God, that was worse.
“I’m afraid that will be quite impossible, darling,” Desmond says softly.
“Why?” Lachlan asks, jaw tight, looking like someone just ripped his heart out.
“The LaBeaumont family estate falls within Tír na Dubh’s borders, even if the social-climbing bastards never spend any time there. Pascal rushed to Cernunnos as soon as word reached him of his daughter’s death. He’s convinced you had something to do with it. Doesn’t want you anywhere near his territory. He’s still furious that I took on your debt and stayed your punishment for what happened with his son.”
“Charlotte needs protection. There have been three attempts on her life here in Tír na Lune alone. And not one of us knows what to expect in Tír na Dubh.”
Though they have a casual relationship on the surface, Lachlanneverdisobeys his duke’s orders. And the fact that he’s doing so on my behalf makes my heart swell with something very, very dangerous.
“Everyone seems to have forgotten who I am tonight.” Desmond’s expression is thunderous as he steps up to his knight, and Lachlan flinches. A rarity. “Sir Dunne is already on his way to accompany Aowen and Charlotte to Cernunnos’s manor. And you will return to Tír na Strelle with me tomorrow or I swear by Danu, I will extend your service by a further fifty years.”
Lachlan’s gaze anchors to the wall above Desmond’s head, his face pale and his nostrils flaring. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Desmond pulls me from the sofa and crushes a harsh, demanding kiss onto my mouth. “I will win you, Charlotte. And when I am king, I will fix all of this. Do not doubt it. Even though your companions are determined to do so.”
I’m breathless as he stalks out of the suite, and Lachlan and I are left alone.
Lachlan releases a long, wavering breath, then calmly walks to his bedchamber door.
And slams his fist into it.
Chapter
Thirty-Six
The wood cracks, but the door doesn’t fully break; there’s no way Lachlan put his full force behind the blow.
I have seen him fight off báshounds. I have watched him train future warriors. I have benefited—greatly and often—from his single-minded focus in the bedroom.
But I have never seen him lose his composure like this.
It probably shouldn’t be making me so hot.
I slide a wary glance toward Aowen’s bedchamber. There’s not a scrap of light beneath her door. Hopefully she’s asleep already.
Lachlan hasn’t moved, is still holding his fist against the wood, breathing heavily through clenched teeth.
I know he would never hurt me. That he’d rather choke down broken glass than cause me any pain. At least, not more than I’ve agreed to.
So it is not fear that slows my steps as I approach him. Or, more accurately, not fearofhim. It’s fearforhim. That hemight be upset or ashamed of me seeing him this way. Furious. Riotous. Straining at the tight threads of control he’s woven around his world.
I want to touch him, but I’m afraid I might spook him. So instead, I press my cheek against the doorframe, trying to catch his eye. His gaze bores into the depression, as if he could fix it by concentrating hard enough on the damage.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I whisper.
“Certainly not.”
The anger serrating his voice is likely for Desmond, not me. Maybe even a bit for Lachlan himself.
“Do you want to talk about something else?”
He turns, his sapphire eyes sparkling with unshed tears. They run down my body, then back up again. Stop on my mouth.
“I don’t want to talk at all.”
“That’s fine, we can?—”
