Page 46 of The Outlaw's Bride
He and Adaira now rode cross country. They’d left the highway behind, and instead of traveling south-east as he'd initially planned, they were riding north-east. Their path would take them through the mountainous heart of the isle, through narrow passes and uninhabited land. He could see the bulk of those mountains in the distance now, their sculpted silhouettes frosted silver.
Adaira pressed up against his back. She’d wrapped her hands around his waist. Despite the layers of clothing they both wore, he could feel the length of her body pressed up against him, and the softness of her breasts, jolting against him with every stride.
The sensation was distracting, although his thoughts were focused on what lay ahead—and on what he’d left behind.
There were some bridges that could only be crossed once—some steps that could never be retraced.
With an ache in his chest, he knew he’d never see the walls of Talasgair again, never catch sight of the Fraser pennants snapping in the wind or hear the wail of a highland pipe calling him home.
The ache increased till it hurt to breathe.
What have I done?
Lachlann’s own behavior stunned him. He’d struggled ever since refusing to help Adaira, but when he’d watched his father with her at the feast, something inside him—a cord that had long been fraying—snapped.
The arrival of his cousin Marcas Fraser had thrown the whole evening into an uproar. For a short while everyone inside the hall had forgotten that there would be a wedding the following day. Instead they had been outraged to discover Scotland's defeat against the English.
Lachlann too had reeled from the devastating news—but all he’d been able to think about as he sat at the table, listening to Lucas bellow in rage next to him, was getting Adaira out of Talasgair.
It had been the perfect evening to arrange an escape. Everyone was distracted, including his father, who finished the feast early and took Marcas away with him to his solar to discuss the grim details of the battle at length.
Lachlann had taken his horse out for an evening ride and tethered it inside the ruins of Dun Sleadale nearby, before making his way back to the broch on foot. He’d made some excuse to the guards at the West Gate about how the beast had thrown him and galloped off into the gloaming. He’d told them he would go looking for it in the morning.
After that, he’d waited in his bed-chamber, listening as the broch slowly went to sleep. And when the moon had risen high into the sky, he finally made his move.
“I can hear ye thinking,” Adaira spoke up, shattering the silence between them. Her voice was soft, yet wary.
“Why? Are ye a sorceress?” he replied. He’d meant to use a teasing tone, but instead his voice sounded brittle.
Adaira huffed. “I don’t need to be a witch to hear the chatter of yer thoughts. Ye are as tense as a board.”
Lachlann didn’t answer. For once, he had no idea what to say.
Silence fell between them, before Adaira eventually broke it. “It was a brave thing ye did … and I thank ye for it.”
Lachlann snorted. He wasn’t sure whether it was brave or the act of an idiot.
“I still don’t understand why ye did it,” Adaira continued.
“Ye don’t need to,” he replied. “Ye are free, aren’t ye?”
“Aye, but—”
“Enough, Adaira,” he said, his voice weary. “I’d prefer we traveled in silence.”
The rosy blush of dawn stained the eastern sky. Adaira glanced up before bowing her head and splashing water on her face. The water’s chill made her suck in a breath.
They had halted in the bottom of a rocky valley. The bulk of huge mountains reared high above them, and a clear burn trickled through the vale. The water was icy and fresh. Filling her cupped hands with it, Adaira drank deep before refilling their water skin. Around her a glittering frost carpeted the ground.
She glanced behind her, at where Lachlann was in the midst of a long stretch. She heard the muscles and bones in his back and shoulders creak. It'd been a long, tiring night, but they couldn't rest yet.
Adaira’s gaze settled upon Lachlann’s face. His expression was tense, his features strained. She’d felt the tension growing in him with each furlong they traveled from Talasgair. His mood put her on edge and worried her.
Was he planning something? Would he betray her again?
Adaira drew in a slow, steadying breath. The time had come for them to have a frank conversation. She’d been avoiding this moment, for he’d been evasive every time she’d tried to speak to him—yet a resolve now filled her.
“What’s wrong, Lachlann?” Adaira asked, breaking the silence.
