Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The courtyard was alive with motion by the time the sun had climbed its way above the hills. Crates were being carried in steady procession toward the larder, while the sound of boots against stone and the low murmur of voices were blending into the familiar rhythm of a well-run keep.
Duncan stood at the center of it. He observed the arrivals with a practiced eye, offering brief instructions where needed.
He was surprised to realize that his attention was sharp despite the restless current beneath it.
Every movement around him was accounted for and every detail was weighed and placed, yet his thoughts were not wholly on the supplies before him.
They had not been for some time.
“Me laird,” a voice came from behind him, one he could immediately connect to a face.
Iain came to stand beside him. His eyes were sweeping briefly over the activity before settling, as it often did, upon Duncan himself.
“Well?” he asked without preamble. “Have ye decided what ye intend tae dae?”
Duncan’s jaw tightened slightly, though his expression remained calm. He allowed himself the smallest exhale before turning to face him.
“Aye,” he said.
There was no hesitation in it now.
Iain straightened slightly, looking alert. “Then let us hear it.”
Duncan held his gaze. “We will send word tae Alasdair Fraser.”
Iain’s expression sharpened with interest.
“His offer stands,” Duncan continued. “An alliance through marriage tae his daughter, meaning his support and his men, in return for the union.”
He paused only briefly.
“Elaina has agreed tae the marriage,” he added. “And with that, we may now define the terms of such an alliance more precisely.”
There was a deliberate weight to the words, which was clear and measured, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
“We are free tae send word,” Duncan concluded, “and request that Fraser dispatch reinforcements at once.”
For a moment, Iain said nothing. Then a slow, satisfied smile broke across his face.
“At last,” he said, with unmistakable approval. “The Council will be pleased tae hear it, me laird.”
Duncan’s expression did not mirror the sentiment, though neither did he contradict it.
“They have pressed for this outcome,” Iain went on. “And with good reason. Fraser’s support strengthens us where we most require it.”
His gaze shifted briefly, thoughtful now.
“And with the matter of marriage—”
“Tae be settled in accordance with what has been agreed,” Duncan interjected.
Iain inclined his head. “Of course.” There was a pause, then he added amusedly. “It is nae often I see ye give the Council precisely what they wish.”
Duncan allowed the faintest hint of a smile, though it did not quite reach his eyes.
“It is nae often they ask fer something that may be given without compromise,” he replied.
Iain looked at him for a moment, as though considering that answer more closely than it might first appear to warrant. Yet he did not press it, as if he himself understood the weight of what had just been set in motion and the role of the woman at the heart of it.
Elaina had not intended to go in search of him, and yet, by midmorning, she found herself doing precisely that.
There was a restlessness in her she could not quite name, and a quiet unease that had lingered since breakfast and refused to settle.
She had tried to occupy herself by sorting herbs, preparing mixtures and even assisting in the kitchens, but her thoughts wandered too easily, returning always to him.
She paused in the corridor, catching sight of a passing maid.
“Have ye seen the laird?” she asked.
The girl dipped her head politely. “Aye, me lady, nae long past. He was headed toward the larder.”
Elaina nodded her thanks and turned at once, her steps quickening before she could reconsider.
The nearer she drew, the more the sounds of the courtyard carried inward.
The dull thud of crates being set down signaled the steady rhythm of work in motion.
She slowed as she approached the open space near the larder entrance, feeling instinct urging caution where moments before there had only been purpose.
And then she saw them. Duncan was standing with Iain just beyond the doorway. Their attention was fixed upon one another, too intent to notice her approach.
Elaina did not mean to listen, but she stopped, gently leaning behind the nearest pillar, which kept her safely out of sight.
“His offer stands,” she heard Duncan. “An alliance through marriage tae his daughter, meaning his support and his men, in return for the union.”
The words struck with such sudden force that for a moment she did not fully understand them.
Marriage.
And as if that wasn’t enough, Duncan continued. “Elaina has agreed tae the marriage, and with that, we may now define the terms of such an alliance more precisely.”
They exchanged a few more words, and each seemed to land heavier than the last. For a moment, the world around her seemed to recede, all of it fading beneath the sharp, hollow echo of what she had just heard.
Her stomach dropped. It was as though the ground beneath her had shifted, leaving her unsteady where she stood.
Me faither… an alliance… through marriage.
She did not recall the moment her restraint gave way. One instant she remained where she stood, hidden and silent, and the next, she had stepped forward, with the force of her emotion carrying her beyond all caution.
“Is that the reason ye asked me tae marry ye?”
Her voice, though not raised, cut cleanly through the space between them.
Both men turned. Duncan looked at her as though struck not by anger, but by the suddenness of her presence, and the unmistakable hurt in her tone.
“Elaina, I—”
But she could not endure the gentleness of it.
“Is it?” she pressed, her composure trembling beneath the strain she could no longer conceal. “Was it only ever that, a bargain between men? Me faither offers, and ye accept?”
Duncan moved toward her at once, his expression sharpening with urgency. “Nay, that is nae—”
“I heard ye,” she said, the words escaping her before she could soften them, though her hands had already begun to tremble at her sides. “I heard every word.”
A silence followed. It was brief, but heavy enough to alter the air.
“Then ye heard only part of it,” he replied.
“And what part,” she returned, her voice tightening inside her very throat, suffocating her, despite her efforts, “am I meant tae have misunderstood? The part where I am given again? Or the part where I am expected tae submit with gratitude?”
“Elaina, listen tae me—”
“I did listen,” she snapped, and the restraint she had fought so hard to maintain was now slipping entirely from her grasp. “And I can scarcely believe me own foolishness.”
She shook her head, as though the thought alone might undo her.
“I thought—” Her voice faltered, though she forced herself onward. “I thought ye were different.”
The words lingered, fragile and wounded.
“I thought ye asked me because ye…”
She could not say it. She could not bear to place it between them now.
Duncan’s voice followed swiftly. “I dae.”
But she recoiled from his confession, as though the very sound of it now pained her.
“Nay,” she said, with quiet finality. “Dinnae dare offer me empty comfort after the truth has already been spoken.”
“It is the truth.”
“I agreed,” she continued, her voice trembling now despite her resolve, “because I believed ye meant it, because I believed ye asked me as a man who…” She faltered again, before she gathered what remained of her strength, “who cared fer me.”
The silence that followed was no longer empty. It was full of all that might have been said, had trust not already begun to fracture.
“I willnae be used again,” she told him more softly, though with a steadiness that admitted no persuasion. “I willnae be passed from one man tae another, made tae serve alliances and ambitions, nay matter how kindly they are presented tae me.”
Duncan stepped closer. She could see the desperation in his eyes, but she wasn’t certain whether it was because his plan had been divulged or because he truly meant what he was saying.
“Elaina, ye are nae being—”
“Nay,” she cut him off, feeling anger rising inside of her.
Elaina could scarcely bear the weight of her own thoughts, for never had she felt so entirely deceived, nor so wholly to blame for it. That she, who had sworn never to be misled by a man’s charm should have believed him so readily, so completely, was a humiliation she could not easily forgive.
What she had taken for sincerity, for care, for something rare and honest, now revealed itself as nothing more than careful persuasion, a means to secure her agreement and bind her to the very alliance she had fled.
That Duncan might have spoken of love while entertaining such intentions filled her with anger, but it was herself she resented most: for trusting him, for hoping, and for allowing her heart to betray her better judgment so completely.
“I willnae move from one prison tae another,” she told him, feeling the quiet conviction in her tone far more powerful than any raised voice. “Nae even fer ye.”
That, more than anything, seemed to still him. It made both of them silent. There had been a time, not so long past, when she would have given anything to remain where she stood.
Now, she could not stay there another moment.
“Elaina…” she heard him call out, but she had already turned away.
She did not trust herself to listen to him further. She left before he could reach her and undo what little strength she had managed to gather.
By the time she reached her chamber, her composure had all but deserted her. She closed the door behind her with trembling hands, and the sound echoed far louder than it ought, as though marking an end she had not wished to acknowledge.
For a moment, she remained where she was, with her breath uneven and her heart beating with a painful insistence she could neither quiet nor ignore.
Then she moved, driven by the singular need to leave before her resolve failed her entirely. The trunk was opened and garments were gathered without care for order or precision. Her hands, though practiced, betrayed her with their haste, folding what they could and abandoning what they could not.
She would go. She had to, before he came to her, before he spoke again and before she listened.