slightly.
Aye. This is it, he told himself, though he could hardly believe it.
He straightened, folding the letter and placing it quietly on the table between them. “Ye’ll return to England,” he said finally, the words coming out quieter than he had intended, as though he had not meant to speak them.
Marian blinked. Her face fell for a moment, as though she had expected to hear something different. But then the corner of her lips curled slightly, and she burst into sharp, shrill laughter.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Has she gone mad?
He remained rooted to the spot until her sharp laughter subsided.
“Mairi.”
“I will do no such thing,” she responded, her voice cutting through the room.
The letter was clear.
Lachlan’s eyes darkened as they held hers, but she did not look away.
There was something different in her expression now. It was a quiet firmness that made his pulse quicken. At that moment, she looked as though she would give anything to bend reality to her will.
He took a step closer, as if to read her better.
“Ye’ve nay claim here now,” he reminded her, his voice as firm as the look in her eyes.
Marian’s gaze faltered. “This was never only about the claim.” She looked at him as though it pained her that he did not understand and shook her head faintly.
Lachlan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides as he kept himself from holding her. The space between them seemed to close, even though neither of them moved.
Then what is this about?
For a moment, the hall seemed to shift again. Then Marian drew in a slow breath.
“I did not come north for ambition, Lachlan,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “I came because… because there was nothing left for me in London.”
Her hand rose to her forehead, and she took a step back, her composure seeming to falter for only a moment.
“After my father died, I...” She paused for a moment, as though debating whether her explanation was worth anything to him.
