Page 50

She lost track of time after that, absorbed in the plain, uncomplicated pleasure of correcting a seat here, praising a small triumphant trot there. She laughed outright when the boy with the crossed reins finally managed a full circuit of the paddock without incident and threw both fists in the air in victory.

It was, she realized, the first hour since she'd arrived on MacKinnon land that she hadn't spent any time thinking about Accords or councils or kisses on windswept cliffs.

She was crouched beside the youngest girl, adjusting a stirrup strap, when some instinct made her glance up toward the paddock fence.

Marcas stood there, forearms resting on the top rail, entirely still, watching her with an expression she'd never seen on him before. There was none of the wickedness, none of the laird's careful authority. Only something quiet and unguarded and thoroughly undone, the same look, she realized with a jolt, that had been on his face on the overlook the moment before she'd kissed him.

She had no idea how long he'd been standing there.

Heat climbed her throat, and she straightened slowly, the stirrup strap forgotten in her hand, and held his eyes across the paddock's noisy chaos with her pulse suddenly unsteady again.

So much, she thought, for avoiding him.

"Two more scouts spotted near the eastern boundary this morning," Lachlan said, laying the report flat on the table between them. "Same pattern as before. They were watching, nae engaging. They are MacRath's men, or I'll eat my own boots."

"Increase the eastern patrols." Marcas didn't look up from the map, tracing the boundary line with one finger. "Double them, if the men can be spared from the harvest."

"They can. Though ye ken doubling patrols only buys us time, nae answers." Lachlan leaned back, arms crossed. "Ye could send word tae the King's man. Report the ambush, report the scouts. Let the Crown lean on Cailleach directly, rather than leaving it tae us tae absorb every arrow he sends this way."

"Nae yet."

"Marcas—"

"I'll nae ask the Crown tae enforce a marriage I cannae even convince the woman herself tae accept." He set down the map, rubbing at his eyes, the last of a poor night's sleep sitting heavy behind them. "It'd be a poor kind of hypocrisy, dinnae ye think, telling the King I need his weight behind an Accord I've spent the whole week telling her she's free tae walk away from."

Lachlan studied him a long moment, something considering in his face that Marcas recognized and generally distrusted.

"Ye ken," Lachlan said, slow, "watching the two of ye at dinner last night, I'm nae certain forcing anything would even be required."

"Dinnae start."

"I'm only observing. She watches ye the way a woman watches a man she's actively trying nae tae watch, which is, in my considerable experience, a great deal more promising than a woman who disnae watch ye at all." Lachlan's grin was building now, slow and entirely unrepentant. "And ye've had a look about ye this morning, laird. Verra pleased with yerself, for a man facing scouts on his eastern border and a council still muttering about the Accord."

Marcas said nothing, which was, he was well aware, its own kind of confession.

"Marcas."

"We kissed," he said, flat, hoping the plain admission would end the conversation faster than continued silence would.

It did not end the conversation. Lachlan's grin grew even wider, delighted in a way that made Marcas immediately regret every choice that had led to this exact moment.

"Ye kissed her."

"Aye."

"Properly kissed her. Nae the accidental sort ye might explain away as a misunderstanding."

"Lachlan."

"I'm only asking for clarity, laird, given the stakes involved." Lachlan was laughing outright now, shaking his head. "Fifteen years I've known ye, and I've never once seen ye look the way ye looked walking in here this morning. Nae after a good raid, nae after besting Baird in council. I didnae think ye had that particular expression in ye at all."

"I'm nae discussing this further."

"Ye brought her up tae the overlook, didnae ye. I saw ye both heading up the cliff stair last night, thought naething of it at the time, but now⁠—"

"I said I'm nae discussing it." Marcas was on his feet now, the map forgotten, frustration driving him toward the door before Lachlan could press any further into territory he wasn't remotely ready to lay open, not even to the one man who'd known him longest. "Double the eastern patrols. Send scouts of our own tae track MacRath's men rather than simply waiting tae be watched. I'll be back before midday."

"Where are ye going?"