Chapter Twelve #3
She only sniffed, unrepentant. “A long time ago, I almost let fear and expectations guide me, Jacob, rather than my own heart. Not a day goes by that I don’t thank my lucky stars I came to my senses ere it was too late.
” She reached out then and brushed her knuckles lightly along his cheek, the gesture tender, not unusual.
“Rest,” she said. “Whatever tomorrow brings will come soon enough, and you’ll meet it better with your strength and wits about you. ”
Jacob nodded. “Aye, Mam.”
She moved toward the door, pausing there to glance back at him once more.
“You’ve a good mind, Jacob, and a good heart,” she said. “Trust yourself.”
The door closed gently behind her.
Jacob lay still for a moment, the room settling around him, the ache in his arm a dull, manageable thing. He exhaled slowly, letting the warmth of her presence linger even after she was gone, and allowed his eyes to close—steady, comforted, and no less resolved.
THE HORSE SHIFTED AS Jacob finished tightening the girth, stamping once against the packed earth of the bailey.
He soothed the animal with a low murmur, fingers steady on the leather as he checked the fit.
Around him, the courtyard was already alive with movement, the muted clatter of tack and harness carrying off the stone walls as men made ready.
Most were Jamisons and MacTavishes preparing for the day’s hunt.
Lord Hamilton had lent a handful of his own men as well, as he had each day since Elena had been taken, or so Jacob had been told.
And though he’d not asked, he’d been informed by his brother, David, that Thomas Hamilton had not once put foot in stirrup to offer his help with the search for Elena—and he was nowhere to be seen this morning, as they prepared to track down the raiders once and for all.
His prized destrier had been replaced by this one, a serviceable mount accustomed to travel and long days, meant to be ready when called upon rather than admired.
It was a good horse, steady, broad through the chest, willing enough, but it wasn’t his.
“Stables are practical, nae sentimental,” David had said as he’d delivered the mare, repeating an oft-sung tenet of Harry, the former captain of the Jamison army.
He had shrugged then, sympathy plain despite the words, understanding Jacob’s attachment to his lost destrier—he felt much the same about his own.
Jacob sighed. His destrier had been built for weight and war, all power and muscle, a presence that could break a line when properly set to it.
He had known the set of that horse’s ears, the feel of its stride beneath him, the way it leaned into the bit when danger pressed close.
They had moved together for years, man and beast bound by habit and trust earned the hard way.
And now it lay somewhere downstream, lost to the current and the rocks, its strength no match for either the jump or the river.
Jacob swallowed and tightened the strap another notch, perhaps more than necessary.
He told himself—again—that there had been no choice.
A man could replace a horse, but not the other way around.
Their dive over the cliff had been the only way to save Elena, and he would make the same decision again without hesitation.
Gritting his teeth, he reached for the saddle blanket. Grief, like most things, had its place—and this was not it. He had a job to do today, hoping to God they could put those raiders to rest once and for all.
He was setting the saddle in place when the faint prickle at the back of his neck made him pause.
Half a second later, he realized the awareness wasn’t so much a prickle as him noticing the fleeting hush that briefly quieted the courtyard.
He straightened and turned, finding Elena striding directly toward him.
The pre-dawn light was pale and diffused behind her, catching on the loose strands of her dark hair. She wore a simple woolen gown, and had gathered a cloak sloppily around her shoulders, as if she’d dressed hurriedly. Her brow was drawn tight in a small, unmistakable frown.
“I just heard,” she said without preamble, stopping several feet away, “that ye are riding out again.”
Jacob gave a small nod. “Aye. We ken those raiders were close less than twenty-four hours ago—they could nae find them last night, but we mean to today.”
Her frown deepened, and she took a step closer, being close enough now that he saw what he’d overlooked in the last three days, the faint shadows beneath her eyes and a lingering pallor, not her normal healthy color.
“But we only just returned, Jacob,” she said. “Ye were wounded.”
“?Tis nae matter, that. Mam patched me up last night,” he replied easily. “And I ken where last they were, the raiders. We aim to ride directly there, and search from that point.”
“But Jacob, can ye nae simply give them their direction?” she asked. “If I am expected to rest, to recover, should ye nae be afforded the same courtesy?”
A short laugh escaped him; he couldn’t contain it. “Elena, this is...necessary—but it’s nae familiar to ye, hence the need for ye to recover.”
“It isna,” she claimed, quietly but desperately. “Ye’ve done yer part, went above and beyond—who would make ye—”
“Nae one is forcing me,” he cut in, scowling.
“I want them found. I dinna want to hear another was taken—and mayhap nae recovered—because I or we dinna stop them.” Sensing her anxiety, and beginning to see it now for what it was, concern for him, he reminded her gently, practically, “Elena, this is what I do. And it’s what I’ll always do. ”
“But can ye nae?” she cried, the words tumbling out as a plea. “Can ye nae simply return to Blackwood and... be safe?”
Jacob’s jaw clenched. The bailey was crowded. Men moved all around them, intent on horses and harness, on weapons and orders. This was no place for a lass’s worry to linger so plainly.
And yet, the words struck home, lodging beneath his ribs with unwelcome weight. He understood them at once—not as a challenge, not as a claim, but as something simpler and more dangerous. Care.
Absently, he reached out and pulled her mantle together, closer under her chin.
Clearing his throat, he said, “If nae this, then another fight. There is war, and that’s nae something a man can escape.”
He looked at her then, really looked, and saw how unguarded she was, how unused she was to hiding what stirred inside her.
That would change—it would have to. She was betrothed to another, bound to a future that left no room for whatever had been reawakened between them, what they had been to one another while on the road. That time was finished now.
He softened his tone then, just a fraction. “What... happened out there, Elena, it came of circumstance. Fear. Necessity. It dinna and canna carry beyond that.”
There was no world in which he ever wanted to be unkind to Elena, but she needed to be reminded of the truth.
And yet the words seemed to strike like a blow, melting Jacob’s resolve. But then she shook her head and forced a smile.
“Verra well,” she said and moved in the most unexpected fashion.
It was quick—so quick it seemed to happen almost as instinct. Her shoulders shifted and she began to lift her arms, her body swaying forward as if she would come close, as if she meant to eliminate the space between them altogether and—
Jacob froze, his eyes widening. Every instinct in him recoiled at once—not from her, but from the danger of it. This was the bailey, open and crowded, men passing close at hand. There were a hundred reasons this must not happen, and not one of them had anything to do with what he felt.
She seemed to catch herself in the same instant, her hands faltering, a quiet horror flashing across her face as if she just realized what she’d almost done.
—and then Liam MacTavish was there.
He came in from Jacob’s left, swift and silent, catching Elena’s arm just above the elbow a split second after she caught herself.
“Elena, ye should nae be out here,” he said, the words ground out low and sharp.
Elena froze, color rising fast in her cheeks. “Da, I—”
“This is nae the place,” Liam said, cutting in, his gaze flicking darkly to Jacob before returning to his daughter. “And nae the hour.” Without another word, he steered his daughter away from Jacob and toward the keep.
Jacob watched them go, Elena’s legs moving twice as fast to keep up with her father’s long, angry strides.
“Shite,” Jacob seethed, finally releasing his breath.