Chapter 10
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to pause around them. His lips tingled, and his heart thudded hard against his ribs. Her breath fanned his jaw, and her hands rested on his chest as if they had always known the place.
He leaned in, ready to take her mouth again, when the weight of his words hit him, cold as a thrown pail.
“I have an heir now.”
“Stay away from me tower.”
I willnae claim ye.
He stepped back quickly, as if her skin had burned him. His hands dropped from her waist, and he clenched his jaw and closed his eyes.
He dragged a hand over his face. “This…” he said roughly. “This shouldnae have happened.”
Kristen went still, and color rose fast in her cheeks. She lifted her chin, pride like a shield. “I understand. If ye were captive all those years, it is only natural that ye… ye would want a woman.”
Something dangerous flared in Neil’s chest. “Ye think I would do that with any woman?”
“I am sure ye would,” Kristen replied, too confident to be honest.
Silence fell between them. The fire flickered. A coal popped.
“Is that what ye think of me?” Neil asked quietly.
“I think ye have needs like any man.” Kristen shrugged. “And ye arenae exactly ken for yer patience.”
“I stayed away from every hand,” he gritted out. “Every touch. Five years, and I stayed away.”
“By choice,” she asked, “or because of the chains?”
He took a step toward her, then stopped. “Daenae put that blame on me. I did what I could. I chose nae to break.”
“Well, what exactly do ye call this?” She gestured between them. “Are feelings stronger than ye can handle?”
“Feelings cost lives,” he argued. “Ye ken nothing about the men I owe.”
“I ken what I paid,” she retorted, her temper rising. “Five years of silence. Five years of pity. Five years of being a wife to a dead laird.”
Neil braced his palms on the table to steady himself. Paper slid under his fingers. “I told ye, this shouldnae have happened.”
“Because ye might want me,” Kristen asked, her eyes flashing, “or because I might want ye back?”
His breathing quickened. “Wanting someone is a trap, lass.”
“Is that where ye’re going with this?” She scowled. “Really, Neil?”
He let out a mirthless laugh. “Ye are married to the Wolf of the North, at the end of the day. Ye cannae fault him if he bites.”
“Some Wolf of the North.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I ken ye’re nae cruel enough to hurt me.”
Neil thought of the cabin. The brand. The nights when silence had kept him alive. He thought of her mouth a moment ago, the sound she had made when he took it.
He swallowed. “Because I am careful.”
She folded her arms across her chest, then dropped them, restless. “Say it. Ye regret touching me.”
His mouth opened, then closed. “Ye ken nothing about regret. I am thinking about the danger.”
“To whom?” she asked. “Me or ye?”
“Both,” he bit out.
She stepped to the side, not away. The move brought her near, close enough that he caught a whiff of lavender in her hair. Heat stirred in his loins, stronger for his refusal. He clenched his teeth.
“Do ye want to leave the room,” she asked softly. “Or send me out of it?”
“I want to say aye,” he said, too quickly. He took a deep breath. “But I suppose ye have words.”
“Aye.” She nodded. “I have many.”
“I am well aware.”
She blinked, surprised by his honesty, then rallied. “Ye implied that carrying yer child makes me a target. Well, guess what? Ye made me one when ye wed me and vanished.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I did what had to be done.”
“Ye say that to justify everything ye did,” she scoffed. “At this point, that defense is nothing but a cloak with holes.”
“It kept ye alive.” He heard the edge in his voice and hated it.
“It also kept me alone. I suppose that doesnae matter, since ye think ye’re protecting me, right?” Her eyes shone as she lifted that stubborn chin again.
Neil had the mad urge to smooth the tight lines at the corners of her mouth with his thumb, to tell her that he had not slept until last night, to ask her to lay the map of his scars next to her hurt and see if they matched.
But he did none of it.
“Ye think I would touch any woman,” he muttered, as if saying it might drain the poison from the point.
“I think ye are a man,” she argued. “And men do what they do.”
“Ye have little faith in me,” he concluded.
“I had a husband who never came back,” she said, simple as a bell.
The words landed square in his chest. The heat inside him grew worse, anger warring with frustration. He stepped around the table before sense could call him back. She did not retreat.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
“I am,” she scoffed.
“Ye ken what this is.”
“A bad habit of stopping what ye start?”
His lips quirked into a smile, but it vanished quickly. “I stopped because I must.”
“Ye stopped because ye are afraid,” she countered.
“Of losing control?” He nodded once. “Aye.”
“Ye ever wondered if that is what ye need?” she probed. “Losing control.”
That hit low.
Neil felt his heart harden, a sharp ache he could not will away. Kristen knew it; he could see it in the widening of her eyes, sense it in the catch of her breath. Heat crawled higher under his skin.
“Ye think this is a game, do ye nae?” he rumbled. “Ye forget ye are playing with a man who has starved himself for five years. Ye will lose.”
“I am nae playing,” she said. “I am asking ye to be honest. To be me husband.”
The fire popped, but he did not look away from her. The air hummed with the tension from their kiss, with the fight they held like a rope between them.
Neil drew a breath that did nothing to calm him. “What happened was a mistake.”
“Then say it,” she taunted. “Say ye daenae want me.”
He said nothing.
Her mouth tilted, bitter and brave. “Aye, that is what I thought.”
He curled his fingers. This was not a path she wanted to go down.
The air still hummed with the heat of their quarrel when a commotion broke outside the door. Scratching. Hurried taps. A small, eager thump as if someone bounced on their toes to knock again.
Neil moved before thinking. He spun, snatched the sword from its bracket, and lifted the steel in a clean, deadly line. Panic tightened his shoulders, and fury darkened his eyes.
“Neil,” Kristen gasped. “Put that away; ye will scare them.”
He did not seem to hear her. His gaze had drifted past the wood and the iron, past the safety of stone. His knuckles whitened on the hilt of his sword, and suddenly, he was back in the cabin.
Kristen stepped between him and the door, her hands raised. “Neil, lower yer sword.”
His breath sawed out of his chest for a beat.
“’Tis only the children. They will never harm ye.”
Neil nodded once. The blade dropped to his side, and his hand shook slightly.
“Good God,” Kristen breathed, before grabbing the knob and pulling the door open.
Finn, Anna, and Maggie spilled inside like a small storm that had found sunlight.
“Me Lady!” Finn cried, launching himself at her waist.
Anna lifted her arms to be held, and Maggie wedged a wet nose against Kristen’s hand, her tail sweeping the floor with steady joy.
Kristen laughed, the sound soft and a little breathless. “There now. Careful.” She crouched and gathered the bairns in her arms, Anna’s cheek for kisses, Finn’s crown for a quick pat. “Did ye come to me or to steal the biscuits?”
“Both,” Finn said with solemn pride.
“Traitor,” Kristen chided playfully, before kissing his temple.
Maggie headbutted her hand again.
Kristen scratched the old dog between the ears. “Aye, ye did well. Herd work is hard work.”
She smoothed Finn’s wrinkled shirt and tucked it right, then wiped a smudge from Anna’s chin with the corner of her sleeve.
Warmth filled the study as if someone had opened a south-facing window, and for a moment, the air lost its bite. Neil lowered the sword another inch. Something inside him had loosened at the sight, and he did not yet know why.
“Can Maggie stay?” Finn asked, already climbing onto the nearest chair.
“She can,” Kristen replied. “But she minds the rug. Ye mind the rug with her. This isnae me part of the castle, remember?”
“Aye.” Finn scrambled down to sit cross-legged by the fireplace.
Anna wriggled to be put beside him. Kristen settled her on the rug and put a small wooden horse in her hands. Maggie shifted so her flank touched both children, content and certain.
Neil stood rooted to the spot. His chest rose and fell too fast, and his eyes had grown distant again. He knew of fighting. He never lost a battle. But this? How could he handle this? The steel hung from his fist like a question he could not answer.
Kristen stroked Finn’s hair. “Finn,” she said gently, “Did ye say good morning to the Laird?”
Finn looked up, saw the sword, and blinked. “Good morning, me Laird,” he said, brave because Kristen was near.
“Good morning,” Neil rasped. Still, he did not move.
Kristen shifted Anna to her other hip. “The stable roof has been repaired,” she said evenly, giving him something ordinary to catch. “Ewan set the beam right. The mare ate oats from our hands. Nay one broke a thing.”
“I did. I broke the oats,” Finn piped up.
“That isnae a thing,” Kristen said. “That is food. Ye broke oats with yer teeth.”
Finn nodded, satisfied.
Anna held up her horse for inspection. “Neigh.”
“A fine animal,” Kristen praised, with all the seriousness the toy deserved.
The study slowly filled with the small sounds that made a castle alive. Little hands on wood. Small voices. The steady thump of Maggie’s tail when one of the children laughed. The glow of the low fire.
It was loud. Alive. Warm.
Neil did not step into it. He watched it as a man might watch a village he did not know how to cross. The sword stayed in his hand; his grip had loosened, but he did not let it go.
Kristen met his eyes over Anna’s head. “Ye can put that up,” she said gently. “There is nothing here that asks for steel.”
Neil looked at the blade as if surprised to find it there, then laid it on the table, careful with the edge. His hand lingered on the handle a moment longer than it should, then fell away.
“Come say good morning,” Kristen urged. “Ye willnae break them by standing near.”
His jaw tightened, but he did not move.
Finn saw the set of his mouth and lowered his own voice. “Maggie can sit next to ye, me Laird,” he offered kindly. “She is very brave.”
Neil’s throat worked. “I ken,” he said. “I have seen how she protects ye two.”
Kristen smoothed Anna’s hair. “We were just speaking of biscuits, Finn,” she said. “If we find some, we will share them with the brave.”
“Even the Laird,” Finn added generously.
“Even the Laird,” Kristen agreed.
The ache under Neil’s ribs sharpened, then spread. It was pain and a desire for something stable. He could not name it, but he knew it made the room tilt.
He thought of the cabin and the silence that had kept him alive. He thought of the kiss and the heat that had nearly undone him. He thought of this tender noise and how it slid under his skin like a blade he had not seen coming.
Kristen must have noticed his inner turmoil. After she brushed Anna’s nose with her own, making her giggle, “Shall we go find Davina?” she asked. “That way, we can let the Laird finish his work.”
Anna nodded gravely, while Finn sprang up and took her free hand. Maggie rose, ready to herd again.
Neil finally found his voice. “I need air,” he muttered.
Kristen’s head turned. “Neil,” she said, not sharp, not pleading.
But he had already moved. He crossed the room in three long strides and reached the door. He did not look back.
The corridor greeted him with light and cooler air. He shut the door on the warm chaos before the ache could break him open again.
Outside, Neil stood with his hand on the cold stone wall, his jaw locked, his lungs dragging in air as if he had run a mile. He stared down the corridor at the courtyard, where the wind still held a taste of last night’s rain.
He needed distance. He had thought he was ready to face this, but apparently not.
He pushed off the wall and made his way toward the courtyard. The study door remained shut, and the children’s chatter faded with each step, until the castle held only him and the steady click of his heels on stone.