Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The council meeting dragged deep into the night, long enough for the torches to burn low and the stones underfoot to leech the warmth from Halvard’s bones. They spoke of enemies and saboteurs, of English accents and silenced prisoners, of shadows slipping too close to Brochel’s heart.
Bowen Harcourt’s name had hung unsaid in the air, heavy as a storm cloud. But eventually Sten forced the elders to end the session, promising fresh patrols at dawn.
Now, Halvard climbed the stairs alone. The weight of the night pressed against him—rage at the man who had died before he could speak, frustration at the lack of answers, fear for the woman sleeping in his bed. All of it churned inside him like a sea in winter.
But when he opened the bedchamber door, all that noise quieted.
Elsie was curled under the furs, her hair strewn across the pillow in soft waves, her cheek resting on the back of one small hand.
Moonlight spilled over her face, turning her skin pale silver, making her look ethereal, fragile, achingly lovely.
His heart stuttered. She must have fallen asleep waiting for him.
Halvard closed the door quietly behind him, shrugging off his weapons and his clothes piece by piece—his sword leaning against the wall, his belt placed on the chair, his boots left by the fire.
He moved with the stealth of a hunter, though the prey he approached was harmless, peaceful, and utterly unaware of the chaos she caused inside him.
When he slid under the blankets, the mattress dipped gently and Elsie shifted. Not waking, but drifting closer, as if drawn to him by instinct alone. Her hand slid across his chest, her leg tangling with his, her forehead brushing the line of his jaw.
His breath left him in a slow exhale.
“Elsie,” he whispered, barely a sound.
She mumbled something in her sleep, soft and warm, nuzzling closer, as though she belonged there—in his arms, in his life.
His arm wrapped around her waist automatically, pulling her in flush against him.
Her body fit perfectly against his, small but strong, warm and steady.
The scent of her—wildflowers and hearth smoke and something uniquely, unmistakably hers—settled around him like a balm.
For the first time all evening, his muscles loosened.
This is what home feels like.
Not stone walls or power. Not the throne-like chair in the council hall.
Only her.
Halvard rested his forehead against the crown of her head, his eyes closing. He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen; he hadn’t meant to care so deeply, to want her with a kind of hunger that scared him, to look at her and forget she was meant to return to England, to a life far from him.
But she had come into his world like a spark in dry thatch, quiet at first, then burning, then completely unstoppable.
Halvard brushed a knuckle down her cheek, his touch gentle as snowfall.
“I’m yers, lass,” he whispered into the darkness, the confession stolen by the quiet. “God help me, I’m all yers.”
Elsie breathed softly, peacefully, unaware of the oath he had just spoken over her sleeping form.
Halvard closed his eyes, tightening his hold around her.
The following day he would tell her everything—every mistake, every shadow of Bonnie that still haunted him. Elsie deserved truth, and he would give it to her.
He would ask her the question that had been building inside him with every glance, every laugh, every kiss.
“Marry me,” he mumbled, imagining saying it aloud to her awake face.
He kissed her hair.
Tomorrow.
That night, he only held her, letting his heart beat against hers in the quiet, swearing silently that nothing—no enemy, no scheme, no ghost from the past—would ever take her from him again.
The morning was crisp, the sun just brushing the peaks of Brochel Castle with pale gold, and Elsie felt a flutter of nervous energy as she dressed.
She wanted to see Halvard first thing, to ask him about the news regarding the border patrols and perhaps, if she dared, give him a little smile that belonged to them alone.
By the time she stepped into the hall, her hair braided tightly to keep it out of her face, she had mentally rehearsed a dozen ways to greet him, each sweeter and more elaborate than the last. But before she could find him, Torrin, of all people, appeared in the corridor, leaning against the wall as if he were guarding the castle from invisible intruders.
He spotted her and straightened, giving a stiff, awkward salute.
“Good mornin’, me lady,” he said, voice cracking slightly.
Elsie smiled faintly. “Torrin. How… are you feeling?” She lowered her voice, hoping no one would overhear.
Torrin’s face went crimson so fast it nearly matched the red of his tunic. “I, well, I’m improvin’. Thanks tae ye, me lady.”
Elsie tried not to giggle. “Improving, or fully recovered?”
His eyes darted about nervously, as though the walls themselves might eavesdrop. “Improvin’ mostly.” He made a vague, embarrassed gesture, prompting a tiny laugh from her.
“I trust you’re taking the herbs as instructed?” she asked, suppressing a grin.
“Twice a day!” he blurted, puffing out his chest. “
Elsie bit back a laugh. “I’ll hold you accountable, Torrin.”
He looked like she had just sentenced him to death by polite scrutiny. “Aye, me lady. Whatever ye command.”
Just then, Halvard appeared at the corridor’s far end, his boots echoing on the stone. He froze mid-step when he saw her leaning close to Torrin, their voices low, laughing softly. A dark flicker passed over his face, sharp and quick—an animal instinct.
Elsie noticed immediately. She glanced at him, her hand lifting slightly in greeting, but Torrin’s eyes went wide and he straightened at her side, looking as though he had been caught red-handed stealing bread from the kitchen.
“Halvard,” Elsie said, her voice calm. “I was just checking on him. He—”
But Halvard’s long stride carried him to them before she could finish, his face tight, his jaw set. His hand rose, dismissing Torrin as though the man were suddenly invisible.
“Go,” Halvard barked, eyes dark and voice cutting, sharp as a blade. “Leave us.”
Torrin practically leapt, giving Elsie a panicked glance. “Aye, me laird!” he stammered before disappearing down the hall as if propelled by some hidden force.
Elsie stared after him, a mixture of exasperation and amusement swirling in her chest. Halvard turned to her, arms crossed, a scowl tugging at his mouth.
Instantly, Halvard turned to glare at Elsie.
“Ye think it wise tae be alone with a soldier like that?” he demanded, his voice low and tense.
“I was helping him!” Elsie protested, a flush creeping up her cheeks. “It’s nothing. He came to the healer’s the other day with… well, a problem, and I—”
“Ye’re nae supposed tae be alone with him!” Halvard interrupted, taking a step closer, his presence sudden and suffocating.
Elsie caught herself, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “I wasn’t alone with him! And it’s not—”
Halvard cut her off with a sharp breath, his gaze narrowing. “I saw ye. Laughin’. Leanin’ in.” His tone softened, just slightly, as if trying not to show the flare of possessiveness he felt. “Ye dinnae understand how it looks.”
“It looks exactly like what it is!” she snapped, then caught herself.
“I mean… I wasn’t—” She sighed, shoulders drooping.
“Halvard, I was helping him. Please, don’t overreact over nothing.
Do you truly think I would ever even entertain the idea of…
of encouraging the advances of a soldier?
Everything else aside, I wouldn’t do anything that would make people talk. ”
He studied her face for a long moment, his eyes dark and unreadable, then exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “It daesnae matter. Ye need tae stay out o’ corridors with soldiers unaccompanied. Ye hear me?”
For a few moments, neither of them spoke.
Elsie stared at him in disbelief, her mouth slightly parted, her eyes wide as she tried to wrap her mind around Halvard’s reaction.
How could he not trust her? Being jealous was one thing—after all, Elsie knew the feeling well.
Every time Bonnie was mentioned, jealousy flared up inside her like a flame, threatening to burn her alive.
But Halvard was not simply jealous; he was on the verge of paranoia.
Elsie’s fingers curled tightly around Halvard’s hand as she practically yanked him down the hallway. Each step echoed against the cold stone walls, but she didn’t care. Her cheeks burned—not from exertion, but from the fury that had taken root in her chest.
“Stop arguing and listen to me!” she snapped, dragging him toward the study. Only once they were behind closed doors did she turn to him, ready to unleash her pent-up fury upon him. “I will not have you treating me like a foolish girl while I do everything I can to help your people!”
Halvard struggled, his boots sliding against the polished stone. “Elsie—”
“No!” she cut him off, her voice rising in a dangerous tremor. “This is about trust. You don’t trust me. You think I’d do something reckless, but I’ve never given you a reason to doubt me. Never! And yet, here you are, treating a simple conversation with Torrin as if it were some plot against you!”
Halvard swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling unevenly, and for a moment she had the terrifying, satisfying thought that she had finally rendered him speechless.
“I…” he began, then faltered, his voice dropping. “I—Elsie, it’s nae that I think ye’ll betray me secrets tae Torrin. I’m nae concerned about politics or… or war or anythin’ like that.”
“I know that!” she interrupted, stepping closer, hands pressed to his chest. “It’s your distrust of me. You think I’ll betray you, when I’ve never even hinted at it. You don’t trust me and if you can’t trust me, Halvard, we can never, ever work!”