Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Elsie did not enter the great hall for supper.
The thought of playing nice and sitting beside her “husband” after that spectacle in the training yard made her stomach twist. Instead, she had found her way to his library.
She chose an oversized and extremely comfortable armchair close to the window.
Candlelight pooled warm over her and the pages of a book she had chosen at random from one of the shelves. A well-worn volume of fables.
She could not focus on a single word.
Her eyes traced back and forth over the pages, but her mind kept replaying Halvard’s growl, the way he had stalked forward like a territorial wolf, the flash of jealousy in his pale eyes, and his chest. His bare chest.
Worse of all, the confusing spark she had felt taking it all in.
“Idiot,” she muttered to herself, flipping a page with a violent flick of her wrist. “Highland brute is what he is. Arrogant, ill-tempered, insufferable brute.”
The insults did nothing to calm her.
Eventually when the candles burned low, she returned upstairs to ‘their’ chamber. “She was still annoyed and flustered, determined not to say another word to him unless it was absolutely necessary.
She opened the door and stopped.
On the small table beside the bed sat a plate covered in a linen cloth. Something warm drifted up from beneath that cloth. It was a sweet, yeasty smell, and one that to her was entirely unmistakable.
Honeyed bread.
The very thing she yearned for each morning at breakfast. The very thing Halvard had said he would procure for her. He had remembered.
She swallowed the hard knot that had crawled up her throat. “Oh. Oh… bother.”
For a long moment she stood, staring at the plate, frozen. She was torn between confusion and something gentler. Something she did not want to feel.
She spun on her heels marching back out of the room carrying the plate with her.
She found him in his study, hunched over a map looking impossibly serious, until he spotted her at the door. His shoulders straitened as he stood to his full height, his expression hidden.
She held the plate out to him like an accusation.
“What,” she demanded. “Is this?”
Halvard blinked at her. “Bread?”
“Yes, I can see that it is bread,” she snapped. “What I am asking is why is it in our chamber?”
His jaw flexed. “Ye didnae eat dinner.”
“That is hardly an answer.”
He shrugged. She could see she was making him uncomfortable, awkward even. “I figured ye may want somethin’ sweet. I ken ye like yer sweet things.”
She stared at him. He stared at the map, avoiding her eyes.
The silence stretched between them, and slowly Elsie began to realize the truth. This was his way of apologizing.
It was a horribly awkward, unpolished Highland apology, but still, it was an apology.
Her anger cracked further.
“Oh,” she breathed. “You are trying to say you are sorry.”
His head jerked up. “I didnae say that.”
“No,” she agreed, stepping into the room and closer to him. “But you meant it.”
Elsie sat across from him and placed the plate between them on his desk. She tore a small piece of the sweet bread with delicate precision. Halvard grabbed a chunk like a starving animal. Their fingers brushing together in the process. Hers elegant, his rough.
She tried to ignore the trail of warmth that went down her spine.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“It wasnae a hardship,” he grunted.
“It was still a kindness.”
He looked at her then, really looked. His eyes lingered on her face, her mouth, then her hair. Halvard looked at her like he saw something in her. Heat washed across his expression.
“Yer hair’s always perfect,” he said suddenly.
She reached up and touched the ribbon that held her hair in place. She had taken care to do her best to keep it in her usual style. A tight coil. A few strands always managed to get loose, but her mother had always insisted that a proper English lady always stay poised and put together.
Even though Elsie was not as perfect as her sister, Selene, she did try to do her best to maintain order and follow the rules where she could.
She blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”
He nodded at her ribbon. “Let it loose.”
“Absolutely not,” she huffed. “It would be untidy.”
“Aye,” he whispered. “That’s th’ point.”
“Halvard…”
He moved before she could finish. His hand, large and rough moved ever so gently, but with precision, behind her neck. Suddenly Elsie found she could not properly breath as his other hand moved toward her hair and tugged the ribbon free in a single smooth pull.
Her hair spilled down in a cascade of golden-brown waves.
Elsie froze.
Halvard’s eyes met hers, darkening with something even she could not mistake. And she felt the knot she had been holding in her very core loosen.
“Much better,” he murmured. His voice was low and rough. “I like it like this. Wild.”
Her pulse thundered so loudly she was sure he could hear it.
“That was improper,” she whispered.
“Aye,” he said, eyes fixed on her mouth. He licked his lips. “Most things worth daein’ are.”
Elsie swallowed… hard. “You’re impossible.”
His lips curved up in the faintest, most devastating smile. “And yer blushin’ again.”
“I am not.”
He leaned in, just slightly closer. “Ye are.”
Her breath caught as her heart fluttered wildly, betraying her and everything she’d convinced herself she felt about the Highlander before her.
And all from a few pieces of honeyed bread, and a stolen ribbon.
For one breathless instant the world narrowed to only the two of them.
For Elsie, his heat, the warmth of his chest so close to hers, the scent of pine and winter wind clinging to his skin as the roughness of his voice lingered in her ear.
She didn’t move, didn’t attempt to clear her space of him. There was something in the way he looked at her, rooting her to the spot.
Then Halvard stilled, something flickering across his expression. It wasn’t anger, nor desire, but rather recognition.
Elsie blinked. It was as if he’d suddenly realized how close they were, and how dangerous it was. He stepped back so quickly it jolted her back into the moment as well. The space between them becoming awkward as he let out a small chuff.
“I should see to th’ guard rotation,” he said, voice rougher than before.
It was a terribly thin excuse, and Elsie could see even he seemed to know it. Confusion tightened in her chest. “Yes, of course.”
“Aye,” he cleared his throat, gaze skidding away from her face as though the simple act of looking at her too long could undo him. “It’s already dark.”
But Elsie knew it wasn’t the night that made him wary. It was her.
Before she could gather a single coherent response, he stepped past her, pulling the distance around himself like a shield.
“Ye should rest, mo bhean,” he muttered, soft almost as if apologizing. “Ye’ve had enough fer one day.”
And then he was gone and Elsie was alone. The only sound that of his boots echoing down the corridor.
She felt strangely bereft at the loss of him, her heart still hammering in the sudden stillness of the study. She pressed her hand to her chest as if the movement would help slow her thundering pulse.
What on earth just happened?
Sleep refused to come. Elsie had turned her pillow twice, shifted positions a dozen times and still her mind was restless, tugging her back again and again to Halvard. The way he had stepped away from her earlier was haunting her, it was as if standing too close to her was dangerous.
Dangerous for whom, she wasn’t sure she knew.
But the absence of him in the chamber only made her restlessness worse. The room felt too large without him filling the space, the fire too quiet.
Unbelievable, you barely know the brute. What is happening?
At last, she gave up. Perhaps some warmed milk, or a walk might tire her and ease her mind.
Slipping from beneath the blankets, she pulled on a shawl over her nightdress and stepped into the corridor.
The castle felt different at night, softer.
The stone walls warmed by torchlight, the silence humming with a watchful stillness.
It was so very different here than what she was used to back home, but not unpleasant.
She wandered without aim, trying to calm her thoughts. Brochel’s corridors were still quite unfamiliar to her, and after some time and several turns she was fairly sure she was nowhere near the kitchens or the great hall.
She was deciding whether to turn back when voices drifted from a partially open doorway leading into another corridor.
Halvard’s voice along with another man, a clansman, speaking low and troubled.
“…she worries too much, m’laird. She worries fer keepin’ th’ bairn quiet, about bein’ proper, about all th’ ways she may offend.”
Halvard let out a quiet snort. “A woman who fears nay one is worth ten who kneel.”
His tone was rough, but not unkind. “Tell yer wife she’s enough as she is. And tell her if anyone in this clan makes her feel otherwise, I’ll take care of it.”
Elsie felt his words hit her like a blow to the ribs.
A woman who fears no one…
Elsie had spent her entire life being told the opposite. She had been told to mind her tongue, be gentle, obliging, agreeable. A true English rose. She had been taught her fierceness was a flaw, that her adventurous spirit would make her undesirable. She would never find a suitable match.
Yet, Halvard spoke of fearless women with admiration.
Her breath caught.
The clansman murmured his thanks to the laird and they parted ways. The man passed her in the shadows without noticing her at all. As he disappeared from view, she slowly stepped out. Still attempting to process her emotions.
She looked up to find Halvard standing in the doorway, broad shoulders framed by the warm light behind him. It was clear he had noticed her at once, brow furrowing.
“Elsie?” He stepped toward her. “I thought ye’d be asleep, lass.”
“I couldn’t.” Her voice was softer than she intended. “I was walking the halls, and then I heard you speaking with your man.”
His expression shifted into something thoughtful. “Ah.”
She swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat, as she twisted her hands together. “What you said… about a woman who fears no one.” She forced herself to meet his gaze. “Women aren’t supposed to be like that. Not where I’m from.”
“Aye,” he said low. “England’s fond of its rules.”
“I’ve always been too bold,” she whispered, the tightness in her chest loosening as she spoke. “I’ve always been too outspoken. Men didn’t like it, didn’t like me. I was always told to be softer, quieter.” She hesitated. “It’s never been considered a virtue.”
“Then those who told ye that were fools,” he said simply.
He moved closer, so close that when he lifted a hand and hovered it just shy of her cheek, she could feel the heat coming off him. Her heart jumped.
“My favorite thing about ye, lass, is that ye are nae meek,” he said. “Yer nae afraid tae question. Ye fight back. Ye blaze.” His voice was low and rough. “I admire ye fer it. Especially because ye’re English.”
A shaky laugh escaped her. “That sounds suspiciously like an insult.”
He huffed a soft laugh in return. “Perhaps. But I mean it. Ye were born in th’ wrong damn country.”
The air tightened between them. Halvard reached up again, this time not stopping at the curl beside her ear. His knuckles skimmed down along her jaw, a slow, deliberate trace that sent a shock through her. She inhaled sharply.
He stepped closer, close enough that his chest nearly brushed hers. The heat of him wrapped around her like a soft plaid, his scent coupled with the peat smoke in the air dizzying in its nearness.
His fingers slipped from her jaw to the side of her neck. She turned slightly, giving him more access, even though he barely grazed her skin. The touch was enough to make her knees weaken. Her breath caught and her pulse leapt against his thumb.
Halvard seemed to feel it. His gaze dropped to her lips. She parted them ever so lightly, preparing for something, though she knew not what. He looked at her as if he were hungry but uncertain. Wanting.
He leaned closer, slowly, deliberately… she didn’t move away.
He was a breath from her lips when…
“Me lady?”
Elsie jerked back as Muirin appeared at the far end of the corridor clutching a basket, eyes wide as she took in the scene before her. “Oh! Forgive me. I didnae see…”
Halvard exhaled sharply, and Elsie swore she heard him mutter a curse under his breath as he stepped away from her. The moment shattered.
Elsie felt her face burn. “It’s quite all right, Muirin.”
But her heart was still racing, and she could feel Halvard’s gaze upon her, even as she dropped her eyes to the floor. The almost-kiss lingered between them. Unresolved and impossible to ignore.