Page 34 of The Outlaw's Bride
Hysteria bubbled up within Adaira. “No,” she rasped.
She pushed herself up into a sitting position and closed her eyes for a moment. Her head still spun, although she supposed lack of food was partially to blame for her faint. Adaira covered her face with her hands. “Leave me, Lachlann … please,” she whispered.
When he didn’t move, she tried to stand up. However, her knees buckled under her. Lachlann was there in an instant, supporting her.
“Sit down on the bed, Adaira.” He guided her over to the pallet and lowered her down onto it. Then he hunkered down so that their gazes were level. There was concern on his face now. “I’m going to bring ye up another tray of bread and stew,” he said, his voice low and firm, “and ye are going to eat it. Ye will make yerself sick if ye continue to refuse food.”
Adaira’s mouth twisted, even as despair pressed down upon her. “Good.”
Lachlann huffed a frustrated breath. “Ye don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
Lachlann frowned. “If ye don’t eat, Da will have servants force ye.” He gave her a long, steady look. “Ye won’t escape him by starving yerself, Adaira. Da’s a powerful man. He nearly always gets what he wants.”
She stared at him, anger welling like a springtide within her. Adaira welcomed the sensation, for it quelled the urge to start weeping uncontrollably. “This is all yer fault,” she rasped the words. “I hate ye, Lachlann Fraser.”
His mouth compressed. “And ye are welcome to … but it changes nothing.”
Adaira’s right hand balled into a fist. She longed to strike him. He was so hard, so arrogant. The man didn’t have an ounce of pity in him.
But Adaira didn’t hit him. Instead, she pressed her fist into the straw-stuffed mattress. Her short spell at Talasgair had taught her that the Frasers were ruthless. Morgan Fraser had treated her harshly, and his sons were cut of the same cloth. Lachlann hadn’t raised a hand to her when she’d fought him on the shore below the fortress, but he might now.
No wonder Una fled this place.
For the first time, Adaira felt some sympathy for her step-mother. She’d never liked Una much but now realized why she’d left Morgan Fraser. No woman could abide such an arrogant man.
Thinking about Una reminded Adaira of her father, her sisters, and everything she’d left behind at Dunvegan. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. She wished now that she’d never run away.
Lachlann rose to his feet before her. Adaira’s gaze didn’t follow him. She merely stared down at her bare feet and wished him gone.
“Ye need to eat,” he said gruffly. “I’ll return shortly with something from the kitchen.”
“Why the grim face?”
Lachlann glanced up from his half-eaten trencher of stew to find Lucas watching him. They sat at the chieftain’s table in the Great Hall with Niall and Tearlach. The high-backed carven chair where the chieftain usually sat was still empty—Lachlann had heeded his father’s warning. It would be a few more days yet before Morgan Fraser would be well enough to join his kin and retainers at mealtimes.
“I spoke to Da,” Lachlann replied, reaching for a cup of ale.
Understanding lit in his brother’s eyes. “So, the lass knows?”
Lachlann nodded. He took a deep draft of wine, draining his cup. It was plum—sour and strong. It suited his mood. He reached for a ewer and refilled the cup to the brim.
“What’s wrong?” There was a goading tone to Lucas’s voice. “Wanted her for yerself, did ye?”
Lachlann favored him with a dark look and took another gulp of wine. He wouldn’t respond to that question, although if Lucas continued to goad him, he’d answer with his fist instead.
Lachlann took another gulp of wine.Do I want her for myself?The question rose, unbidden.
He hadn’t liked seeing Adaira MacLeod in that state, and he knew he was responsible for it—but that didn’t mean he was jealous of his father claiming her. Even so, his mood had been black ever since he’d departed from her chamber. He’d brought a fresh tray of food up to her and stood over her while she slowly ate it. Neither of them had spoken a word.
“It’ll seem strange to have Lady Adaira as a step-mother,” Niall spoke up, helping himself to another bowl of boar stew. “She’s younger than any of us.”
“I can’t believe he’s wedding her,” Tearlach grumbled. “She’s a MacLeod for God’s sake.”
“I can see the appeal,” Lucas replied, favoring his brothers with a wolfish grin. “MacLeod or not, the lass is a bonny wee thing.” He cast Lachlann a look, his grin widening. “The old dog will live forever now.”
Niall and Tearlach laughed at that, but Lachlann said nothing. He’d had enough of this topic. He took another gulp of wine, his gaze traveling around the hall. Most of the retainers had finished their nooning meal and were getting up to return to their chores. Some, however, lingered over a cup of wine. Without their chieftain’s strict eye upon them, they relaxed more than usual. Since returning, Lachlann had noticed there were a number of faces missing among the men here.
