Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
The maid, Muirin Fraser, was unlike anyone Elsie had ever met. She had kind eyes and a laugh that came easily.
She moved about the room with a grace that seemed out of place in the drafty, stone Highland keep, her chestnut braid swinging against her back as she poured steaming water into a copper tub.
“There now, me lady,” she said, her voice low and melodic, touched by that lilting Highland rhythm. “Ye’ll be warm again soon enough. I can see th’ roads were cruel tae ye.”
Elsie tried to protest. She truly didn’t need a fuss made over her, but Muirin only smiled, a quiet knowing smile that made her words falter. The maid’s soft green eyes held something deeper than simple kindness. Perhaps, understanding.
Muirin had said little while helping her undress and brush the mud from her torn gown, but everything about her spoke of quiet sympathy.
When Else had shivered from the slight chill in the air, Muirin wrapped a rough wool blanket around her shoulders without a word.
When she had winced at a bruise, Muirin’s touch had gentled, as though she carried the pain herself.
“I cannae imagine, what ye’ve been through,” Muirin murmured as she set the last bucket down. “But ye’re safe now, ye ken. Th’ laird’s a hard man, but nae a cruel one.”
Elsie gave a small uncertain laugh. But before she could reply, Muirin added gently, “Ye’ll find clean linens on the chair.
Dinner will be soon, and I’m sure his lairdship will expect ye tae join th’ meal in the great hall, but ye’ve time tae soak a bit before.
There’s lavender in the water, it’s good fer ye’re heart and yer skin. ”
When the maid left, the room felt suddenly larger and quieter. The crackle of the hearth the only sound breaking the silence.
Elsie sank into the bath, sighing as the heat wrapped around her sore limbs. The scent of lavender rose with the steam, soft and soothing. For the first time she had been abducted, she let herself feel the exhaustion pressing down on her.
Kind, gentle, Muirin. If every Scot were like her, perhaps this place wouldn’t feel quite so barbaric.
She let herself drift, not quite asleep, but not fully awake either. A sweet dream of green grass and running with Selene edged around her subconscious. It was as if she could feel the warmth of the sun over the Hertfordshire fields…
Then the door crashed open.
Elsie shot upright with a gasp, water spilling over the edge of the tub. Standing framed in the doorway, tall, broad, and entirely uninvited, was Laird Halvard MacLeod, looking all but completely terrifying.
Her scream barely left her lips before he crossed the room in two quick strides and clamped his hand over her mouth.
“Gods above, woman,” he hissed. “Will ye bring th’ whole castle tae see ye in yer nakedness?”
She made a furious, muffled sound, thrashing under his hold, the water slapping against the copper. His scent of leather, smoke and the sea filled the air, far too close.
“Quiet, lass,” he muttered lowering his voice. “There are men in the hall. If they hear ye, we’re both undone.”
Undone? I’m already undone, you brute!
She gave him a heated glare that could melt stone.
He released her slowly; hands raised in mock surrender as she took care to capture her lost breath.
“There. Peace?”
“Out!” she sputtered, yanking a linen towel over herself. “This is indecent.”
“I noticed,” he said with a glint of humor in his eyes, causing heat to flood her cheeks. He turned away from her. “But I cannae leave. Word gets out I’m nae welcome in me own rooms wi’ me new bride and Harcourt’ll tear me down before dawn.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“So ye keep tellin’ me.” He laughed quietly, deep and warm.
The sound would have been quite pleasing to her if she had not been determined to hate him so.
“Get dressed, lass.” He motioned to the simple gown Muirin had left for her with the linens. “Supper’s soon. And try nae tae look so much like ye want naethin’ more than tae throttle me. Highland wives are meant tae glow with devotion.”
She glanced daggers at him. An English gentlemen would never treat a lady in such a manner. He only smirked, leaning against the hearth with his arms crossed, a true barbarian at ease in his own domain.
Elsie pulled the towel tighter around herself and muttered, “You, sir, are the single most uncivilized man I have ever met.”
Halvard’s grin widened. “Aye, and ye’re the most troublesome woman I’ve ever saved.”
Elsie drew in a sharp breath. He was rude, but somehow the thought that he had saved other women turned something inside her cold. But be damned if she was going to think on that now!!
Dinner at Brochel Castle was nothing like the refined suppers of Hertfordshire.
The main difference for Elsie was the sound. Dinner in the great hall was loud. The room was filled with men who spoke in booming voices, laughed with ribald humor as if they meant to shake the rafters, and tore into food with the unselfconscious gusto of a pack of hungry wolves.
The scent of roasting meats filled the air, mixing with the peat smoke of the fire and the distant hum of Gaelic songs. It was actually quite merry, and had it been under any other circumstance Elsie would have found herself quite amused.
Instead, she sat stiffly beside Halvard at a long wooden table, her borrowed gown too loose at the shoulders and her borrowed husband entirely too relaxed.
Or at least one would be prone to think, had she not noticed the steel cold resolve in his eyes.
He was watching everything, his men, her, the room itself.
Specifically, his eyes carried across the table to where the royal envoy, Thomas Redfern, who appeared composed and thoughtful, sat next to Earl Harcourt, all polished civility and watchful malice.
This is what madness looks like.
A question drifted down the table, someone asking how long she and Halvard had been married. Elsie froze mid-bite. They had not discussed the particulars of their ruse. It was foolish.
“Ah, not long,” she said brightly, having no choice but to break the silence that had fallen in expectation of a response. “Just… weeks, really.”
Halvard gave a low grunt. “Days.”
She gave him her sharpest look. Under the table, her slippered foot found his shin.
He didn’t flinch. “Feels longer, though,” he added with maddening calm.
A few of his men roared with laughter.
Thomas Redfern’s lips twitched as if suppressing a smile. “Newlyweds, then. A fortunate thing to find love in such uncertain times.”
“Yes, indeed,” Elsie said quickly, her voice brittle with nerves no matter how she tried to hide it. “Quite fortunate.”
She felt Halvard’s knee bump hers, deliberately. She turned to find his eyes sparkling with amusement.
The brute is enjoying this!
A servant refilled her cup with some kind of mead or ale. It was sweet and she took a large gulp. The conversation turned to the journey north from England. Mr. Redfin asked something polite about her adjustment to the Highlands.
“It’s been quite…” Elsie began, stalling, knowing she could not answer honestly but the good English lady in her made her feel horrible about lying to a representative of the crown. “Well, wild, sir.”
Halvard coughed into his drink as another roar of laughter rose up from the room.
“Wild?” Thomas repeated, clearly entertained.
“Well, compared to England,” she said, flushing. “It’s rather… untamed. But the people are lovely.” She thought of kind Muirin, and even Sten, who seemed to be able to tame Halvard’s more brutal instincts and had so far treated her with kindness.
Someone at the end of the table gave a hear hear, and when laughter rang out again, Elsie felt as if she could crawl under the table and disappear. She was unused to any attention at all, let alone being the sole focus of dinner conversation.
Then the earl spoke, his tone smooth and cutting. “Aye, untamed indeed. The Highlands seem to breed savagery in both landscape and men.”
The hall went quiet as Harcourt turned his calculating gaze toward Halvard. “Tell me, Laird MacLeod, do you truly live up to your name? Halvard the Savage, as I believe you are called. The moniker reaching even the most polite of London’s sitting rooms.”
The words landed like a slap.
Halvard didn’t smile. Elsie was afraid to breath. Her “husband’s” pale eyes were cold steel as he met the earl’s gaze. “Names come cheap in London, me lord. Earned ones maybe less so.”
The silence that followed was heavy enough to choke upon. Elsie wondered what Halvard had done to earn such a name, but more so, she felt anger bubble within her at the Earl’s blatant disrespect of Halvard in his own home, in front of his men.
Thomas Redfern was the one who broke the silence in the great hall. “Gentlemen, surely, we can save titles and legends for another time. The hour grows late, and the ale too generous.”
Sten muttered something in Gaelic that made a few of the men snort, and the tension broke. Elsie swallowed hard. She wasn’t fully aware of what had actually occurred between Halvard and the earl, but she could feel the weight of dislike and danger between them.
Halvard stood and offered her his hand, and she reached up, taking it properly as she knew was expected as his lady, and he led her from the great hall.
They walked in stiff silence back to his chamber, and Elsie suddenly felt the weight of the last few days. She was ready for sleep.
“You can take the chair,” she declared once the door to their chamber was closed.
Halvard arched a brow. “Th’ chair?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “You may have rescued me, for which I am grateful, of course, but that does not entitle you to share my bed.”
He gave a low laugh. “Aye, my lady, wouldnae want tae scandalize ye further.”
She ignored his teasing and busied herself adjusting the blanket on the bed. Her hands trembling slightly, though she told herself it was exhaustion and not nerves. Suddenly she found herself curious about this man who had rescued her.
“Why did Lord Harcourt call you that name?” She stepped closer to where he stood by the hearth, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders to ward off a chill.
Halvard looked up from where he was unbuckling his sword belt. “Which name, lass?”
She knew he knew which name she was referring to but for some reason he wanted to hear her say it. “The Savage,” she whispered.
For a moment, Halvard didn’t answer. The flicker from the fire in the hearth cast shadows across his face. He was unreadable as stone and Elsie worried she had spoken out of turn.
“Because I’ve killed men. I’ve killed men on th’ battlefield and off it.”
Elsie froze. The memory of how he had dispatched her captors was fresh in her mind, though she was not sorry for it. Did he kill for sport or fun? Muirin had indicated he was a hard man, but just. Surely, he was not indiscriminate in his killing.
“All who met an end by me blade were deservin’ of it, lass,” he said, voice low and expression soft. “Ye’ve nay reason tae fear me, I will nae harm ye. I saved ye, remember?”
“I remember,” she said barely above a whisper.
“Good.”
He leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms. “Sleep Lady MacLeod, ye’ll need rest if ye mean tae keep up in this marriage.” He gave her a sly wink.
Elsie climbed into the bed and turned her back to him, her heart thudding heavy in her chest.
But even with her eyes closed, facing away, she could feel him there, solid, quiet and far too near. And though she told herself it was only the warmth of the fire seeping into her bones at last, she didn’t feel quite so cold anymore.