“No…” She wheezed. “Lachlan…”
His gaze met hers. The darkness seemed to vanish. His shoulders dropped, and he thrust a finger at both men, uttering something in Gaelic. Then he hurried to her side, pushing hair from her face and patting his hands across her body.
“Are you injured, lass?” He cursed under his breath. “God dammit. You shouldn’t have been here. You should not have seen that.”
Both men staggered away, slowly vanishing into the darkness. “What were they doing?”
“Trying to steal our horses. Someone must have told them there were visitors here. I woke when I heard the barn door open.”
“They could have killed you. I had to do something.”
Lachlan shook his head vigorously. “You should have stayed inside where it was safe.”
“He had a dagger.”
“Aye, and I could handle it.” He stilled at the sight of blood on his knuckles. Blood that had transferred onto the white of her shift. He dropped onto the ground, releasing her as though she had scalded him. “You should never have seen any of that.”
“If I had not done something, you could have been killed.”
He gave a dry laugh. “Did you not see, lass? I am naught but the barbarian. Once a fighter, always a fighter.” His smile mocked.
“I do not know what you mean by that, Lachlan.”
“You are delirious. It is cold, and you’ve been hurt. Let us get you inside. Soon, you will remember all that has occurred tonight.” His tone was cold and resigned.
She frowned but allowed him to aid her inside. Her stomach hurt, and she had to fight the desire to cough. The man had struck her with little care for the fact she was a woman. And yet…
And yet, she had survived. And it had worked.
Not even two weeks ago, she would never have been able to do such a thing.
When they returned to the room, he threw a blanket over her shoulders. She hardly realized she was shaking until he had done as much. She longed for him to take her in his arms, but he took a step back, pushed a hand through his hair, and faced away from her. Blood marred his knuckles, and his shirt was torn.
“Lachlan…”
He gave her a grim look. “I did not mean to scare you.”
She frowned. “You did not scare me. Those men scared me.”
“What in the devil possessed you to come outside?”
“I saw the knife. I could not stay here and let you get hurt.”
He gave a half-smile that there was no warmth behind. “I wish you had stayed inside, lass. As brave as you are, you should not have seen any of that.”
“I have seen more than I ever thought I would on this journey.” While she had been terrified he might have been hurt, she could not help feel proud of herself. She would have thought he might be too. So, why was he acting so regretfully? “Are you angry with me?”
“God, no.” He made a noise in the back of his throat. “How could I ever be angry with you?” He pushed a hand through his hair again. “I’m angry with myself. Angry that you saw such a thing. Angry that I even behaved in such a manner.”
“You are angry that you defended yourself? I do not—”
“I’m angry about what I did to those men. At least in front of you.” He sighed. “He should never have touched you.” His tone was bitter and angry.
“He should not have done,” she agreed. “I do not even think he realized I was a woman. However, they are clearly men without honor.”
He snorted. “Clearly, I am one and the same.”
Minerva eyed him. What was plaguing this man so badly? She rose from the bed, wincing as her stomach pulled. It would hurt even more tomorrow, she reckoned. She came up behind Lachlan, curving her hands around his shoulders and pressing her head to his back. “You are nothing like those men.” She urged him to turn around so that she could look into his eyes. Cupping his face, she pressed a gentle kiss to his lips then took his hand and dragged him over to the bed.
He let her coax him down on the mattress, and she curled herself around him, as though she might somehow be able to absorb whatever pain was in him. She waited a few moments, rubbing her hands up and down his arms and listening to his heavy breaths.
“You are nothing like those men, Lachlan,” she repeated. “When will you ever believe that?”
“When I no longer want to fight someone to the death,” he said quietly.
“You would not have killed those men. I do not believe it.”
“I could have done, though.”
“Lots of people can do many things, it does not mean they do them. We all have the capacity to hurt. This does not mean we carry it through.”
He twisted his head to look at her. “You’re wise beyond your years, lassie. But I still scared you.”
She shook her head. “No, those men scared me.”
“I still wish you had not seen that.”
“I do not think differently of you because you fought those men.” She tilted her head at him. “Is that what you believe, that I think differently of you?”
“How could you not? You saw a side to me that I had thought was buried forever. Or at least I hoped it was.”
“You used to fight?” she asked. She skimmed a finger over one of the scars on his face. “Is this why you have the scars?”
He grimaced. “It is why I am so good with my fists. And yes, the scars are from fighting.”
“We all have a past. We have spoken about mine plenty. But coming here has taught me not to be defined by it any longer. You must do the same for yourself.”
He blew out a heavy breath and took her hand, cupping it in both of his, his large palms dwarfing her slender hand. “I am trying my best, lass.” He gave a tilted smile. “Heck, if you can overcome your past, I should certainly not be complaining about mine.”
“Why did you fight? Was it for money?”
He chuckled dryly. “No, nothing so reasonable as that. I fought because I was an angry bairn.”
“I see.” Sometimes, she felt she would never understand what he might have been through as a young boy. How could she when she was afforded all the privileges of rank and money? But she wanted to understand. She wanted more time. Time that she did not have.
“My father…” He lifted her hand and pressed a quick kiss to it. “My father did not like seeing us in poverty. At least I hope that is why he did what he did.”
“What did he do?”
“He killed himself.” The words came out tonelessly and quick.
Minerva gasped, unable to stop herself from reacting so. “Lachlan—”
“He left us. Like a coward.”
Minerva folded her hand over the top of his, squeezing hard, wishing she could take away some of the pain. She could never imagine what it must be like to have a parent take their own life. She lost her father many years ago, and while it had been unexpected, it was of natural causes. It was painful, but she could not even dream of how she might have felt had he done such a thing.
“So, that made you angry?”
“Aye and determined to prove him wrong.”
“And you did. I imagine he would be very proud of you.”
Lachlan looked at her, his eyes softening. She cupped her cheek, and she could not resist burrowing into the warmth of his palm. “You are too good and kind for me.”
“That is simply not true at all.” She closed the gap between them, brushing her lips over his. “You are the best man I have ever met.”
“Minerva, I—”
She pressed her lips to his, a knot tightened in her throat. She could not imagine being apart from this man again, and yet, she must. She still had to return to London once this was done, and who knew if she would ever see him again?
“Just kiss me,” she said huskily, coming in for another kiss.
“Aye, that I can do. That I can always do.”
Chapter Thirteen
Minerva plodded determinedly on. Lachlan tried to curb the smile t
hat threatened to split across his face. He doubted she would appreciate his amusement at her fortitude. What a picture she made though. Dressed in the gown in which he had first met her in, and wearing her pelisse and matching hat, she did not look much like a mountain climber. However, she had the determination of one.
What her grandfather had been thinking when he sent her all the way here, he did not know, though he supposed it was one way to ensure Minerva found her courage.
And, boy, had she.
The cottage in which her grandfather stayed as a child was over the next summit. They had been forced to leave the horses in the previous settlement—a cluster of buildings that hardly counted as a village. But there was no chance of going on horseback over these steep and rugged slopes.
Breaths coming fast, they marched on, picking their way up the side of the mountain and following a groove that had been worn into the ground by thousands of feet before them.
“Just think…” Minerva drew in a breath. “Just think, my grandpapa walked this very path.”
“Aye, makes you wonder what was so special about this cottage.”
She sent him a sideways look. “Perhaps, rather like some people, he enjoyed the solitude. My grandpapa was no lord, but he was raised to marry well and take charge of the family businesses.”
“Surely, you have cottages on mountains in England?”
She giggled. “I would have thought a hardy Scotsman like yourself would relish such a challenge.”
“Keep on teasing me, lass, and I’ll roll you back down the hill,” he threatened with a smile.
She laughed again, her eyes sparkling. Thankfully, the weather had remained clear, and they would make it to the cottage before that changed, he was certain. The sun splitting the cloud highlighted the golden strands of hair around her face and how flushed her cheeks were.
His heart lurched. He was going to miss that smile. Hell, he was going to miss everything about her. But they hardly knew each other. How could he ask her to stay? Or admit his deepening feelings for her? He couldn’t regret the time spent together, and he did not believe she did either, but the thought of her going back to London was like a dagger in his chest. Especially when he considered her using her newfound courage to spend time with other men. He never thought of himself as the jealous type, but apparently, with Minerva, it was different.
“What is it?” she asked, a crease between her brows.
She had caught him looking—probably wistfully. “I… I was just thinking that I would miss you.” The words came out gravelly, as though he had swallowed rocks from the very ground they walked on.
Her smile softened. “I will miss you too,” she admitted. “It seems strange that one can know someone for such little time and yet feel like they have known them forever.”
He shook his head to himself. It felt like more than that, he was certain of it. It felt like… well… it had to be insanity to say as much, so he wouldn’t.
“Perhaps, we can write to one another? Maybe I can visit again soon?” she asked tentatively.
It was more than someone like him could expect. He nodded. “I’d like that very much.” Though he had this sinking feeling that as soon as she returned home she would forget all about him.
They followed the path that curved around the mountain. Lachlan paused to take in the scenery ahead of them. “There.” He pointed toward the next valley. “That is the cottage your grandfather mentioned.”
“Oh, finally.” She lifted her gaze to the skies. “Grandpapa, I hope you know what you have put me through.”
“It is only another hour of walking. We can stay the night there before making our way back.”
“This journey has been quite unlike I expected. But I must confess I am looking forward to sleeping in the same bed every night again.”
There it was again. Mention of home. Mention of the place where he would not be. He took her face in his hands before she could move away. She gave a gasp that he swallowed with his kisses. He kissed her deeply, drinking in the taste and feel of her, moving his hands down her spine and around her waist. If he could just imprint this in his memory, perhaps he would not miss her so much.
By the time he had drawn away, her hands were looped around his neck. Why life had thrown such a woman into his life only to drag her away again, he did not know. But what he did know was having her in his arms made him forget his past, forget that he might well be unworthy of her. When he kissed her and made her shiver and gasp, he finally felt her equal.
“What was that for?”
“You are too damned beautiful, lass. I could not resist.”
“Good. You resisted too long.”
He smirked. “I resisted all of—what—two days? That is hardly an eternity.”
“Still too long for me.” She took his hand, and they made their way down the other side of the mountain toward the cottage.
As promised, it took just under an hour to reach the cottage. A small dwelling, made of gray stone and with what must’ve once been white trimmed windows, the wee cottage had a sort of rustic appeal that he could well understand her grandfather liking.
“My grandpapa really was like you.” Minerva peered up at the building. “Escaping to rundown old buildings, away from the luxury of his real life.”
“I have no intention of escaping any longer.”
She twisted her head to look at him. “So, you will cease playing farmer? And take charge of your servants? It is hard to picture you playing the landowner.”
He gave a tilted smile. “Aye, that is what I intend. And it’s all your fault, lass.”
She pressed a hand to her chest. “My fault?”
“Aye. You spent this journey looking forward, not backward. You were determined to defeat your past. I must do the same with mine. That means embracing what I have gained instead of running away from it.”
“Goodness. I had little idea I could have such an effect.”
“You are capable of more than you realize.” He tugged her briefly into him and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Now, shall we find whatever it was your grandfather wanted you to have?”
He pushed open the door to be greeted by the dark confines of a kitchen. It was hard to tell whether the building was even still in use. An old lamp sat on a battered table and several pots and pans were stacked on the side. Swirls of dust followed their movements as they stepped into the building, suggesting the cottage was not in use anymore.
“What exactly did your grandfather wish you to collect?”
Minerva scowled. She tugged a letter out from an inner pocket in her pelisse and flicked the wrinkled paper open. “He did not exactly say. I assumed it must be something valuable, but there is nothing of value here.”
She handed over the letter, and Lachlan perused it. There were no clues to what this item might be. Though, the words made him smile. Clearly, Minerva’s grandfather had great sympathy for her plight and was determined that she would enjoy life once he was gone. It was certainly an irregular way of helping her overcome her fears, but it seemed to have worked.
Too well, perhaps. He doubted her grandfather intended for her to become romantically involved with a Scotsman.
If that’s what this was.
He went to hand her back the letter then paused. “Min?”
She blinked at him, perplexed.
“Lass?” he tried again.
“That is the first time you have called me Min.”
“Forgive me, you do not like it.”
She shook her head. “No, I like it very much. It is just usually only family calls me it and, well, I—”
“You should look at this.” He stepped over to the wooden mantlepiece and plucked the letter off it. “This is your grandfather’s handwriting, no?”
She followed him and nodded. “Goodness, yes it is. I wonder when he left this here.”
“No doubt he had someone do it for him. This house is a little dusty, but it seems someone cares for it. Look.” H
e nodded toward a basket he’d just spotted, laden with food. Someone had been prepared for their arrival—a local perhaps, who had been paid to keep an eye out for them.
“Goodness, Grandpapa really did think of everything.” She lifted the letter and took a long, audible breath. Tears shone in her eyes.
“What is it, lass?”
“I miss him so.”
Lachlan wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “I know.”
“He would have liked you, I think.”
“I would have liked him, I suspect. It seems he understood you a great deal.”
She nodded and bit down on her lip. “And he has given me a second chance at life. I wonder if he ever thought I would not do it.”
“I cannot claim to have known you all your life, Min, but even I could see how much courage you had on the first day we met. He knew you could do this, I have no doubt.”
Her throat worked, and she shifted her gaze to the letter. Working open the seal, she unfolded the letter, and her gaze traced the writing. A crease appeared between her brows, then her mouth dropped open. She shook her head slowly. “Grandpapa, you…you trickster!”
“What is it?”
Her gaze lifted to his, and a slight smile curved her lips. “There…there was nothing for me to collect. Well, save from this letter. I am to take it back to Mr. Barton as proof that I have been here. But there was no object or some valuable belonging as I thought there might be. He simply wanted me to endure this arduous journey.”
Lachlan chuckled. He really did regret he had never met this man. He must have been quite the character. “Well, I suppose this journey gave you everything you needed. A chance to prove to yourself you no longer need to be scared.”
Minerva giggled. “It certainly did that. Goodness, my family is not going to believe this. We all thought I would come back with an antique or something.”
“Regardless, you have done it, lass. You have fulfilled your task.”
“Almost.” She fixed him with a look. “I still have to get back to London.”
Once a Wallflower, Always a Wallflower (The Inheritance Clause Book 3) Page 9