Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dawn came creeping through the narrow chamber window like an unwelcome guest. Halvard shifted in his chair, his neck aching from a long night of little sleep.
He’d caved on sharing the bed, mostly to spare the Englishwoman her pride, and partly because the thought of lying beside her unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
Now in the pale morning light, Lady Elsie Montgomery––no, Lady Elsie MacLeod––stirred beneath the blanket before stretching languidly. She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
Halvard’s jaw tightened.
Christ, man, stop starring at the woman like a lovesick bairn.
He turned to look at the gown folded neatly on the chest by the bed.
Muirin had been by earlier and promised him that gown would fit the lass better than the one she had been given the night before.
It was green. A soft moss shade that Halvard thought would catch and highlight the gold in Elsie’s hair.
He looked away again, pretending to busy himself with his boots. When he turned back, she was already up, splashing water from a basin onto her face. Her hair was a riot of loose strands and waves; the pins she used to try and tame the locks had clearly surrendered in the night.
“Ye’re awake then?” he said, his voice still rough with sleep, or lack of sleep as it were.
She glanced over her shoulder. “So are you. How noble, watching a lady sleep from your chair like a sentry.”
He smirked. “I was makin’ sure ye didnae run off. English lasses have a habit of causin’ trouble when left alone.”
She ignored him, lifting a glass of water and sipping with delicate ease.
He studied her, the deliberate grace of her movements, the way she fussed with her hair even though no one was watching.
“Dae ye ever stop tryin’ tae look perfect?” he asked, his tone edged with mockery. “Or is that part of bein’ a proper English lady? Neat curls, polished manners and nay mud on yer skirts?”
Her hand froze midair. Slowly she turned to him, eyes flashing with something that excited him.
“Oh, forgive me, me laird,” she said sweetly. “You prefer your women wild and unwashed, I suppose?”
“Among other things,” he responded before he could stop himself.
The cup flew before he saw it coming. Cold water splashed across his chest and face, soaking his shirt and dripping down his neck.
For a heartbeat, he just stared at her, a smug expression of satisfaction on her face, no hint of apology forthcoming. Then to her visible annoyance he started to laugh, low, rough and genuine.
“God help me,” he muttered, wiping his face with a sleeve. “Ye’ll be th’ death of me, yet.”
He stood and left the room, leaving Elsie fuming and beautiful behind him as he made his way to his study.
Sten was already waiting, arms folded, the scent of peat smoke clinging to his plaid. He had already been out that morning, Halvard thought, most likely checking in with the men.
“Ye didnae sleep,” Sten observed.
“Nae fer lack of tryin’,” Halvard muttered, dropping into his broad leather chair behind his desk.
Sten grinned. “Th’ English lass keepin’ ye awake then?”
Halvard shot him a look. “Keep yer tongue, Sten. We’ve more pressin’ matters than me wife’s temper.”
“Fake wife,” Sten reminded him, as if it was needed.
Halvard’s expression hardened. “Aye, fake or nae, the story holds, and until Harcourt’s off me land, we keep it that way.”
He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I dinnae trust that man. His eyes never stop weighin’, calculatin’. Like he’s countin’ how tae gut me wi’ words before steel.”
“He’s nae here fer pleasantries, that much’s clear,” Sten nodded grimly. “But Redfern’s a different sort. He watches and listens. Th’ man daesnae speak unless he means what he’s about tae say.”
“Which makes him dangerous,” Halvard muttered. “A man that’s quiet’s thinkin’ of what others may miss.”
The two men talked for a small while longer, clan matters, supplies, the upcoming breaking of the fast, before Halvard finally rose, his foul mood settled deep within his shoulder. “Let us make fer food then.”
The great hall was already busy with kin by the time Halvard and Sten arrived, the scent of bread and meat in the smoke-filled air making his stomach growl in hunger. But it was the sight of Elsie that grabbed his attention before the food.
She was seated near the end of the main table, her back rigid and her green eyes scanning the offered plates of food with a frown.
Even though he knew he shouldn’t be, he was pleased that he had been right about the gown, the mossy color flattering her figure and coloring.
The flicker of the fire in the hearth mixing with the morning sunlight caught the golden highlights in her brown hair.
Were he a weaker man, he would take her into his arms and prove to the entire room that she was his.
Halvard shook his head to clear the errant thought.
“Something wrong, wife?” he drawled taking the seat beside her.
“I was looking for something sweet,” she said, brows pinching together. “Honeyed bread, perhaps or a custard?”
Halvard snorted. “Ye’ll find nay custard in a Highland keep. We’ve meat, oatcakes and ale, more than enough tae keep a lass alive.”
“Maybe,” she muttered. “But certainly not enough to keep her happy.”
“If a honeyed bread is all it takes tae make ye happy lass,” he kept his voice low, “I’ll be sure tae make th’ kitchen prepare it each day.”
He turned toward his own plate, but not before noticing Redfern had been watching his exchange with Elsie, and were he not mistaken, the king’s envoy seemed to be hiding a light smile behind his cup, amused.
However he also noticed a certain pallor in his face that made Halvard question if the man had not taken ill in the night.
Harcourt on the other hand, wasn’t smiling.
He sat opposite Redfern, his daughter straight backed and silent next to him.
The Earl’s expression polite, but Halvard noted it was cold as ice.
Lady Margaret had no softness in her eyes either.
It was not hard to tell the lass had inherited her father’s calculating nature.
Were it possible, Halvard would ignore them both until their departure.
“A fine morning for a ride, would you not agree, MacLeod?”
Halvard met the man’s gaze head on. “Depends on who’d be ridin’ beside me.”
Elsie looked up from her food, eyes bright. “I think I would enjoy a ride.”
He couldn’t tell if the lass was simply playing her part, or if she truly was eager to get back astride a beast. But with all eyes upon him, he nodded. “Aye, a ride then.”
Harcourt’s lips turned upward but with no kindness. “Splendid, Lady Margaret and I shall join you, along with His Majesty’s envoy,” he nodded toward Redfern. “I imagine you and your bride would like the chance to bid us a proper farewell before we depart.”
A few minutes later they were all outside.
The air was sharp and clean, the kind of morning air that filled a man’s chest and reminded him he was alive.
It was the kind of day Halvard would spend out of doors exploring as a lad, racing up and down the craggy seacoast and relaxing in the soft green meadows that made up the island.
Horses stamped and snorted in the courtyard as the mist lifted from the cliffs beyond Brochel, curling like smoke above the sea.
Halvard swung easily into his saddle, his plaid shifting against the chill of the breeze. He glanced toward Elsie, who stood glaring at her horse as if it was an enemy she had to conquer.
“Ye need a hand, wife?” he called, half-teasing.
She set her jaw and gathered her skirts with defiance. “I can manage, just fine, thank you.”
The mare snorted, unimpressed with the woman’s show of independence. Elsie muttered something under her breath, likely not suitable for polite English company, Halvard thought, and mounted sidesaddle with remarkable grace. The movement drew a few murmurs of surprise from the watching stablehands.
“Only sidesaddle?” Harcourt called approaching from across the courtyard. “How very… proper, my lady. My Margaret has long ridden astride. A most practical skill for the Highlands as we guessed she’d be a Highland bride.”
Margaret sitting tall and composed on her dappled grey, gave a smug little smile. Halvard’s stomach clenched, as it was the first sign of emotion from the lass, and he could tell underneath her meek appearance she was as cruel and vicious as her father.
In contrast, at the Earl’s comments, Halvard noticed a spark light in Elsie’s eyes, a dangerous flash of pride he had seen before and that seemed to always precede trouble.
“I assure you, my lord,” she said sweetly. “I can ride however the terrain demands. But as I am a lady, I choose grace over… well, the appearance of practicality.” She gave Lady Margaret a curt nod.
“Grace is easily lost when one falls,” Harcourt responded.
Elsie tilted her chin. “Then I suppose I shan’t fall.”
Halvard bit back a groan.
God’s above, she’s gonna pick a fight before we’ve left th’ bloody keep.
“Enough,” he warned under his breath, so only she could hear, but Elsie only gave an innocent smile.
Harcourt gave a deliberate laugh. “Perhaps a test, then. Only for amusement of course. My Margaret could use the exercise before our long journey. A short race, Lady MacLeod?”
Elsie’s gaze sharpened as she sized up her potential opponent. “Gladly.”
“Christ’s blood, mo bhean,” Halvard muttered, but she was already urging her horse forward, her eyes flashing like sunlight on steel.
The ladies lined up at the edge of the field below the castle. The sea stretched beyond, vast and gleaming. Harcourt smirked like a man certain of his daughter’s victory. Lady Margaret in turn looked confident and serene. Elsie by contrast looked to Halvard like a storm about to break.
“Only to the stream and back,” Harcourt advised. “We wouldn’t want an accident.”
Halvard leaned close to Elsie’s ear. “Ye dinnae have tae prove anything, lass.”
Her lips curved. “You think I’ll lose?”
He met her gaze head on. “I think ye’ll crack yer neck, mo bràmair.”
Her eyes went wide for a moment at the term of endearment, but she quickly recovered and gave him a wink. “Then you’d have to find another wife.”
Before he could respond, she kicked her mare into motion. Halvard said a small prayer.
The horses thundered across the grass, hooves tearing at the earth. Elsie’s skirts billowed and her hair flew loose from her carefully crafted pins in the wind. She rode like she’d been born in the saddle, fearless, balanced, alive.
Halvard could not help himself, a fierce pride surged in his chest. It only increased as Harcourt’s laughter faded. The Earl was silent as Elsie and Margaret rounded the stream almost neck and neck but, on the return, Elsie leaned low over her horse, urging it faster and faster still.
When she crossed the line first, her triumphant grin could’ve lit the sky as Margaret’s composure cracked just enough to show her fury. Harcourt by contrast seemed unable to hide his, as Halvard noticed the whites of the other man’s knuckles on his reins.
“Well done, Lady MacLeod,” Harcourt said tightly. “A rare talent, for a woman.”
Elsie smiled, breathless. “Perhaps next time, my lord, you’ll allow your daughter to bring a faster horse.”
Halvard shook his head, both exasperated and impressed. “Ye’ve got a reckless streak wider than Lock Slapin,” he said as she rode back toward him.
‘And yet, I’m still alive,” she said as she carefully adjusted the loose locks of her hair back in place.
“Barely,” he muttered, but he could not keep the warmth out of his tone.
By midday, the race between the two English ladies was already the talk of the castle. Harcourt’s expression remained smooth as stone as he and his daughter prepared with their small party for departure. Redfern however, looked unwell.
“Redfern, if ye need tae stay on fer a day or so yer always welcome,” Halvard offered as the envoy looked green.
“I seem to have taken a touch ill,” the envoy replied. His tone calm but his gaze sharp. “I’ll take you up on your offer, Laird. Besides, there are matters of protocol I’d like clarified before I return to London.”
“’Tis a long journey south,” Halvard replied. “Stay as long as ye need and let me or me kin ken if ye need anything. We’re at yer service. I will call the healer tae check on ye.”
Harcourt approached, cold and polite. “Until we meet again, MacLeod. I trust your wife will find Highland life agreeable.”
His tone when mentioning Elsie left a pit in Halvard’s center. He met the Earl’s gaze evenly. “Ye dinnae need tae worry, Harcourt. She’ll find what she needs.”
“I’m sure she will.” Harcourt bowed before taking his leave.
The horses clattered down the causeway, the sound of the exiting party fading into the mist before Halvard felt comfortable turning back toward the keep. Beside him Elsie managed to silently creep up.
“He hates you,” she spoke quietly.
“Aye, I took somethin’ he thought was his, but it was mine rightfully, and all along,” he said with a humorless smile.
“This keep?” she asked.
“Among other things,” he replied. “And I’m afeared th’ Earl isnae done wi’ me yet.”
The game with Harcourt was far from over, and Halvard worried now with Elsie in the middle of it, the stakes had just become dangerously high.