Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
“Ye’re straining yer right shoulder too much,” Ian spoke through the blows.
Duncan parried the strike with a sharp clang of steel, twisting his wrist and driving Iain back two steps across the training floor.
“I was luring ye in,” Duncan replied in a steady breath despite the force behind his blow.
“Aye?” Iain said, grinning as he recovered. “Because it looks suspiciously like ye’re trying tae take me head off.”
Their blades met again, ringing loudly in the morning air.
Sunlight spilled through the high windows of the training hall, catching on sweat-slick steel and dust motes stirred by their movement.
Duncan attacked harder than usual. He was fast, relentless, pushing Iain to block rather than counter. Iain felt it at once.
“Ye’re angry,” Iain said between strikes.
Duncan drove him back again with his jaw tight. “Focus.”
“I am focused,” Iain replied, twisting away from a cut that came far too close for comfort. “That’s why I’m noticing ye’re fencing like ye’ve got something tae prove.”
Steel rang again. Duncan broke away, circling.
“Ye barely take a breath between attacks,” Iain went on. “This,” he blocked another aggressive strike, “is personal.”
Duncan did not answer. He lunged instead, and Iain barely caught the blow in time.
“That settles it,” Iain said, laughing breathlessly. “Whatever is gnawing at ye, it’s either a woman or a war.”
Duncan answered with a sharp thrust that forced Iain to retreat. “She screamed last night.”
Iain blocked, and they both heard steel ringing. “Who?”
“Elaina.” Duncan pressed harder, driving him back again. “I woke thinking…” He broke off, jaw tightening as their blades locked. “Fer a moment, I thought it was Catriona.”
Iain shoved him off and circled. “How bad was it?”
“Bad,” Duncan said, attacking again without pause. “Bad enough that I went through her door ready tae kill someone.”
Iain parried, eyes narrowing now. “And?”
“And she was shaking,” Duncan continued, each word timed with a strike. “She couldnae breathe, crying like she was still trapped in it.”
They clashed again, sparks flashing as metal scraped metal.
“Night terrors,” Iain said grimly, deflecting a blow that came faster than the rest. “The kind that dinnae end when ye wake.”
“Aye,” Duncan said. “She was still half there when I reached her.”
They broke apart, both breathing harder now.
“That,” Iain said, raising his blade again, “would explain why ye’re fencing like ye’re trying tae beat the past out of the floor.”
Duncan lunged. “I’d rather face ten armed men than watch someone like that and dae naething.”
Iain met the strike squarely. “Whatever she fled from, it left scars ye cannae see.”
“Aye,” Duncan replied, grip tightening as they locked blades once more. “And I intend tae find out what put them there.”
He twisted his wrist and broke the lock, blades scraping as they separated. “She slept uneasily the first night as well,” he went on, circling. “Even at the inn. She jumped at every sound. That’s why I put her in the chamber closest tae mine.”
Iain parried, then laughed under his breath. “I kent there was something more tae her.”
“More trouble, perhaps,” Duncan said dryly, striking again.
Iain blocked, but his eyes were bright with interest. “Trouble rarely keeps ye awake at night.”
Duncan pressed harder, forcing Iain back toward the edge of the floor. “It keeps the clan safer when I ken where it is.”
Iain barely caught the next strike and shook his head. “Dae ye care fer her, Duncan?”
For the briefest moment, Duncan paused. But it was only long enough to step inside Iain’s guard, hook his blade, and send it skittering across the floor with a sharp clatter.
“There,” Duncan announced, lowering his sword. “That’s care enough.”
Iain stared at his empty hand, then looked up and laughed. “Just a good host, are ye?”
“That is precisely what I am,” Duncan replied, turning away to retrieve his cloak. “Now pick up yer sword before ye embarrass yerself further.”
Iain grinned unabashedly as he did just that.
Sleep refused him that night.
Duncan lay staring at the darkened ceiling, listening to the slow hush of the castle settling around him. Every sound found him awake and waiting. He turned onto his side, then onto his back again, but rest would not come.
He had not seen Elaina all day. She had vanished into the rhythm of the castle as if by design: moving early, working late, leaving no trace behind her but the faint scent of herbs in the corridors and the quiet efficiency of someone determined not to be noticed.
Avoiding him again, he suspected.
That morning, he had corrected at least one mistake. He had given new orders. She was to take her meals wherever she pleased. She was right. She was not his prisoner.
Still, knowing that did little to ease the restlessness that gnawed at him. There was something about her, something she carried close and guarded fiercely and every instinct he possessed told him it mattered. The only question was how much and why.
His mind returned to it again and again, circling the thought as though persistence alone might uncover what she had so carefully concealed.
Yet the more he considered it, the more certain he became that whatever it was, it was no small thing, because Elaina did not seem the sort of woman to guard trifles so closely.
Rubbing a hand down his face, Duncan finally pushed himself out of bed. The chill of the stone floor crept into his feet as he pulled on his shirt and moved quietly through the corridor. The castle was nearly silent at that hour, the sort of silence that encouraged thought rather than rest.
He made his way to the kitchen, following the low glow of the hearth, which was spilling warm light across the stone floor. But as soon as he stopped at the threshold, he realized he was not alone.
Elaina was standing by the fire with her sleeves rolled up.
A guard stood in the shadow to her left but moved out of the room discreetly with a nod as soon as he saw his laird.
She was intent on whatever simmered gently in a small pot.
The warm, earthy scent of rosemary filled the chamber.
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sharp, calming fragrance settle around him.
She turned at the faint sound of his step, got startled, and the spoon slipped from her fingers, clattering loudly against the stone. She gasped, with her hand flying to her chest.
Duncan lifted both hands at once, smiling. “I didnae mean tae startle ye.”
She exhaled sharply, visibly steadying herself, and bent to retrieve the spoon. “It’s nae yer fault. That’s on me.”
But it wasn’t. He saw it then with painful clarity: the way her shoulders remained tense even after the moment passed and the way her eyes flicked to the shadows before returning to him. Fear lived in her body as habit now, woven into waking hours just as tightly as it haunted her sleep.
He stepped closer, careful to announce himself with each movement. “Isn’t it late fer brewing potions?”
She straightened, stirring again. “Late is when I work best. The castle is quieter. It makes it easier tae think.”
He nodded, understanding her more than she knew.
Silence had always been his ally as well.
For a heartbeat, he wanted to ask her about the nightmares, the way terror seized her without warning, the past that stalked her even here.
He wanted to tell her he understood what it meant to carry ghosts, that strength and fear were not opposites.
But he did not. She would see it as an attempt to pry, or even worse, as weakness. So, he swallowed the words and kept his concern to himself.
“Smells calming,” he said instead.
“It’s meant tae be,” she replied, not looking at him. “For sleep.” When she glanced over her shoulder again, she frowned slightly. “What brought ye down here at this hour?”
Duncan hesitated only a moment. “I couldnae sleep,” he explained. “I came for warm milk.”
The admission seemed to surprise her. Then she let out a soft laugh, which both thrilled him and unnerved him with the effect it had on him.
“That is… unexpectedly human of ye, me laird.”
His mouth curved. “I try nae tae disappoint.”
She turned fully toward him then. “If ye like, ye can have some of this. It will help more than milk alone.”
He inclined his head. “I’d be grateful.”
He couldn’t help but notice how practiced and fluid her movements were. Duncan watched her for a moment, then spoke again, unable to keep quiet around her.
“I thought ye were avoiding me… especially after last night.”
Her hand stilled.
Color rose swiftly in her cheeks as she busied herself with the pot. “I was nae avoiding ye,” she said too quickly. “I’ve simply been busy.”
“Aye,” he said gently. “So have I.”
She turned away from him, clearly intending to end the subject, but Duncan stepped closer. His aim was not to crowd her. He just wanted to be close enough that she could not quite retreat into the task. He reached out slowly, giving her time to pull back, and lifted her chin with two fingers.
She froze.
“Look at me,” he said softly.
Her eyes met his at last. They were wide, uncertain, and bright with something she had not yet learned how to hide. The firelight caught in them, and he felt again that dangerous pull, stronger now for being restrained.
“Ye’ve nothing tae be shy about,” he continued in that same soft and tender manner. “And naething tae apologize fer. What happened was nae a failing.”
Her breath caught.
“And ye can trust me,” he added, not as laird, not as protector, but as a man offering truth. “I will nae force ye intae anything, be that answers, confessions, or comfort. I only want ye tae ken that.”
For a long moment, she said nothing. The pot bubbled softly between them, while the night pressed close around the hearth.