Page 36 of The Outlaw's Bride
“There was no sign of yer father or his men,” Lachlann said quietly, as if sensing the direction of her thoughts. “I’d wager he doesn’t suspect ye are here.”
Bleak disappointment flooded through Adaira. “Ye can go now,” she rasped.
Lachlann pushed himself off the door and crossed to her. Adaira took a rapid step back, cowering against the window frame.
He stopped a few feet short of her, his dark-auburn brows knitting together. “There’s no need to shrink from me like I’m Satan himself,” he murmured.
Adaira glared at him although underneath her despair she felt a frisson of satisfaction. Finally, a chink in his armor of unshakable self-confidence. He wasn’t used to having women revile him. “YeareSatan,” she countered. “Ye are arrogant, deceitful, and without a heart.”
Chapter Fifteen
Reckless
THE WIND WHISTLED across the hills, bringing with it the scent of autumn. Lachlann urged his horse up to the brow of the hill and reined it in next to his father’s. The hawk’s claws gripped his left wrist through its leather sleeve, its hooded head moving toward him. Saighead—Arrow—sensed he was about to let her off her leash.
Lachlann cast a glance in his father’s direction. This was the first time Morgan Fraser had been out on his horse since the battle. He sat a little stiffly in the saddle, his face tense with discomfort. Yet his gaze was determined as he surveyed the sky. His father’s hawk, Stoirm—Storm—shifted upon the chieftain’s arm. He too was ready to hunt.
“Shall we let them off?” Lachlann asked. Behind him, he could hear the thunder of hooves as his brothers approached.
“Aye,” his father grunted. “I’ve just spotted a pair of pigeons. They’ll do for a start.”
The two men removed the hoods from their hawks and unleashed them. Lachlann raised his left hand, letting Saighead launch herself into the sky, her powerful wings causing a draft behind her.
Lachlann watched, momentarily enraptured. There were few things more beautiful to watch than a bird of prey taking flight. Saighead stretched her wings wide and soared high, joining Stoirm as they began their hunt.
Aware that someone was watching him, Lachlann tore his gaze from the sky and met his father’s eye.
“Is the MacLeod lass behaving herself?” Morgan asked.
His father rarely referred to Adaira by her given name these days. The chieftain hadn’t seen her since her incarceration nearly two months earlier. But with Samhuinn looming, the fire festival that marked the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter, that soon would change. The nights had started to become long and cold, and the handfasting drew near.
“Aye, well enough,” Lachlann replied tersely.
“Is she eating? I’ve no wish to wed a scarecrow.”
“I check on her most days … and see to it she finishes her meals.”
Morgan nodded. “Good.”
Lachlann drew in a deep breath then, glancing over his shoulder at where his brothers drew near. He had just a few moments alone with his father. He would have to speak now, or they’d have an audience.
“Are ye really going through with this?” he asked, his voice low.
Morgan huffed. “Aye.” He inclined his head, studying Lachlann with a hard, searching look. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because Adaira doesn’t deserve it.” The words surprised Lachlann as they left his mouth, yet he didn’t stop. This impulse had been growing within him for weeks now. “Da, don’t punish her for MacLeod’s crimes against ye.”
Whenever Lachlann climbed the steps to the tower chamber, he steeled himself to look upon Adaira’s pale face, her haunted eyes. Occasionally they exchanged a few awkward words, but for the most part they remained silent. The first few times he’d visited her, Adaira had raged at him, but after a while she’d run out of insults and ignored him instead. And with each visit, Lachlann had felt something grow inside him—something that had led to this.
His father stared back at him for a long, drawn out moment. “MacLeod loves his daughters,” he replied softly. “Aye, he’s a bully, but there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for them … I want him to know what it feels like to lose something he loves.”
Lachlann held his gaze. His brothers had reached them and were now reining in their horses.
“God’s bones,” Lucas panted, his voice rough with irritation. “Ye two ride as if all the demons of hell were behind ye.”
Lachlann ignored his brother. His attention remained upon his father. “It won’t bring Una back to ye,” he said coldly. “Nothing will do that.”
Morgan Fraser’s gaze narrowed, something dangerous moving in the depths of his eyes. None of his sons ever spoke of Una. She was a forbidden topic at Talasgair. Lachlann had just stepped over an invisible line, but he didn’t care. Today, he felt reckless.
