Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The rain came down hard and sudden, a storm that had been circling the village all day but had refused to fall until that very moment.
It needled Halvard’s face as he and Sten burst from the darkness onto the pier, lifting a veil of obscurity over the sea.
He blinked hard, trying to get the drops out of his eyes, trying to make them focus on the only thing that mattered.
“Elsie!”
Her name was ripped from his throat, the sound of it carrying far into the night. She called back to him, her voice thin and reedy, tinted with terror, and Halvard’s heart seized in his chest when he saw the men drag her to the boat.
Before he could take more than a few steps towards her, Harcourt’s men attacked.
Halvard counted half a dozen of them—including the two who held Elsie in their grip.
Steel rang out, sharp and screaming, as Harcourt’s men surged forward to meet him and Sten.
The night fractured into chaos—boots pounding wet planks, blades flashing silver in the storm light, curses torn loose by wind and fear.
Next to him, Sten let out a growl that cut through the night, his sword clashing with the enemy.
Halvard did not slow. He cut down the first man who came at him, his sword biting deep into flesh, the impact jarring up his arm.
Another rushed at him from the side; Halvard turned, steel meeting steel with a sound like a struck bell.
Rain slicked the pier, blood mixing with water under his boots, but his footing held.
When he swung his sword, his opponent ducked and jumped out of his reach.
He was taunting him, trying to buy his master some time, trying to block Halvard from getting to Elsie.
Halvard looked at her over the man’s shoulder, the way she was struggling to stay on that pier, the way every breath she took was used for her to fight one more second, one more moment.
He swung again, this time aiming for the place where the man’s neck met his shoulder, eager to put an end to the fight.
But the man was quick to parry the blow, their blades meeting once more, the force reverberating through Halvard’s arm and travelling down his spine.
With a roar, he threw himself at the man again, leaving him no time to defend himself.
Once, twice, three times did Halvard attack him, and on the last one, he finally managed to plunge his sword through his stomach, tearing a gasp out of him.
When he pulled his sword out of him, the man collapsed on the pier, saltwater and rain washing the blood that pooled under him away with frightening speed.
A scream echoed then, and Halvard turned to look at Elsie as Harcourt grabbed her.
The two men who had captured her in the first place were now throwing themselves into the fight, shaken after seeing their fellow soldiers cut down so easily by Halvard and Sten—but not shaken enough for it to stop it from attacking.
Whether they were too loyal or too fearful of what Hacourt might do to them, Halvard didn’t know.
All he knew was that now, two more obstacles stood between him and Elsie.
Elsie.
The thought burned through him, a singular, savage focus that drowned out everything else.
She was at the edge of the pier, half-carried, half-dragged onto the boat.
Harcourt kicked the mooring loose. The vessel lurched, drifting away from the dock with the slow, terrible inevitability of a tide pulling something under.
“Nay!” Halvard roared.
Sten fought at his side, his sword swinging in brutal arcs, driving Harcourt’s men back.
Halvard shoved past them, shouldering through bodies, ignoring the sting of a blade that bounced off his arm.
The boat was moving. Any injury he sustained was immaterial compared to the fact that he was about to lose Elsie.
“Halvard!” she called, his name tumbling past her lips in a frenzied gasp. “Halvard!”
Halvard ran. He hit the middle of the pier at full speed and leapt, his boots slamming into the deck. The impact rattled his bones, but his hands were already on Elsie, hauling her back toward him.
She cried out, clutching at his tunic, rain plastering her hair to her face. Her skin was pallid, drenched in sweat as in rain, but she was safe and unharmed—only shaken.
Behind them, Harcourt turned.
His expression was wild now, the cold composure finally cracking, his eyes blazing with hate as he drew his sword.
“You,” Bowen snarled, lunging forward. “You took everything from me!”
Their blades met with a violent crash. The boat rocked hard, waves slapping against its sides, the rain blinding and relentless. They circled each other on the slick deck, Halvard’s gaze never leaving the man. He couldn’t afford to lose sight of him and let him get away now.
Elsie crouched behind him, her fingers locked in his belt like an anchor. Behind them, Sten was still fighting the last man standing, their grunts and the clang of steel on steel echoing in the pier.
Harcourt attacked with furious precision, his strikes fast and vicious. He was a man possessed, his only goal now to harm him and Elsie.
“This is your fault!” Harcourt shouted, slashing wildly, rain streaking his face. “She is the reason it all fell apart!”
“Ye’re delusional!” Halvard growled. “I never wished tae wed yer daughter! If ye had taken it with grace—”
“Grace?” Harcourt snapped, his mouth twisting into a sneer, his words colder than the drops lashing at their skin.
“Grace? You made sure both my daughter returned to England disgraced! To be refused by a laird! A savage like yourself! And all for a woman who is beneath her. Do you not see the insult? Do you not see the disgrace?”
“There need nae be disgrace!” Halvard insisted. “I never meant any insult, Harcourt! This match was arranged fer me, as much as it was arranged fer yer daughter. I would have done it, I would, but I couldnae wed her when I loved and wed another.”
Harcourt let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Love… what a foolish notion. Society doesn’t care about matters of the heart, Laird MacLeod. All they care about is that you rejected my daughter and I won’t let this disgrace go unpunished.”
With a sudden, desperate move, Harcourt lunged past Halvard, grabbing Elsie by the arm and hauling her toward the rail. Elsie screamed as he shoved her, her body tipping dangerously over the side, the black sea yawning under her.
Halvard moved without thought.
Lunging forward at the very last moment, he caught Elsie around the waist, hauling her back against his chest just as her feet slipped free of the deck. In the same breath—one heartbeat, one instinct—Halvard raised his blade high and drove it forward.
Steel met flesh.
His sword found its target n Harcourt’s chest. Harcourt’s breath left him in a wet, startled sound as Halvard’s sword pierced straight through him. His eyes widened, the fury in them faltering into disbelief, as if he could hardly wrap his mind around the fact that he had been defeated.
Halvard shoved him back without so much as another thought. Harcourt stumbled, blood darkening his coat, rain washing it down in rivulets as he collapsed onto the deck.
The sea roared on, indifferent.
`The moment Harcourt fell, the fight went out of the night.
Halvard barely registered the rest—the men who had just arrived from the inn driving Harcourt’s remaining guards into the sea or the boat grinding uselessly against the pier, the rain easing from a lash to a pour. All that mattered was the weight in his arms.
All that mattered was Elsie.
His sword slipped from his fingers and clattered to the deck, forgotten. He gathered her to him with both arms, hauling her tight against his chest as though he could fold her into himself, as though that might keep the world from ever touching her again.
She was shaking—not violently, but deeply, tremors running through her as the terror bled out of her all at once. Her hands fisted in his soaked tunic, clutching as if he were the only solid thing left in the world.
“Elsie,” he breathed, his voice rough, unsteady. “Look at me.”
She did, ever so slowly. Rain beaded in her lashes; her lips were pale, parted, her eyes impossibly wide as they searched his face as though to be certain he was not a dream torn loose by fear.
“Ye’re safe now,” he said, the words a vow forged in blood and rain. “I have ye. I willnae let anyone take ye from me. Nae ever.”
Her hand lifted, trembling, and she touched his face, her fingers tracing his cheek, the line of his jaw, as though memorizing him. Her touch was feather-light, reverent.
“I knew,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Even when they dragged me here, I knew you would come.”
The confession struck him harder than any blade the trust she was showing him. She was right to trust him, for Halvard would rather have lost his own life than let anything happen to her, and he would fight to his last breath for her.
“O’ course I came,” he said fiercely, the truth tearing free at last. “Because the thought o’ losin’ ye—” His voice failed him for a moment and he swallowed hard, forcing himself to continue, forcing himself to swallow down the swell of emotion.
“There is nay life fer me that daesnae have ye in it.”
Elsie’s breath hitched. She looked up at Halvard with wide eyes, unshed tears glinting in them as they stared at each other in silence.
There was nothing around them but the sound of the rain, the sound of her breath as it hitched in her throat, as if words were trying to tear free from her body but found no way out.
“Halvard,” she whispered, and said his name like a prayer. “I tried to be brave. I was so afraid but all I could think was that I loved you.”
The world seemed to still around them. Those three words, spoken so simply, so truthfully, were what finally became his undoing.
He bowed his head. “I love ye,” he said simply, the words settling deep and true. “I think I have from the moment ye looked at me and didnae flinch.”
A small, trembling smile curved her mouth. Elsie leaned into him fully then, her body yielding, trusting, and Halvard held her as though she were something holy.
They stood like that for a long moment amid the wreckage of hatred and revenge, until Sten cleared his throat softly behind them.
“We should go,” he said, glancing over his shoulder, though there were no more signs of a threat.
Whoever was still left standing, still left breathing, had retreated into the shadows now that the master they served was no longer.
But Sten was right; there was no telling how many of them might be loyal enough to Harcourt to return just to avenge the man.
Halvard nodded, though he did not loosen his hold until Elsie herself drew a steadier breath. The three of them made their way back towards the inn, followed by Halvard’s men, leaving the carnage of the pier behind.
The inn felt different when they returned; quieter, safer, as though the walls themselves had closed ranks around them. The fire in the common room had burned low, only embers glowing now, the smell of smoke and wet wool lingering in the air.
Those who had gathered there though, looked at them with suspicion. All of them were drenched in rain and splattered with blood and mud. All of them had been heard by the entire village while fighting right behind the inn, and there was no soul there who didn’t already know about the fight.
Halvard was quick to guide Elsie upstairs, his hand firm at her back, never letting her trail behind him. Once inside their room, he shut the door and barred it without a word.
Only then did the tension fully leave his body.
He crossed the room and drew her into his arms again, more gently this time, cradling her head against his chest. She sighed, a sound of relief so profound it tightened something in his throat.
“Ye’re shakin’,” he whispered.
“I think it’s ending,” she said softly. “All the fear.”
He sat with her on the edge of the bed, rubbing slow, steady circles between her shoulder blades until her breathing evened. She looked up at him then, her eyes bright and certain.
“We need to return to the castle,” she said. “And write to the king. Harcourt’s hand was in everything.”
“Aye,” Halvard agreed. “The king himself sent this man here, at our doorstep. He needs tae ken what kind o’ a snake he unleashed upon us.”
“Do you think he knew?”
The question had crossed his mind plenty of times—whether the king had been fully aware of the kind of man Harcourt was before sending him there, whether all of this was calculated from the very start.
But in the end, it was very unlikely. Besides, even if it was the truth, Halvard doubted he would ever truly find out.
“I dinnae think so,” he said. “But there is always a chance.”
Elsie nodded, then reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. “Whatever comes,” she said, “we face it together.”
Halvard lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles, a gesture of devotion rather than possession.
“Taegether,” he echoed.
Outside, the storm finally broke for good. And for the first time in longer than he could remember, Halvard felt something like peace take root in his chest.