Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
“You are mad.” Elsie said again after they had ridden in silence for a bit.
“So ye’ve said twice now,” Halvard replied keeping the horse’s pace steady as the sun set completely behind them.
“I truly mean it!” she insisted. “Pretending to be your wife in front of a royal envoy? That’s treason!”
“Only if ye get caught,” he replied with a wink. He actually winked at her, as if his proposal was a jest.
“You truly are insufferable.”
He swung easily out of the saddle and pulled her down alongside him.
“Ye’ve said that twice at least now as well.
” His expression was completely unreadable.
“But if ye truly feel that way, ye best stay here, Lady Montgomery. I’ll inform th’ next pack of thieves tae keep their knives clean this time. ”
Her mouth fell open. “You wouldn’t dare.”
He shrugged, jumping back in the saddle without her and reining the horse around. “It’s a long walk back tae Hertfordshire,” he said over his shoulder. “Will ye start now?”
Elsie froze. Halvard MacLeod may be a practical stranger, but she had learned enough about him in the last few hours to know he made no idle threat.
The wind tugged at her hair, carrying the faint scent of the sea, and a promise of a cold night ahead.
For one, wild moment, she thought of calling his bluff, but then she looked down at her torn skirts and her bare feet poking from underneath and her stomach went tight.
“Wait!” she called after him.
Blast it!
He was serious about leaving her. “I’ll do it.”
“Dae what?” He turned and cocked his brow.
“I’ll fake marry you,” she replied crossing her arms. “But it is preposterous, and if we are caught, I will claim you forced me.”
“I kent ye’d come tae yer senses.” A slow smile crept across his face, and Elsie felt her breath catch.
If not for their circumstance, Halvard was quite something to look at when he smiled.
In the waning light, she could not help but find his rugged hair rather handsome in the golden hour, as much as he was infuriating her.
“I haven’t,” she replied with an edge to her tone, defiant. “I’ve simply realized you’re much too thick to see any true reason.”
“Reason’s never helped me much here in the Highlands,” he said offering her a hand to climb back up into the saddle. Elsie could only glare. “Unless ye’d rather walk, lass.”
She cursed under her breath. It seemed this day was causing her to behave most unladylike.
She wondered for a brief moment what her sister, Selene, would say when she told her of this particular adventure.
She took the laird’s hand, her smaller one swallowed completely in his rough grip.
He pulled her up onto the horse with ease, settling her in front of himself once again.
The contact was immediate, warm and solid, and entirely too close for Elsie’s comfort.
She tried to adjust her body, turning her knees politely to one side, but the horse shifted beneath them, stepping slightly off balance.
“Ye’ll fall off like that, lass,” Halvard cautioned, with a touch of amusement in his voice.
“I most certainly will not.”
“Ye most certainly will,” he leaned down and whispered in her ear. She had never met a man who seemed so entirely pleased with himself while torturing her. “This beastie is nay pony in yer English gardens.”
He gently snapped the reins and the horse surged forward, Elsie let out a very undignified squeak before instinctively grabbing onto Halvard’s arm. He laughed out right this time. His tenor deep and unguarded, which startled her more than the sudden movement of the horse.
“Aye, a fine rider, indeed.”
“Savage,” she muttered under her breath, just loud enough that this time she hoped the brute heard her.
They rode in silence for a while, the rhythm of the horses the only sound in the dark.
The landscape rolled by, heather and stone and endless grey hills.
Elsie’s mind raced. Halvard was helping her, and she him in return, that much she understood.
But she could not seem to shake the thought that agreeing with this insane scheme would drag her deeper into danger, more so than she had already been.
Pretending to be a laird’s wife, lying to the Crown, surely it was madness.
And still, when she dared a glance at his profile in the dying light, she found him to be hard, certainly, but also noble, and completely sure of himself. She could not deny he inspired a small, treacherous spark of trust within her.
Don’t be daft. Just because he saved you and killed for you, doesn’t meant he has earned your trust.
His man, Sten, caught up to them, a grin stretching across his face ear to ear, as if their arguing had been nothing more than a normal eve’s entertainment.
Halvard had been so intent on the lass, he had nearly forgotten Sten had been with them when he was the one who had sent the man out ahead to check and ensure the road was clear.
“So ye’ve gone and found yerself a wife, eh?” Sten said, laughing. “Certainly better than Bonnie, I gather,” he mumbled.
Elsie turned back to catch Halvard’s eye. “Who is Bonnie?”
Halvard’s eyes shifted, his expression closing up instantly, all mirth and mischief from their earlier exchange, gone. “No one that should concern ye, lass,” he growled.
His mood was sharp enough to cause her to swallow any additional questions she might have had, leaving her exposed as if she had brushed up against something raw and untethered. It seemed her new, soon-to-be husband had his own demons, and she should be content to leave them be.
The wind blew a tad bit colder as they rode on, and Elsie found herself leaning back into Halvard ever so slightly telling herself it was merely for the man’s warmth. Nothing further.
By the time the grey stone towers of what she assumed was the laird’s home rose out of the mist, Elsie found she was half frozen.
“Brochel Castle, lass,” Halvard leaned down and spoke deeply into her ear. “’Tis where I call home, and where I hope ye’ll feel welcome fer as long as ye stay.”
Through the exhaustion of the ride and not fully convinced she wasn’t in a living nightmare, Elsie forced herself to look up at the imposing sight.
The fortress rose like a great brooding beast on the cliff’s edge.
Not unlike its laird.
Its walls were darkened by age and the harsh winds off the sea.
The crashing of the waves below echoed faintly through the rock as the castle itself took its very breath from the tide.
Jagged hills hemmed it in on the side opposite the sea.
A narrow bridge of stone led to the great gates, where iron torches sputtered defiantly in the damp air.
“Of course, your castle would look like something from a ghost story,” she murmured.
Elsie could not help but compare it to the manicured estates she was used to. This was nothing like her old life at all. No flowering hedges, no sunlit gardens, only gulls and puffins crying overhead, their calls mixing with the scents of salt, smoke and peat.
Although, if she were being honest with herself, Elsie saw the rugged beauty beneath the harrowing appearance. There was something incredibly brave and strong in the castle standing firm and tall in the face of such a harsh landscape.
She craned her neck to look up at the laird behind her. His gaze was fixed on the great gatehouse ahead of them, the faintest muscle ticking in his jaw. The wind whipping his head back, his plaid snapping in defiance.
Blast him, he looks like the hero in one of Selene’s romantic stories.
It was infuriating.
They rode through the gates, and people began to emerge from every corner and alcove; servants, guards, stable hands, and villagers alike.
Elsie realized what a sight they must make. Her hair loose and tangled. Her gown torn and muddy. His plaid hanging loosely around her shoulders. Both of them sharing a horse like a pair of bedraggled highway thieves. Rather ironic when she thought of the actual thieves he had saved her from.
Heat flooded her cheeks. “They’re all staring.”
“Aye,” Halvard said, far too calmly. “Because they ken their laird has returned wi’ a bride.”
She twisted to glare at him, but he was already swinging his huge body down from the saddle, reaching up to assist her with her own dismount.
“Play along, lass,” he murmured under his breath. “Unless ye fancy explainin’ th’ truth tae a dozen tongues that’ll wag it tae th’ envoy before dawn.”
Before she could wrap her mind around his words to offer an argument, his large hands gripped her waist and lifted her down as if she weighed no more than a feather.
The gesture was meant to be gallant but standing as she was before a gathering crowd of his people, wind-blown and wrapped in his plaid, it felt far too intimate.
An older gentleman in MacLeod tartan stepped forward, his brows rising high upon his forehead. “Me laird, we’d nae expected ye so soon,” he said, his eyes flicking toward Elsie. “And it seems ye come home bearin’ news?”
Elsie tried to stand straighter, but her gown was torn down one sleeve and there was mud on the knees of her skirts. She looked nothing like a newlywed or a lady.
Halvard inclined his head, the picture of Highland composure. “Aye. We were set upon on th’ road back by bandits. They meant tae rob us, or worse. But we fought our way free.”
“Fought free? Th’ two of ye?” someone else repeated.
Halvard’s hand came to rest lightly on the small of Elsie’s back, possessive and steady. “Sten here was wi’ us as well. But me wife fought like a wildcat,” he said with a faint smile. “She’s nae one tae mess wi’ an’ I’ve th’ scars tae prove it.”
A murmur of laughter rolled through the crowd and Elsie turned her head just enough to whisper, “I’m going to kill you.”
“After the performance, lass,” he murmured back.
The older man, some sort of steward or advisor, Elsie thought, cleared his throat. “Yer wife, me laird?”
“Aye,” Halvard replied, his tone warm enough to convince anyone in the Highlands who dared question it. “Lady Elsie MacLeod. We wed quietly while I was away.”
Elsie gave a stiff smile and prayed her voice would not shake. “It all happened rather… suddenly.”
Another ripple of curiosity shot through the crowd. She heard someone whisper “She’s English,” as though being from England was some sort of mystical feat.
Halvard leaned into her. ‘They’ll expect a kiss,” he said low enough that only she could hear. Her heart began to race.
“They what?”
He was already turning her to face him. His eyes glinting with something a little too wicked perhaps for a man she had only just met.
“No,” she whispered, taking a small step back.
“Yes,” he murmured, stepping forward to close the gap she had created between them.
“Halvard…” she warned, daring to use his given name.
He caught her hand again before she could retreat. “Elsie,” he growled. “Ye’ll ruin th’ illusion.”
“I’ll ruin you,” she hissed, but it was too late.
He leaned down, slow enough for her to know what was coming. Her heart hammered in her chest. Her stomach fluttered, and she could not tell if it was panic or anticipation. In an amazingly graceless attempt to avoid his mouth, at the last possible moment she turned her head.
Instead of her lips, his mouth brushed her cheek, ever so gently. There was a faint lingering contact that sent a flood of warmth through her. She could smell the spice of him.
Those gathered in the courtyard erupted in a polite applause, as Elsie felt fire reach her cheeks. Halvard’s arms tightened around her, and for one fleeting moment she found she was grateful for the steadying force.
“Well,” Sten announced loudly stepping forward with a wide grin. “Looks like our laird has found himself a lovely bride indeed!”
Laughter and cheers followed as the tension broke. Elsie looked around at the faces before her. She could not help but think these were good people and she was lying to them. Yet she could not afford to tell the truth.