Page 9 of Married to the Scarred Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #4)

9

L aura couldn’t breathe. “I—” she started to say but stopped herself.

Her lips were still burning from his kiss.

Her body felt heavy, unsteady, like she had just been submerged underwater. Her heart was still racing as she came back up for air. Her skin flushed, heat pooling low in her belly.

She raised her hand and pressed her fingers to her lips, as if she could erase the sensation of him, as if she could somehow chase away the feeling that had ignited inside her.

I can still taste him.

“Ye’re right,” she said, her breath hitching.

The warmth of his breath, the roughness of his touch, and the way he had pulled her against him like he couldn’t help himself—all of it played in her mind over and over. And she had wanted him, too, more than anything…

By the Lord above, I want him to do it again.

Ciaran was still too close. His ragged breathing matched her own. But now, he was watching her. Waiting. As if he could see the chaos inside her. As if he knew exactly what he had done.

She hated that she had let him see just how much she wanted that kiss, just how much she had given into it, and she swallowed past the lump forming in her throat.

No man had ever touched her like that. Not with that fire, not with that hunger, not with such possessive need.

James had tricked her. Deceived, scarred, and discarded her. But this? This was something else entirely.

Ciaran hadn’t taken; he had demanded. The entire thing was a test, given so she could pull away. But when she hadn’t, when she had kissed him back with just as much reckless fire, he had made her feel wanted.

“Choose,” he said, urging the war inside of her to rage on.

Laura’s fingers curled into fists, her nails digging into the palms that had just run through his soft hair, and she forced herself to focus on her breathing, to push down the storm inside her.

I was foolish to taunt him. To ask him that. Now, he wants me to choose to leave him or stay?

He certainly left no room for confusion. Now, she knew clearly. She felt it everywhere.

Her eyes flicked to his face and then his lips. He looked just as ruined as she felt.

But that’s impossible…

She shivered, feeling cold and empty, aching from something she should not want. This man was her Laird. She had sworn to never trust another man again, and this particular man could end her for being an inconvenience. Just as James almost had.

Laura forced herself to take a step back, to put space between them, to break whatever spell had held them together at that moment. Ciaran’s dark gaze followed her every movement.

“I shouldnae have done that,” she murmured, though she wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or herself.

His expression did not change. “Aye,” he agreed, his voice like nails running sensually down her spine. “But ye did—we did.”

Her stomach flipped violently, heat rushing back up her spine as his lips curled into something dark and menacing.

She looked away from him before she did something reckless. Because if she looked at him for too long, if she let herself think about what had just happened for another moment… she might tempt him again, and this time she wouldn’t stop him.

“Choose,” she heard him repeat.

“I cannae choose,” she said firmly.

It should be an easy choice, though. I have Fraser at home, and he doesnae ken. He doesnae ken who I am.

“At least, say ye will consider it. I vow to never repeat what happened just now,” he said quickly.

The promise made her cheeks flush once more.

Do I want that? Does he?

“If I deny ye again, will ye exile me? Send me back to where I came from?”

“Where did ye come from?” he asked, then blinked as if that was not the question he intended to ask.

I should tell him. Let him decide to keep me or nae. It’s time, is it nae?

She let out a shaky breath. Only Mrs. Morrgain knew the full truth about her, but he was her Laird. He deserved to know what kind of woman she was. The shame she carried, fueling the fires of hell that already engulfed this keep.

How can I trust him? Should I ask him to swear to keep it secret?

She weighed the options in her mind over and over again, each time landing on needing to tell him who and what she was. Her entire body trembled with nerves, and her eyes connected with his again.

“I—ye dinnae ken who I am, and that is by design.”

“Aye, I didnae even ken ye were livin’ in me lands, let alone with me old healer.”

“I’m nae a healer, though,” Laura started to say, but he interrupted her again.

“Could have fooled me, lass.”

“I’m Laura Kane of Clan MacNiall?—”

“As in, Laird MacNiall’s sister?” Ciaran asked, remembering from where he knew the name.

“Aye,” she confirmed timidly.

“Nay,” Ciaran said simply.

Nay? Nay what?

Sensing the question on the tip of her tongue, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll nae send ye back to yer clan. I can provide for ye here. I’ll offer ye protection from whatever it is ye are runnin’ from.”

Laura’s entire body stiffened at his words, her muscles locking in place.

Protection?

The word curled unpleasantly in her mind, twisting like a dagger.

Her breath came slow, controlled, though her pulse thundered. She had spent years surviving without a man’s protection, without some laird or husband deciding what was best for her.

And now this man had the audacity to offer it to her as if she needed him.

Her fingers curled into fists, her nails digging into her palms as she lifted her chin, her voice sharp, clipped.

“And why, Me Laird,” she said, her words icy enough to cut, “do ye assume I’m runnin’ from somethin’?”

Ciaran didn’t flinch at her tone, but she saw the way his jaw tensed, the subtle shift in his stance, and the way his dark eyes assessed her like she was a puzzle he was determined to solve.

“Because nay woman leaves her clan for nay reason,” he said simply.

Her stomach twisted, but she didn’t let it show. She couldn’t afford to.

Instead, she gave a single nod. “Aye, ye’re right,” she admitted, though the words felt like swallowing glass. “But if I accept yer protection, it doesnae come freely.”

Ciaran’s eyebrow rose slightly, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “Oh?”

She inhaled slowly, steadied herself, and met his gaze head-on.

“If I stay,” she said, her voice iron-strong, “ye must guarantee protection for me son as well.”

For the first time, Ciaran’s expression shifted.

A flicker of something akin to surprise crossed his face before he spoke, his voice lower. “Son?”

Laura held his gaze and nodded. “Aye. It’s the only way I’ll stay here. And of course, me son stays with me.”

Ciaran didn’t speak for a moment. She could feel the weight of his stare, the way he was processing this new revelation, and braced herself, expecting resistance, doubt, and questions.

Instead, he simply said, “Done.”

The tension in her chest loosened just slightly, but she knew better than to relax completely.

His next words proved why. “Are ye a widow?”

Her body went cold. Her spine straightened, and her eyes darkened with warning. The question was laced with something she couldn’t put her finger on, but she responded in kind anyway.

“That,” she said, her voice like steel wrapped in silk, “is none of yer business, Me Laird.”

Ciaran’s gaze sharpened, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Does he ken? Has the scandal gotten out somehow?

“A deal is a deal,” she continued, unyielding. “With nay questions asked and none answered.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he nodded once. “Fair enough.”

Laura exhaled slowly. “I must return to the village tonight,” she announced, pulling back completely now, cold as the Highland winds. “But tomorrow, I will be at yer castle.”

Ciaran didn’t argue. Didn’t try to keep her. He just watched her.

His eyes followed her arms as she hoisted the bag of salve and plants over her head and let it drop to the ground at his feet. He studied the outline of her body as she turned her back to him before he could see how much her hands were shaking.

Ciaran’s temper flared as she turned her back to him. He watched her disappear down the garden path, her back straight, her steps purposeful. But he had seen it, the slight tremor in her hand.

She had flexed it once, twice, three times, as if she could shake something off her skin. The pain in her wrist.

Ciaran’s jaw tightened, his fingers itching to reach for his dagger if only to have something to anchor him against the storm inside him. Instead, he reached down and collected the bag she’d dropped.

What the hell has she done to me?

Without looking at its contents, he swung it over his head, turned on his heel and strode toward the keep, his steps heavy and unrelenting. The first servant he saw was a boy, no older than twelve, who was nearly knocked back by the force of his approach.

“Ye,” he barked, and the boy snapped to attention. “Go to the stables. Ready a mare for the healer. A good one.”

The boy blinked up at him, confused for a brief moment, before nodding quickly and darting off toward the lower grounds.

Ciaran didn’t slow his steps, his shoulders tense as he entered the keep, moving like a man ready for battle. He reached his study in seconds, pushing open the door with more force than necessary.

Tossing the bag onto his desk, his lips curled with irritation.

She left somethin’ behind .

But for some reason, it unsettled him more than it should have. He turned to the window, his sharp gaze scanning the castle grounds below. Scanning them for her .

He didn’t have to wait for long. A white and tan mare shot across the grounds at a breakneck pace, Laura’s small frame barely visible as she rode through the gates and down the forest path.

She didn’t look back.

His fingers twitched at his sides as he recalled the feel of her body in his arms a mere minute ago.

“Dammit!” he muttered under his breath, just as the door behind him opened.

Henry.

Ciaran didn’t move away from the window and didn’t acknowledge the man at first. The anger simmering beneath his skin was still fresh, still hot, and Henry was about to feel every inch of it.

“Tell me, Henry,” Ciaran said, his voice low, controlled but no less lethal. “What part of yer mind thought it was wise to take a woman from her home without askin’ me first?”

Henry shut the door behind him and folded his arms over his chest.

“She’s a healer,” he said plainly. “Ye needed treatment. I did what had to be done.”

Ciaran turned around then, his glare sharp enough to cut. “Did ye?” His voice was deafeningly soft. “Ye took it upon yerself to decide that for me, aye?”

Henry didn’t flinch. “I was there, Ciaran,” he said plainly.

“What do ye mean, ye were there?”

“I was there during the first fire.”

The words hit Ciaran like a blow to the ribs, but he didn’t react. Didn’t let his demons rise to the surface.

Henry pressed on. “I remember how ye suffered for months, how ye refused to let the healer treat ye because ye didnae want anyone to see ye like that. But now ye’re nae?—”

Ciaran’s eyes flashed. “I’m nae what?”

His man-at-arms hesitated, then sighed. “Ye arenae mournin’ this time.”

The words hung between them, unspoken truths digging in deeper than either man cared to admit.

Henry shook his head. “Ye’re our Laird. If ye dinnae take care of yerself…”

Ciaran had heard enough. His patience snapped like a bowstring.

“And did that honestly warrant forcin’ a woman into servitude?” His voice rose now, his fury boiling to the surface. “Did it warrant draggin’ her out of her home, against her will?”

Henry’s jaw tightened, his stance bracing. “I did nothin’ wrong,” he said evenly. “Ye needed a healer, and I got ye one. Nothin’ out of the ordinary.”

Ciaran took a step closer, his presence thick with rage. “Tell me, then, why I’m standin’ here, questionin’ ye.”

Henry stilled. Something in Ciaran’s tone had changed. His entire body hummed with anger.

And then Ciaran saw it. The slight hesitation in Henry’s stance, the shift of his weight, clearly taken aback by the need for an explanation. Though he let out a heavy breath and sobered up.

“I was only keepin’ yer best interests at heart,” Henry said firmly. “I didnae mean any harm.”

Ciaran studied him, the tension still thick in the room.

“And how will yer people trust yet,” Henry continued, “if they see ye fallin’ apart?”

Ciaran’s eyes flashed hot. “They should trust me when I jump in fires to save them.”

The words left him before he could stop them.

Henry’s eyebrows drew together, but before he could formulate a response, Ciaran warned, “If I ever hear or see any of ye forcin’ a woman, or anyone for that matter, to do somethin’ against their will, ye will wish for death.”

Henry stilled, his eyes narrowing slightly, scanning Ciaran’s expression as if trying to sort out the meaning behind everything being said.

“Forcin’?” he repeated, slower now, his tone laced with venom.

Ciaran exhaled through his nose, the fire inside him still burning hot and restless. “That guard. The one who threw her at me feet. “

She’ll return tomorrow, with her son…

Henry’s voice was razor-sharp. “He’ll be dealt with. I’ll take care of it meself,” he said.

Ciaran gave him a slow, measured nod. “Good,” he said.

Then, he turned his back on him, dismissing him without another word. He heard the door open, the faint creak of hinges, the sound of Henry leaving.

And yet, even as the tension in the room subsided, his fists remained tight at his sides, his mind very vividly clinging to thoughts of Laura.

Despite the argument, despite the child in her care, despite everything that should have stopped him, his mind was still fixated on her. His mouth on hers, her body flush against his.

This is about to become a problem, to be sure.