Chapter 20
The walk back to the castle felt endless. The road ran straight, then bent, then straight again, and every shift of hedge or stone looked like a place for a man to hide.
Alex kept turning, scanning behind them, then the ditch, then the bend near the outer wall. Each time he looked, Erica’s heart thudded hard against her ribs. She could not stop seeing a figure stepping out, a hand closing around her arm, the press of fingers that meant control.
She stayed close to him, closer than she ever had. When the path narrowed, her fingers brushed his sleeve.
He did not mention it. He matched his pace to hers and took the side closest to the hedges that lined the path, leaving her the safer ground.
A cart trundled toward them, wheels biting stone. He shifted his body to block her from the rim and held her there until it passed. He did not make a show of it. He simply did it. Like her own knight in shining armor.
They must have walked for hours or even minutes; it was hard for her to tell. She simply couldn’t stop turning to see if they were being followed. It was a good thing the twins had gone ahead before any of this started.
Doing this with them would have been a whole different story and would have probably placed them into a whole pool of worry. She was thinking it, and the momentary flashes of relief she saw on Alex’s face told her that he was doing the same.
After a while, the gate rose in front of them, dark under the bar. Voices faded as they stepped under the arch. The air here was cooler, and the yard teemed with men and buckets and a pair of boys sweeping grit into a pile.
None of it mattered. Alex stopped just inside and asked a guard to fetch his man-at-arms.
Calum was there in minutes. “Aye, me Laird. Ye have returned.”
“Double the watch at the east wall till midnight,” Alex ordered. His voice stayed low. Every man near them heard it anyway. “Stagger the change. Eyes on the road, the bend, and the orchard. Pull two from the stores if ye must. I need this place to be a fort.”
“Aye, me Laird,” Calum said.
“The gate needs to be at half bar after sunset,” Alex continued. “Make sure the carts are checked and the men are searched. If any bastard complains, he can speak to me in the morning.”
“Aye.”
“Keep an eye on the north tower as well. We have to imagine that we can be breached from anywhere, nae just the front gate.”
“Aye.”
Calum did not ask why. He nodded and went.
On the wall, a sentry turned his head and widened his stance. The yard took the shape of order faster than a shout could travel.
Erica saw backs straighten. She saw hands rise to shield lines of sight from the sun and heard the sound of a pail settle on the floor without a clank. The subtle but noticeable change in the atmosphere steadied her more than any kind word might have.
Alex did not slow down. He crossed the yard and went up the steps. Two servants moved to follow, eyes bright with questions. He turned once, sharp. “Nay. Ye can take this inside and then stay put.”
They stopped where they stood, taking the portrait. No one argued. No one tried again.
He led Erica down the passageway to her chamber and opened the door. She stepped inside, and the door clicked shut behind them.
The room was as it had been in the morning, neat and plain. The fire held a small bed of coals. The window showed a strip of yard wall and a square of grey sky. She fixed her eyes on the table because it was something to look at that did not look back.
A knock came, and she almost jumped out of her skin.
“Relax. ‘Tis probably just the maid.”
Erica swallowed but remained as on edge as she could and watched as Alex opened the door a hand’s width. Sure enough, a maid stood with a tray laden with bread, a small pot of soup, a jug of water, and two clean cloths folded neatly. He took the tray and shut the door with his heel.
He set the tray down and checked each item. Then he uncapped the jug, drank a mouthful, and swallowed. He poured water into a cup and passed it to her. “Drink.”
Her hand shook and caused the rim to click once against her tooth. She hated the sound of it. She kept the cup steady with both hands and took three small sips.
Alex tore a piece of bread and set it near her elbow so she would not have to reach far.
Then he lifted the pot lid and let the steam rise, before covering it again.
He looked at the cloths, picked one up, dipped it in the basin, wrung it out with even pressure, and lowered himself to one knee in front of her.
“Here,” he said, and placed the dry cloth in her hands.
Her fingers trembled against the weave. She had not known they were shaking until the cloth made it plain.
Alex brought the wet cloth to her face. His touch was careful and deliberate.
He wiped the dust from her cheekbone, the corner beside her nose, the curve under her mouth.
He worked down the line of her jaw to her neck.
He paused at the spot beneath her ear long enough to avoid pressing against her fluttering pulse, then moved on.
“Breathe,” he said quietly.
She pulled in the air. It caught and stumbled. She tried again. The second breath reached her chest. The third settled.
He dipped the cloth again and ran it along the side of her throat, then over her collar, where a stray branch must have hit her on the way back.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
“A little,” she said.
He reached for a small pot of salve from the tray. He lifted the lid, checked the scent, rubbed a bit on his wrist, then rubbed it on the red mark on her shoulder. It stung and then cooled.
Outside, steps moved along the passageway, sure and even. The sound matched the order she had seen in the yard, and it helped. A lot.
Alex set the wet cloth aside and put the clean one in her lap, in case she wanted to finish. He turned to the window and checked the sill twice, then glanced along the frame. He looked at the trunk by the wall and eased the lid up and down, then left it closed.
Watching him do all of this kept her mind busy, and Erica was grateful for it.
She sipped water again. Her mouth felt dry and then less so. “Will they really try to breach the castle?” she asked. “I am afraid that I have made meself a target.”
“If they do, they will be seen,” he said. “And they will be met.”
She nodded and felt the words settle in her chest, plain and heavy. Color had come back to her cheeks, and her fingers had steadied on the rim of the cup.
“Eat a little,” Alex urged.
Erica took a small bite of the bread. It softened on her tongue. She swallowed and took another. She did not want more. It was enough.
Alex lifted the jug and refilled her cup. He then set it close, not forcing her to take it. He moved the basin nearer the fireplace so the next cloth was warm.
“Breathe,” he said once more, softer than before.
She did.
Slowly, the panic loosened its grip on her.
The silence between them was so thick that it might as well be deafening. As Alex rose to check on the windowsill and the door once again, Erica did all she could to avoid laughing.
Was this what it looked like when Laird MacMillan grew restless? How long would he keep this up?
Alex moved once again to the fireplace and readjusted the logs, making the flames dance higher.
Erica watched him from the chair. Her hands had stopped shaking.
The cup sat empty by her elbow. The heat from the low fire reached her skin in a thin line, enough to remind her that she was here and not on the road, here and not in the market.
The calmness she had struggled to find a few minutes ago was now solid in the room.
For the first time, she could relax properly. Gratitude pressed at her throat, and with it a pressure she could not name without feeling foolish.
“Ye should rest,” Alex said at last. His voice was quiet, even.
“I will in a minute,” she said.
He nodded and moved to the table. He set the lid firmly on the soup pot, wiped a small drop from the rim with the clean edge of a cloth, and squared the tray.
“Why?” she heard herself ask the minute she realized she could not watch him do this any longer.
He turned to her. “Why what?”
“Why are ye doing this? Ye could very well let Leah take care of me, so why are ye doing it?”
He stilled at once, and his hand rested flat on the table. “I daenae ken. I just wanted to do it. Would ye rather have Leah? I could send for her and—”
“‘Tis all right. I enjoy having ye here. Plus, ye daenae have to answer,” she added, heat rising in her face. “It was a foolish question.”
He faced her fully. For a moment, he said nothing.
The silence stretched. It did not feel empty. Instead, it felt like a scale settling. He lifted one shoulder a fraction, the nearest thing to a shrug he offered since they had returned.
“I truly daenae ken,” he said.
There was no excuse in his voice or anything that he was hiding anything from her. Erica was even relieved that he was not doing it out of pity. She couldn’t imagine just how devastating that would have been.
She stood before she weighed it. The motion felt simple and impossible at the same time. He turned at the rasp of her feet against the stone floor. They faced each other at arm’s length, close enough to feel the shift in the air.
“Erica,” Alex said, his voice clear. “Ye should be in bed. What are ye doing?”
She should have sat down again, but for some reason, she did not. At this point, she felt like she was being directed by her heart instead of her mind. And right now, in the middle of this chaos, her heart only wanted one thing.
“This,” she whispered.
Then she rose on her tiptoes and kissed him.
It was not bold or hungry. It was soft and unsure, the way a foot would grind in the dark and wait to see if the floor would hold.
Her mouth found his and rested there, the heat settling between them. Salt from the water he had drunk sat faint on his lower lip, and the scent of wool and smoke clung to his shirt.
For a breath, he did nothing. His mouth stayed still under hers. He did not lean in, and he did not step away. Her heart thumped hard in her chest, and a brief wave of heat stung the back of her neck. She nearly stepped back.
But then his hand rose to hover near her waist, as if the choice itself weighed more than his palm could bear. He did not grab her. He did not push her back. The air between his fingers and the fabric felt charged all the same, a promise and a rejection in one.
“Erica,” he said, and now the warning was there. Not sharp. Not cold. He sounded like a man speaking to a line he had drawn for himself long before she ever stood in this room.
She kept her mouth against his a heartbeat longer, steady and light, as if patience could make sense of what no word could fix.
The fear that had chased her from the market still lived somewhere in her bones, but it had stepped aside for this one clear thing, the way his presence had carved noise into order since the yard.
She pulled back enough to see him. His eye was dark and focused. The scar caught the firelight and turned his face into something harder and kinder at once. He held himself like a man who could end a fight in a breath and had decided not to start one.
She should stop right now and turn around.
She should apologize and say that she didn’t know what came over her, that this was a huge mistake.
She should let him leave.
But she didn’t. She couldn’t. And she didn’t want to.