Page 45 of Owned by the Scarred Laird

She marched out into the stone corridor.

Chloe did not know where she was going, and that was the root of the rot. She had mastered the path to the nursery, the descent to the kitchens, the great hall, and the short circuit to the wild rose garden. The rest of the fortress was merely a maddening collection of right and left stone arches that looked completely identical. The same flickering wall sconces, the same heavy oak doors, all designed by some ancient ancestor who had clearly intended for outsiders to wander until they died of exposure.

She took a sharp right turn, fairly certain it led toward the upper tower where his study sat. She'd found it easily enough the one time she'd stormed into it before, but that had come from the other end of the fortress, and fury apparently cleared a different path through her head than the one she needed now.

It did not.

I am nae lost.

“Me Lady,” a voice drawled from the shadows.

Chloe snapped her eyes open. Tyler was leaning casually against a stone pillar six feet to her left. His arms were crossed over his chest, his head tilted at an amused angle.

“I am nae lost,” she snapped, adjusting her shawl.

“Nay,” Tyler agreed smoothly, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Clearly, ye are simply inspectin’ the masonry.”

He straightened up, and she noticed the sweat glistening on his jaw. He was still in his leather training doublet, reeking of the crisp morning air and fresh dirt.

“The study,” Chloe said, abandoning her pride. “Where is it?”

Tyler raised a dark eyebrow. “The Laird’s inner sanctum?”

“Aye.”

He considered her request for a beat, his eyes gleaming. “I can lead ye there,” he said, gesturing down the left passage. “Though I must warn ye, the Laird has been circlin’ these stone walls like a rabid hound that cannae find a place to lay its head. First the study, then the trainin’ yard, then down to the stills, and back to the ledger books. He is in the study now, I believe, but I wouldnae wager me favorite horse on his stayin’ put.”

“He cannae keep runnin’ forever,” Chloe said, her jaw setting into a hard line. “I only need him to stand still once.”

Tyler let out a low, genuine laugh. He pushed away from the pillar and signaled for her to follow his lead.

He was excellent company, Tyler. As they navigated the drafty corridors, Chloe quickly understood why Edward kept the rogue strapped to his side. He spoke just enough to drown out the oppressive silence of the stones without demanding she offer anything in return. He detailed Duncan’s morning sparring session, mocking two specific errors in the lad’s footwork that had nearly landed the boy in the mud, making her smile twice without appearing to exert any effort. He did not ask why she was hunting the Laird. He was too smart to ask.

“Here we are,” Tyler said, coming to a halt before a heavy oak door that looked precisely like the four previous doors they had bypassed. “One sharp turn past the second iron sconce.” He tapped the blackened metal on the wall with his knuckles. “Ye’ll remember the marker next time, me Lady.”

“I would have discovered it on me own,” she insisted, lifting her chin.

“Aye,” Tyler chuckled, dipping into a low, theatrical bow that just skirted the edge of insolence. “Eventually. Godspeed, Lady O’Brien.”

He turned and strode away, his boots clicking merrily against the stone.

Chloe turned her attention to the thick timber door.

From the other side, faint but distinct, came the frantic, rhythmic scratch of a quill against old parchment. He was inside. He was a mere three feet away, while she had been wandering his ancestral ruins like a madwoman for twenty minutes just to find his coordinates. The sheer absurdity of it did nothing to calm the sudden, violent spike in her pulse.

She did not know what words to say to him. All she knew was what she needed: the outings he had promised to provide, his physical presence at her table, and some undeniable proof that she existed in his mind when she was not directly in his line of sight.

She did not know how to demand it without sounding like a desperate beggar asking for crumbs.

Chloe sucked a sharp breath into her lungs, lifted her chin, and knocked hard against the wood.

14

“Come.”

The command slicing through the thick timber of the door was low, even, and sharp. Chloe pressed her palm flat against the cold wood for a steadying breath, her pulse pounding against her ribs, before she pushed it open.

The inner sanctum looked smaller in the gray morning light than it had the last time she'd stood in it. That night, anger had filled it wall to wall, leaving no room to notice much else. In truth, it was a modest, claustrophobic vault.