Chapter 12
After spending the better half of an hour under the sun, they left the garden path for the paving by the low gate.
Erica walked with her mother toward the arch that opened back into the keep. A maid hurried across the courtyard, skirt hiked up. She stopped with a curtsy.
“Uh…” Erica trailed off, her eyes narrowed as she tried to remember the maid’s name.
“Leah, me Lady.”
“Aye! Ye must forgive me, me brain has yet to wake up.”
Leah laughed. “I have something for ye, me Lady.”
Erica frowned and watched as Leah held out a folded letter sealed with dark wax.
“For ye, me Lady,” she said.
Erica took the letter, her eyes settling on the sigil at the center of the note. Recognition set in, and she felt her heart sink.
MacGee Castle.
The press on the wax showed clearly, and her chest felt heavier by a thumb’s weight. She looked at her mother. The change in her mother’s expression was small and sharp.
“‘Tis MacGee,” Erica said and regretted it immediately. Saying it made the fear grow.
“Why would he send a letter here and nae to Bryden?” her mother asked quietly. “What game is he playing?”
Erica did not answer at once. She broke the seal with her thumb and unfolded the page.
The hand was neat, and the words were polite and cool.
He wrote that his men were still searching for her father and brother.
No new sign. There were new tracks, but they were lost past the ridge.
He would send word the moment he learned more.
He hoped she found rest, and he wished her mother good health. Nothing else.
She read it twice, but it told her little. She had a feeling Laird MacGee wanted to deliver a message that wasn’t in the letter. He knew where she was.
Her mother waited.
“Do ye think he is honest?” she asked. “Or do ye think he is using us?”
Erica kept her eyes on the page. “I daenae ken what to think, Maither,” she said slowly.
“Maybe he is scared? Maybe he wants to sit close to whatever will keep him from looking weak? After what happened in front of his men at the festival, maybe he wants to stand near MacMillan without asking outright.”
Her mother’s mouth tightened. “He is a man of ambition,” she said. “There is always something else.”
The letter felt dry under Erica’s fingers.
“He says they are still searching,” she said. “He says he will write when he has more.”
“Aye,” her mother said. “He also says he kens where to find ye.”
They crossed the threshold into the cool passageway. The change from sun to shade made her skin pull tight. A guard at the inner door shifted his weight and stood straighter, and a scullery girl slid by with a covered bowl, eyes on the floor.
Erica folded the letter again and held it flat against her palm because her hand wanted to curl around it.
“He could have sent it to Bryden,” her mother said again, the doubt in her voice clear. “But he didnae. He put it on our floor.”
Erica lifted her eyes to the wall ahead. “He is saying he sees us,” she said. “Maybe he thinks that keeps him safe.”
“Or he thinks it keeps ye soft,” her mother said.
Erica had no tidy answer for that.
She stopped by the small window that looked over the inner yard, as if more light would help. Alex had his sword in motion again. She saw the turn of his wrist and the small step that made the next cut land where he wanted it. It steadied her for one breath and then did the opposite.
“We just need to be more careful.”
“I daenae ken what else to expect from him,” Erica said. “He never says more than he must.”
“That is the point,” her mother said.
They turned toward the stairs, their steps soft on the stone. A pair of maids came down with sheets in their arms and stepped to the side so the ladies could pass.
Leah waited at the landing with a small basket.
“Do ye need anything, me Lady?” she asked.
“Nay,” Erica said. “Thank ye. I will be in me room for a bit. I hear Fergus wants a candle count. If ye find him, tell him I will bring it later this afternoon.”
“Aye,” Leah said, before walking away.
They reached the corridor that led to the chambers. The air there always carried a cool trace from the north wall.
Lady Bryden rested her hand on Erica’s shoulder, a comfort and a reminder at the same time.
“Ye will be fine here, lass,” she said. “But if anything goes wrong…”
“I will leave,” Erica finished. “I ken, Maither.”
Her mother’s hand squeezed once. “Ye have done well,” she said. “But trust nay one but those who prove themselves. Understand? Laird MacMillan has proved himself.”
“Aye,” Erica said.
They stopped by her door. Her mother waited a breath longer, as if she might say more, then nodded and went to her own room. Erica watched her go, with the letter in her hand and the weight in her chest that had not moved since the maid had handed it to her.
She went inside, letting her thoughts crowd her mind.
Maybe her mother was right. Maybe there was more under the polite lines than she wanted to admit. Maybe MacGee’s fear was less about truth and more about losing his hold. Maybe sending the letter here was his way of tying a string around her wrist to see if he could pull.
She walked to the window, since she had found that looking out steadied her more than sitting still. She rested her palm on the sill and stared ahead.
The pressure in her chest refused to ease, but she knew better than to let it slow her down. Especially in a moment like this.
Late afternoon sat soft in the study. The fire was low, only a red seam under ash. Alex stood over the desk, maps spread, ledgers stacked where he had placed them. His eye settled on the maps as he tried to decide what other security measures they could take.
He was still thinking when a light tap sounded at the door.
He did not look up. “One moment,” he said, eye on the margin.
Silence followed for almost ten seconds before the tap sounded again, this time a touch firmer. He pressed his thumb on the border of the map to keep it flat.
“One moment,” he repeated.
A breath, then a third tap, quick as a bird at the pane. He let the pen rest and lifted his head. “Enter,” he called.
Nothing. Only the slow tick of heat in the grate and the soft hiss where a coal settled.
He bent again to the ink. Then the fourth tap came.
“I said, ye may enter,” he said, louder now.
The lock turned, and the door eased open without ceremony. Bettie slipped in, hands clasped behind her back, smile too neat to be an accident.
Alex exhaled, the slight annoyance on his face fading almost immediately. “Little bee. ‘Tis ye.”
“Da,” she said, sweet as milk. “Will ye come read to us?”
He let out a breath through his nose. “I am a wee bit busy now, little bee. I will come later.”
“Nay,” she answered at once. “Ye have to come now.”
His mouth moved toward a protest when a shadow filled the doorway. Calum leaned a shoulder against the frame, lips already stretched in a grin he did not bother to hide.
Bettie turned to him as if she had expected her ally. “Tell Da he has to come now.”
Calum’s eyes warmed. “I daenae think ye are winning this war, me Laird.”
Alex pinched the bridge of his nose and then let his hand fall to his side. “I am losing to a child who cannae reach the top shelf.”
“She can reach yer pride,” Calum said.
Alex groaned. “Fine,” he said. “Fine, I will come.”
Bettie did not cheer, but Alex could see the way the triumph sat quiet on her shoulders. She seized his hand like a keeper of oaths and tugged. He slid the top ledger farther from the edge, set the pen on the stand, and let himself be pulled.
Calum stepped aside, laughing already.
“I will come later,” he called after them.
Alex shot him a look over his shoulder. “Traitor.”
Calum gave him a small salute.
They turned right at the first corner, and Alex marked it in his head. The nursery lay left and up. Bettie chose the old gallery passage, the one that ran along the inner wall, where the light fell thin and even. A maid with a basket dipped her head as they passed, but Bettie’s grip held firm.
“We are going to the library,” Alex noted.
“Aye,” Bettie said, bright and sure. “We daenae want to read in the nursery today. We are hiding from the nurse.”
“If ye are hiding from the nurse,” he said, “ye shouldnae tell me. I am bound to report ye to the law.”
She squeezed his fingers. “Ye are the law.”
“That is the trouble,” he said.
They reached the library door. It stood on the lock, a finger space open. Bettie pushed with her shoulder, and the hinges gave.
The room held its usual smell of leather and old heat as the shelves rose to the beams. Someone had set a chair near the lamp as if for a reader who did not wish to squint. The fireplace kept only a thin red line under ash, and on the long table, three neat stacks had been made and left.
Alex looked around once. “Where is Katie?” he asked.
Bettie cupped her hands and called, “Katie.” The name went out to the stacks and came back soft.
“She isnae here,” Alex said.
Bettie nodded, as if the answer fit a plan. “I will go get her,” she said. “Stay here. Daenae move.”
He lifted one brow. “All right.”
She met his look with the kind of gravity small faces wear when they mean to win. “Promise.”
Alex let the moment stretch, as if weighing terms at a council meeting, then nodded. “Aye,” he said. “Promise.”
She released his hand, fixed him with one last look, and went for the door.
Her steps were quick and light on the stone, and before he could say anything, the latch lifted and dropped. The door closed behind her, a soft sound that left the room and its quiet in place.
Erica had crossed to the window again when the mid-afternoon sun struck the castle walls. The yard below kept its slow rhythm. She had not moved since returning from the garden. Her thoughts would not still, so she held to the plain view until the knot in her chest loosened.
A knock sounded at the door. It was very light and far from the steward’s steady tap or even Leah’s quick double.
“Come in,” she called.
Silence. Then the same light knock again, closer to the latch this time.
Erica crossed the room and opened the door. Katie stood there, neat and bright, hair braided smooth and tied with a ribbon that almost matched her eyes. She looked up with a smile that did not know how to be anything else.
Erica felt her lips quirk up in answer.
“Yer hair looks lovely,” she complimented. She tilted her head, teasing because the girls liked the game. “Now, which one are ye?”
“Katie,” the girl answered proudly.
“Of course ye are.” Erica leaned her shoulder against the frame. “What brings ye here?”
“The Laird is asking for ye in the library,” Katie said. “He wants to show ye something, and he asked that I bring ye.”
Erica’s hand tightened on the frame before she could stop it. A flicker of unease slid under her ribs.
The letter in the drawer. Did he know about it already? Was that why he wanted to see her? She had taken the seal off herself, so perhaps this was him trying to find out what was in it.
She swallowed. “All right,” she said. “I will change and—”
“Nay,” Katie said quickly. “Now. It is urgent.”
Erica raised a brow. “Urgent,” she repeated slowly.
Katie nodded, very serious. Her earnest face made it harder to ask questions that would lead a child to lie.
“What could be so urgent in a library?” Erica asked, half to buy herself a breath.
“He said ye would ken it when ye saw it,” Katie said.
Erica looked past her into the passage. The air out there ran cool along the floor. No nurse. No Grandmamma. No footman waiting. Just a girl with a sneaky smile on her face and a ribbon straight as a line. It felt odd, for some reason, but she swallowed and decided to play along.
“Ye have never been to the library, so I have to guide ye there.”
“Nay, I have been to the library once,” she tried.
“Have ye?” the little girl asked, her voice a bit too hoarse.
Erica tried to think of the one time she had gone there, but the realization crashed into her faster than the air in the passageway.
“Nay, I havenae,” she admitted, her voice filled with resignation. “I suppose I need yer help, lassie.”
“Aye,” Katie said, pleased to be needed. “I will guide ye, so ye daenae get lost.”
Erica hesitated. Instinct pushed a small warning into her mind. The request was strange, and she knew it. If Alex wanted to speak to her, at the very best, he would have sent Calum. Or he would have sent a maid.
“Now,” Katie said again. “Please.”
Erica frowned. Something felt off. Or was this her being too paranoid?
If she drew a line here, she would be making something out of nothing. And if Alex wanted to talk to her about the letter, better to hear it and be done with it.
She reached for the shawl on the chair and draped it over her shoulders.
Katie’s hand came up, and Erica let the small fingers take hers.
“Lead the way,” she said.
They crossed the passage at a pace too quick to count as a stroll and too careful to be a run.
Katie knew the turns like a map… left by the small stairs, past the narrow window that looked out at the kitchen roof, right where the flagstones were worn from heavy feet.
Servants passed and bobbed curtsies on the way, and Erica nodded to each.
They came up on her mother stepping out of the dining hall, sun on her shawl, a frown already gathering at the sight of a child towing a grown woman by her fingers.
Her mother slowed down. “What is this?” she asked, puzzled.
Erica shook her head, the smallest of gestures. “Daenae even ask,” she muttered.
Her mother gave an amused smile and watched as Katie tugged again, eager to be useful.
They took the next turn where the light thinned.
Erica’s eyes adjusted to the cooler run of the inner hall.
She kept track of the route by habit. A door with a new hinge.
A bench with a crack in one leg. The wall on the right held an old notch near the base, where a trunk had bitten into it long ago.
None of it mattered if this was as plain as a book shown and a word spoken. It mattered if the request was more.
“Does the Laird often read in the library?” Erica asked.
“Aye,” Katie answered. “Sometimes. When Grandmamma is after him and wants him to read one of the big books.”
Erica let out a breath she had not planned to hold. “And he asked for me,” she said.
She made it sound like a joke, but it did not feel like one.
“He asked that we bring ye,” Katie said, precise as a steward.
They reached the last bend. Erica could see the library door ahead, a finger’s width open. Katie’s braid swung against her shoulder as she hurried the last steps.
Erica looked once over her shoulder down the passage they had come from. No one followed.
“Here,” Katie said, her voice bright. “We are here.”