Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Elaina was lying stiffly beneath the covers, her eyes tracing the dim outlines of the unfamiliar room.
Every sound set her nerves alight: the creak of settling wood, a distant laugh below, the muffled thud of footsteps on the stairs.
Each noise carried the echo of danger, of hands closing around her arm, of a blade at her throat.
She turned onto her side, then onto her back again, her heart refusing to slow.
Ye are safe, she told herself firmly. Fer taenight, at least.
Still, her body did not believe it. After what felt like hours, she slipped from the bed and crossed the room quietly, careful not to disturb anything that might betray her movement.
She reached for the door and eased it open, intending only to listen.
She needed to reassure herself that the corridor was empty and that nothing waited for her beyond the threshold.
But what she found there surprised her.
The laird was settled in the chair directly before her door. His long legs were stretched out, and his head was tilted slightly to one side. His eyes were closed and his posture was relaxed enough that, at first glance, he looked to be asleep.
Warmth spread through her chest before she could stop it.
She hesitated, then began to withdraw, stepping back as quietly as she had come, not wishing to wake him. But she had scarcely shifted her weight when his eyes opened.
“Elaina?” he asked softly. “Are ye all right?”
She froze. For a heartbeat, she considered telling him everything about her father, Lachlan, the marriage she fled and the certainty that danger would follow her wherever she went. The truth pressed hard against her lips, aching to be spoken.
Then reason returned. He was still a stranger. A kind one, perhaps, and honorable, but still a man she had known less than a day. Trust, she reminded herself, was not given freely. It was earned.
“I’m just… restless,” she said at last.
Duncan straightened slightly, concern evident even in the low light. “That is nae surprising, after taenight.” His voice was calm. “But ye are safe. There is naething tae fear here. Ye can sleep soundly.”
She smiled faintly, though the tension in her chest remained. “That is easier said than done.”
His mouth curved in understanding. “Aye,” he agreed quietly. “I’ve nae been sleeping much either.”
She glanced down the corridor at the chair beneath him, then back at his face. “Nae wonder,” she replied, a hint of teasing slipping into her voice. “When ye’re trying tae sleep in a chair.”
He shrugged easily. “It’s warmer than the stables. And besides,” he added, as if it were the most sensible thing in the world, “I’m closer tae ye here.”
Her brows lifted. “Tae me?”
He met her gaze unflustered. “Tae protect ye.”
The warmth in her chest deepened, unsettling in its suddenness. Before she could overthink it, the words escaped her.
“Then ye’d best protect me from inside me room.”
The suggestion was charged. Even more, it was dangerous.
“That may be true,” he said slowly. “But are ye certain?”
She tilted her head, feigning innocence she did not entirely feel. “Why would I nae be?”
He let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh if it had carried any humor. “Because,” he said mildly, “I have a reputation tae keep. I cannae simply sleep in the same room as a lady and pretend it means naething.”
Her lips curved, amusement brightening her eyes despite the hour. “Oh, stop being silly.”
“Silly?” he echoed, looking amused.
“Aye,” she said, warmth threading her voice now. “After all that talk of honor and reputation, ye’re still guarding a door in a corridor. If anyone were inclined tae talk, they already would.”
He hesitated, clearly weighing sense against something far less orderly.
“And besides,” she added, “I didnae invite ye fer scandal. Only fer peace.”
That did it.
She stepped back into the room and opened the door wider, her hand resting on the latch as she looked at him expectantly. “Just come inside.”
For a moment, he did not move. The attraction between them felt suddenly very real and very present, like a current neither wished to step into first. She could see it in the tension of his shoulders, in the way his gaze flicked briefly past her into the room and then returned to her face.
Then he gave a small, resigned shake of his head. “Ye make a dangerously persuasive argument.”
She smiled. “I’ve been told.”
He stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him with quiet care. The space felt smaller with him in it. Elaina moved past him and returned to the bed, feeling the exhaustion she had been holding at bay finally rushing in.
She slipped beneath the covers and glanced up at him, suddenly shy despite herself. “It’s… it’s all right if ye sleep here,” she said, gesturing to the empty space beside her. “But nay funny business.”
His mouth curved. “Ye dinnae want me tae tell ye jokes in the middle of the night?”
She let out a soft laugh. “Ye ken perfectly well what I mean.”
“A pity,” he said lightly. “I have excellent timing.”
He joined her then, lying down with deliberate care.
She noticed at once that he kept his distance.
His body was angled away from hers, leaving a careful space between them.
It was a small thing, but it mattered. The respect in it settled something restless inside her, and she found herself breathing more easily than she had all night.
Overwhelmed by it all, by the fear, the escape, and the man beside her who had asked for nothing, she turned her head slightly toward him.
“Thank ye,” she murmured. “Fer saving me. And fer staying outside me door.”
He shifted just enough to look at her. “I was nae raised tae leave a woman in danger…”
She heard only part of it. The rest blurred and faded as sleep claimed her at last. Elaina slept then, deeply and without fear, and for the first time since she had fled, the night passed her by without reaching for her.
Duncan woke before the light. It was habit more than intention. It was also the quiet vigilance of a man long accustomed to mornings that demanded readiness.
For a moment, he lay still, orienting himself to unfamiliar warmth and the faint scent of herbs and linen. Then he realized she had moved.
Elaina was lying close to him now, far closer than she had when they first settled. In her sleep, she had crossed the careful space he had kept between them. Her shoulder brushed his chest, and her hand curled loosely against him as if it belonged there.
He did not move. His breath slowed as he took her in.
Her hair spilled freely across the pillow and his arm, dark-blonde waves catching the dim morning light.
Without the shadows of fear or watchfulness, her face was softer than he had yet seen.
Dark, long lashes were resting against her cheeks, and her full lips parted slightly in sleep.
She was beautiful.
The realization struck him with a quiet force that had nothing to do with desire alone. It was the unguardedness of her, the trust implicit in the way she had sought warmth without waking, that unsettled him most.
She stirred then. It was a small movement, as if some instinct had warned her she was no longer alone in sleep. Her brow creased faintly, and Duncan reacted at once. He drew away and sat up on the edge of the bed, placing distance between them before she could fully wake.
“Elaina,” he said softly.
Her eyes fluttered open. For a moment, she looked disoriented, then she focused on him. “Is it time tae go?”
“Aye,” he replied at once, grateful for the simplicity of the question. “I’ll go and ready the horse. I’ll wait fer ye in the stables.”
He did not give her time to answer. He stood, pulled his cloak from the chair, and settled it over his shoulders with movements that were perhaps a touch too brisk. Without looking back, because he did not trust himself to do so, he crossed the room.
“I’ll see ye shortly,” he added, already reaching for the door.
Then he was gone. Duncan did not slow until he reached the cool air of the yard. The morning was pale and quiet, while the stables were dark and familiar. He welcomed the smell of hay and leather, and the solid certainty of tasks that required hands rather than thoughts.
He set about readying his horse with efficient ease.
He checked the tack, tightening the girth, and running a steadying hand down the animal’s neck.
The rhythm of it grounded him. Horses asked no questions and kept no secrets.
They simply responded to care and command.
By the time he finished, the sun had lifted enough to pale the eastern sky.
At that moment, footsteps sounded behind him.
He turned to find Elaina approaching. Her hair was once more braided neatly down her back. She looked rested. Still wary, perhaps, but steadier than she had seemed the night before. For reasons he refused to examine too closely, that eased something in him.
She glanced past him, then around the stable yard.
He rested a hand on the saddle. “Ye’ll ride with me.”
Her head snapped up. “I can ride perfectly well on me own.”
“I’ve nay doubt of it,” he said mildly. “But I only have this one horse. And it is fer yer own safety.”
The words landed differently than his teasing had. He saw it in the way her gaze drifted for a brief moment as memory caught up with her: the knives, the hands, the night she had nearly lost everything.
When she looked back at him, the defiance was still there, but it had tempered into something more reluctant.
“Very well,” she acquiesced reluctantly. “I see the sense in it.”
“Of course,” he agreed solemnly. “I would never claim victory otherwise.”
She shot him a look that promised future retaliation, but she moved closer all the same.
Duncan swung up first, then reached down to help her mount, careful and respectful as he settled her in front of him.
As they prepared to leave the stable yard, he felt her straighten, gathering herself with quiet resolve.
They set off together, alert, and riding toward a road neither of them yet understood, but which both had already chosen.