Chapter 21 #2
“I ken what it cost me,” she said. “I kissed ye. I asked for nothin’. I took nothing ye didnae give. But I willnae stand here and let ye speak as if I am a mistake ye must fix.”
He stepped closer, then stopped. “I didnae call ye a mistake.”
“Ye called marriage a wound,” she said. “What does that make me?”
Silence pressed hard.
Alex shook his head once. “I said I cannae. I didnae say ye were lacking.”
“Then what am I?” she pressed.
He looked at the floor. “A risk.”
Her breath hitched. “A risk,” she repeated. “Because ye might care.”
He did not answer.
“Say it,” she said. “Say ye want me and ye willnae marry me. Say it plainly.”
He ground out, “I want ye.”
She waited.
“And I willnae marry ye,” he finished.
She nodded once. “There it is.”
He reached for her, but she stepped back. “Daenae touch me if ye mean to speak like that after.”
“This isnae fair,” he said.
“Life isnae fair,” she said. “Ye told me that without saying it.”
He felt something hot rise in his chest. “This is the only way I can keep this house steady.”
“Then own it,” she said. “Daenae kiss me and pretend it costs ye nothing, then refuse to bear the cost.”
His voice rose. “I willnae be trapped by a vow that kills me.”
“And I willnae be used as a lesson,” she retorted. “Ye need to be forward about what ye want. Stop hiding behind yer fears.”
“I said I cannae go through the same ordeal twice,” he said again, his voice harsh enough to send her a few steps back. “I lost an eye. I nearly lost the children. I willnae risk that again.”
“What does that even mean? They are yer children. How do ye lose them?”
“Believe me, ye daenae ken half of it.”
Her mouth trembled once, then steadied. “I would never harm them.”
“I didnae say ye would,” he said. “I said I willnae risk them.”
She swallowed. “Then ye have spoken. And I have heard ye.”
He reached for words and found none worth saying. He turned and left before he said something he could not take back.
The door closed behind him, and the hall felt too narrow. Heat ran up his neck as he took the stairs two at a time and went straight to his study.
He shut the door, crossed to the table, and poured wine with a hard hand, ignoring the way the cup shook against his fingers. He drank and tasted nothing, then he looked at the red liquid in the cup and immediately wanted it gone.
Before he could stop himself, he threw it at the wall.
The clay shattered, and wine slid down the stone in a dark smear. He poured another and did the same. The second cup hit lower, the crack sounding flat.
He braced both hands on the table and bowed his head. The study was so quiet that he could hear a guard call somewhere outside and the soft scrape of a tree branch against his windowsill. His eye stung. He wiped it with the back of his wrist.
A knock sounded, interrupting his thoughts.
“Who is it?” he said, trying to keep his voice calm.
The latch lifted, and Bettie stood in the doorway, hair loose and feet bare. Her face was worried.
“Da?” she asked. “Are ye all right?”
His anger broke like thin glass. He knelt at once and opened his arms. She came close, small hands clutching his shirt. He kissed her hair and held her tight.
“I am fine,” he said, voice low. “Back to bed, little bee.”
She leaned back to look at him. “Ye sounded angry.”
“I was loud,” he said. “I shouldnae have been. I am sorry.”
The nurse hurried in behind her, cheeks flushed. “Forgive me, me Laird. She was as quick as a rabbit. I didnae—”
“It is fine,” Alex said flatly. “I should have locked the door.”
Bettie’s eyes dropped to the broken cups. “Did ye find something in the cups?” she asked, trying to be funny the way she did when the air felt wrong.
He managed a thin smile. “Aye. But it’s gone now.”
She nodded solemnly, as if that settled it. “Will ye come tuck us in?”
“In a moment,” he said. “Go with yer nurse.”
She squeezed his neck once and let him go. “Good night, Da.”
“Good night,” he said.
The nurse gathered her up, murmured another apology, then left. The door clicked shut behind them, and the room fell quiet again.
Alex stood and faced the wall he had marked. The anger had drained out, leaving a cold ache. He cleaned the mess with a cloth and a bucket from the corner as slowly and as neatly as he could.
Order was the only thing keeping him sane now, so he had to maintain it. He picked up the shards and set them aside. He wrung the cloth and watched the water redden.
He sat at the table again and pressed his palm to the wood. He thought of Erica’s face when he said the words. He thought of her hands on his wrists. He thought of the sound she made when he kissed her like a man who had decided something.
He drew in a breath that did not steady him. The truth settled in the room with him, heavy and plain: he could not marry her.
He just could not.
Erica’s anger dissolved into sadness as the door closed behind Alex.
The sound was soft, but it landed hard. She stood there for a beat, as if her body had not caught up. Her knees trembled, and she went to sit on her bed. She pressed her face into the pillow to keep the sound down. Tears came hot and quick, streaming down her cheeks.
She did not know what hurt most. The kiss, the way he had pulled away, the words he had spoken after, or the ones he had left unsaid.
Her chest ached as if a hand was squeezing it hard. She turned onto her side and wiped her eyes with the heel of her palm. Her breathing steadied, then shook again.
A knock interrupted her quiet sobs, and she jerked upright and scrubbed at her face. She pulled the blanket straight and smoothed her skirt. By the time the lock lifted, she had her head bowed and her hands quiet in her lap.
Leah slipped in with her usual care. “I’ve drawn ye a bath, me Lady. The water’s still warm, and I—” She stopped.
Erica kept her back half turned and tugged the blanket again. “The market was busy,” she said, too quickly. “I thought someone was following us for a moment.”
Leah’s frown was small and sure. She crossed the room at once.
“Ye’re safe,” she said gently. “Ye must remember that. As long as ye are within MacMillan walls, nay one will touch ye.”
Erica’s gaze went to the door. “I am nay longer certain about that,” she said softly.
The words surprised her as they left her mouth. She felt the sting return to her eyes and blinked it back.
Leah’s hand came down on her shoulder, steady and warm. “Look at me,” she said.
Erica turned her head a little.
“Aye,” Leah said. “I ken the way fear sits after a fright. But ye are here. The guards are alert. Calum makes the rounds. The Laird gave the orders himself. If any man tries a thing, he willnae walk far.”
Erica nodded tentatively, as if trying on the truth. It did not fit.
Leah glanced toward the basin and the screen. “The bath will help,” she said. “Heat takes the shakes from the bones. Come.”
Erica stood up slowly. Her legs felt heavy. She gathered the belt of her robe and tied it tight. “Thank ye.”
Leah reached for a cloth and pressed it into her hand. “For yer face,” she said.
Erica dabbed at her eyes and the salt on her cheeks. The cool linen steadied her more than words had. She drew a breath that did not tremble.
“Did the kitchens send broth?” she asked, making her voice even.
“They did,” Leah said. “I will warm it while ye bathe. Ye will sleep after.”
Erica gave a small nod. “I will try.”
Leah drew closer, voice low. “If there is something ye need to say, say it to me, aye? I can keep a secret.”
Erica met her eyes and managed a thin smile. “I ken. Thank ye.”
Leah did not press. “Right,” she said. “Come, then.”
Erica followed, and the door remained shut behind them.