Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
That day, the village was full of life, men, women, and children filling the streets.
The sound of laughter echoed around them as Elsie and Halvard made their way through the village square, where some merchants had laid out their wares for people to browse and buy.
The scent of freshly baked bread, of braised meat and ale hung in the air, but neither she nor Halvard had time for that.
Instead of lingering, they made their way to the house of the soldier who had sent Halvard the letter.
It was a small place, humble, the kind of house Elsie didn’t often see, as back home, it wasn’t customary of her to leave the estate too often.
But here, even the Laird of the Clan went to visit the humblest. He had told her once no one was beneath him, they were all family.
And now, more than ever, Elsie could truly see that.
The structure seemed strong, even after almost burning down. The roof had already been rebuilt, though a little hastily. Scorch marks marred the wood at some places, but for the most part, the building seemed unharmed, the stone enduring the fire.
A gaggle of children spilled out of the house when their mother opened the door. She was a cheerful woman, with blonde hair and gray eyes that she seemed to have passed down to most of her children. Behind her, the solider approached, bowing low to them as they entered.
“Me laird, me lady,” he said, as his wife curtsied. “This is Eoiffe, me wife. An’ the bairns.”
“Quiet now,” Eoiffe told the children before she curtsied a little awkwardly, as if she wasn’t used to the motion. “Please, come in.”
The house was small, but well-furnished and warm. Food boiled on the stove, suffusing the air with a rich scent, and their clothes, though simple and unadorned, were fairly new, sporting few places where they were mended.
And it was then Elsie realized Clan MacLeod was truly prosperous. Halvard didn’t hoard wealth. Though his castle was grand, though his clothes and meals were refined, the soldiers of his clan did more than well for themselves.
Another thing I havenae seen.
“Forgive us, me lady, fer the mess,” said Eoiffe, but when Elsie looked around, she couldn’t see what she could possibly be referring to.
“Your home is lovely,” Elsie assured her. “And yer children! Three of them must be quite a handful.”
“Aye, that they are,” Eoiffe said, leaning down to ruffle the hair of the youngest boy. “Can I bring ye somethin’? Some tea, some ale?”
“Ale would be good, Eoiffe, thank ye,” said Halvard as he took a seat at the table across from the solider. Elsie couldn’t help but be struck by how informal he was, how relaxed. Visits had never been a relaxing experience for her. “So, Finlay, I see ye’re fairin’ well, everythin’ considered.”
“Aye, me laird,” said the man. “We were lucky ye were here tae help. Much o’ the house survived an’ what didnae, well, we’re fixin’ it. Some o’ our neighbors were kind enough tae loan us some things, too.”
Halvard nodded, running a hand through his golden hair. Here, he seemed to be surrounded by a glowing halo as the morning light streamed in through the low windows, and Elsie had a difficult time looking away from him.
“Good,” he said. “If there is anythin’ ye need—”
“Thank ye, me laird, but we’ll manage,” said Finlay. “We always dae.”
“There’s nay shame in askin’ fer help, Finlay,” said Halvard. “If there is anythin’ ye need, we’ll provide.”
For a moment, Finlay hesitated. Elsie went to sit next to Halvard as Eoiffe brought them the ale, and she couldn’t help but notice now much the children resembled him, too. They had the same, straight noses, the same wide forehead and freckles on their cheeks, perfect copies of them both.
“Well, there is one thing,” Finlay said. “The stores, me laird… much o’ them was burned down in the fire. We dinnae ken if we’ll last the winter like this.”
“Then we’ll bring ye grain,” Halvard promised. “Dinnae fash. We have enough tae spare.”
Relief seemed to wash over Finlay upon hearing Halvard’s assurance. There had never been a doubt in Elsie’s mind that he would help his people, and she knew this was a promise he would keep.
“I’ll have some men come an’ help rebuild the houses, too,” Halvard promised. “It’s too cold. The people who live in those three houses willnae last the winter like this.”
“Aye,” said Finlay. “We were lucky tae keep our home an’ most o’ our belongings, but the fire took much from others. We’re tryin’ but…”
“It takes a lot o’ hands,” Halvard finished for him.
Once Eoiffe brought the ale, the four of them settled into a comfortable rhythm, a quiet conversation exchanged among them as the children ran and laughed. Elsie watched them, warmth blooming in her chest. This home was warmer than any hall back in England, any estate she had ever visited.
Before they left, Finlay pulled Halvard aside near the door. Elsie lingered, overhearing their conversation as she said goodbye to Eoiffe and the children.
“Me laird, ye should ken there are camps near the borders,” he said. “I dinnae ken how many or who it is, fer I didnae see them with me own eyes, but others seem tae have seen them. We dinnae ken who they are but they’re there.”
Halvard cursed quietly, then gave a stiff nod. “Thank ye,” he said. “I’ll look intae it.”
By the time they were back on the road, the sun had disappeared behind thick, steel gray clouds.
The keep was not far, no more than an hour’s ride away, but the first few, sparse raindrops began to fall when they were less than halfway there.
Elsie tightened her cloak around her shoulders, pulling on her hood, but soon, none of it mattered.
Before they knew it, the heavens opened and it began to pour.
“Quickly!” Halvard called, as he steered his horse out of the path.
Elsie followed him as fast as she could, her horse’s hooves sticking to the mud, splashing water on her ankles.
Neither of them was prepared for such a heavy rain, and Elsie knew there was nowhere they could go—no town or village that could shelter them was in sight, and they couldn’t continue on their way to the keep like this.
Halvard led her under the shelter of a giant oak, its branches thick and its leaves long enough to provide some cover.
Elsie joined him, letting him tie her horse to a thick branch before the two of them settled side by side by the roots, trying to find a dry spot to sit.
Soon, Elsie realized they were much closer than she had intended, the wet ground and the cold pushing them closer and closer together until their arms brushed against each other.
It was barely any contact, nothing more than an innocent touch, but after the kiss they had shared, it was difficult for Elsie to think of anything else in that moment.
Her gaze kept drifting back to their arms, pressed tightly side by side, and she drew in a shivering breath, one that Halvard misinterpreted as her being cold.
“Come,” he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and placing a length of his plaid over her. Instantly, Elsie’s cheek burned and she had the urge to pull away, but that would surely only result in even more embarrassment from her part, when Halvard would inadvertently tease her for it.
So, she stayed where she was, sharing his warmth; not that she needed it now that her entire body seemed to be burning.
Halvard’s arm was a comforting weight over her shoulders, so much so, that she found herself leaning into it against her will.
She wanted nothing more than to lean her head on his chest, to have him wrap himself around her and hold her close, but it seemed far too intimate of an ask, far too dangerous.
“I don’t like rain,” she admitted, watching the heavy raindrops as they trickled down the leaves and splattered against the ground. There was nothing around them but the sound of the rain, hitting the ground hard and fast, turning the path nearby into a shallow brook. “And it rains so often here.”
“Are ye tellin’ me that it daesnae rain where ye’re from?” Halvard asked with a chuckle. “Come now, lass, it rains just as much in England as it daes here.”
“Oh, I suppose it does,” Elsie said with a sigh.
“But I’m not usually out when it does. In fact, I’m not allowed out when it does.
Maybe that’s why I dislike it so much. There’s nowhere for me to go, not the gardens, not the stables…
I can never ride a horse. All there is to do is sit inside in the drawing room and work on my embroidery skills. ”
“Ye any good at it?”
“Embroidering?” Elsie asked with a small frown. “Of course. We all are.”
And by all, she meant all the girls of her status. There were three things a woman like her should know well—needlework, painting, and playing the harpsichord. All things Selene excelled at, and all things Elsie did well, if not as well as her sister.
“As good as ye are at ridin’?”
Elsie let out a surprised snort, one that was entirely unladylike. “No,” she said. “No, I’m not.”
She turned to look at Halvard and, for a moment, time seemed to freeze. He was staring right at her, his face soft, the rough, strong features of his face now softened with something she couldn’t name—or didn’t dare to.
Ever so slowly, he reached out with a gentle hand and tucked a stray curl of her hair behind her ear. The touch was so tender, so soft, that it cut Elsie’s breath short, making it hitch in her throat.
“Ye ken… ye are far too uptight,” he said then, breaking the spell. “An’ a bit o’ a prude.”
Elsie glared at him, her brows knitting into a frown. She pulled back, just a little, studying his face as she did. He bore a smug expression, as if she had just proven him right, and if she were honest, she had.
It was ridiculous. She had never considered herself uptight in England, when everyone around her was so prim and proper—so much more than her, seemingly always knowing the right thing to say and do, when she stumbled.
But there, in the Highlands, her efforts to appear proper were simply too much and entirely unnecessary.
“I suppose you’re right,” she said. “But with every passing day by your side, less so. You’re a terrible influence.”
Halvard let out a soft chuckle. “Aye, I am,” he said. “Would be rather dull if I was prim an’ proper like yerself.”
Dull… and safe.
“What dae ye think will happen if ye go out intae the rain?” Halvard asked.
“Well, I’ll get wet, of course,” said Elsie. “What kind of question is that?’
“Aye, but so what?”
Elsie frowned, considering the question for a moment.
“My dress would be wet,” she said. “It would get muddy and so would my shoes. And my hair… it would all be a mess.”
Halvard looked straight at her, his mouth ticking up into a smirk.
“So what?”
Elsie paused, once again not knowing how to answer. She pondered the question, going through all the possible scenarios in her mind, but in the end, she couldn’t find anything that terrible that would happen if she got wet.
All her life, she had been forbidden from going out in the rain.
All her life, she had avoided mud and anything that could soil her clothes and her shoes, anything that could make her hair anything less than perfect.
All her life, she had been told to stay away from things that could bring her any joy.
She didn’t respond to Halvard. Instead, she pushed herself up to her feet and ran out of the cover of the tree, letting the rain soak her.
At first, she was chilled to the bone, a gasp escaping her, but then, the more she stood there, the more laughter bubbled out of her, even as she was drenched and cold.
There was something enchanting about the rain. There was something freeing about being out there and knowing that no one would yell at her, no one would force her back inside, no one would make her do anything she didn’t want to do.
Behind her, she heard Halvard’s laughter, getting louder and louder as he approached.
When she turned, he was right there behind her, his hands reaching out to steady her, settling at her waist. For a moment, neither of them moved; neither of them spoke.
They only stared at each other, nothing but the falling rain between them, like a veil.
“I’m very proud o’ ye,” he said. “I never thought ye’d run out intae the rain like this.”
“Neither did I,” Elsie admitted. “But I doubt it’s something to be proud of.”
“It is,” Halvard said. “It is when ye’ve spent yer whole life avoidin’ it.”
Elsie had the mad desire to lean in closer and kiss him.
She wanted nothing more than to feel the heat of his lips on hers, just as she was feeling the warmth of his hands, even through her clothes.
She wanted nothing more than to seal that moment, to ask for more, to have what Halvard refused to give her last time.
But she couldn’t do such a thing. If he refused her again, she didn’t think she could bear it.
Instead, she placed her hands on his chest, stayed there for a moment, and then pulled back. The cold was getting to her, seeping into her and demanding action, so she headed back to the horses, eager to get someplace warm.
“We should head back,” she said. “We’re already wet, so I suppose riding in the rain won’t make much of a difference.”
For a brief moment, Halvard stood there as if confused by the turn of events; as if he was expecting something else.
But Elsie didn’t allow herself to hope. She didn’t allow herself to say anything that would make it sound like she did, and in the end, Halvard nodded and joined her, untying the horses.
“Aye, let us go,” he said. “I did think o’ one bad thing the rain can dae tae ye.”
“What’s that?” Elsie asked.
“Well, we could catch our deaths out here.”
He spoke the words so casually, so much without a second thought that Elsie’s eyes widened, reality finally settling in.
“You’re right!” she said, a shiver going through her as if summoned. “That’s why they always told me not to do it!”
But Halvard only laughed and jumped on his horse, steering it out into the cold and the rain.
“Come, lass,” he said, “before ye faint out o’ worry.”