Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mhairi stared at the door.
It was a perfectly ordinary door—heavy oak, well-fitted, with iron hinges that looked like they'd been there for decades. There was a latch on the inside that would keep it closed against drafts.
But there was no lock.
She'd checked twice, running her fingers along the wood where a keyhole should be, searching for something she'd somehow missed. But there was nothing. Just smooth wood and a simple latch that anyone could open from the outside.
Mhairi wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite the fire crackling in the hearth.
That was supposed to be her sanctuary. Her safe place. Alpin had promised her that. He'd said she'd have her own room, her own key, that she could leave whenever she wanted.
But how was she supposed to feel safe when anyone could walk in while she slept?
The rational part of her mind—the part that wasn’t still half-paralyzed with terror from the past few days—pointed out that Alpin had also promised no one would hurt her, that she was under his protection. That that castle was different from... before.
But the irrational part, the part that could still feel Ashcombe's hands on her, that could still hear the shouted bids at the auction, that part was screaming at her to run. To barricade the door. To find somewhere—anywhere—that she could truly lock herself away.
She needed that key.
Alpin had promised her a key.
Before she could talk herself out of it, Mhairi grabbed her shawl and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders. The borrowed nightdress Freya had given her was modest enough- high-necked and long-sleeved, with a robe over it, but she still felt exposed as she stepped into the corridor.
The castle was quieter at night. Torches burned in sconces along the walls, casting flickering shadows that made her heart race. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear voices—guards changing shifts, probably, or servants finishing their evening duties.
She had no idea where Alpin's chamber was.
Mhairi walked until she found a maid carrying linens, a woman perhaps ten years older than herself with tired eyes and capable hands.
"Excuse me," Mhairi said, keepin' her voice low. "Could ye... could ye tell me where Laird MacDougal's chambers are?"
The maid's eyebrows rose slightly, but she didn’t comment. Just pointed down the corridor. "Up the stairs, third floor. Last door on the right. Ye cannae miss it, it's the only one with the MacDougal crest carved into the wood."
"Thank ye."
The maid nodded and continued on her way, though Mhairi could feel her curious gaze following her as she walked toward the stairs.
She walked quietly up the stone steps. The third floor was even quieter than the second, with fewer torches and longer stretches of shadow. Mhairi's pulse hammered in her ears as she made her way down the corridor.
There, at the end, a door larger than the others, with an intricately carved crest showing a stag and crossed swords.
She stopped in front of it, suddenly uncertain.
She knocked. Just then she asked herself, what was she doing. It was late. Alpin may have been asleep. She should have waited until morning, ask him about the key when he wasnae—
The door opened.
Mhairi gasped and stumbled backward.
Alpin stood in the doorway, and for a moment, her brain simply... stopped.
He was shirtless.
Completely, gloriously shirtless.
The firelight from his chamber behind him painted his skin gold, highlighting every ridge of muscle across his chest and stomach.
His fair hair was slightly mussed, like he'd been running his hands through it. And that scar on his face seemed even more prominent in the dim light, a pale slash that somehow made him look more dangerous and more beautiful at the same time.
"Mhairi?" His voice was rough with surprise. "What are ye…is somethin' wrong?"
"I—" She had to swallow twice before words would come. "I'm sorry. I didnae mean tae disturb ye. I just…I needed tae talk tae ye about something."
"Come in." He stepped back, pulling the door wider. "Whatever it is, we're nae discussin' it in the corridor."
Mhairi hesitated, very aware that she was standing in a nightdress in front of a half-naked man. But the alternative was explaining herself where any passing servant could hear.
She stepped inside.
Alpin's chamber was larger than hers, with a massive bed that looked like it could sleep four people comfortably.
There were weapons mounted on the walls, swords and dirks displayed like art.
Maps covered a large desk near the window.
And the fire in the hearth was banked low, providing just enough light to see by.
"So." Alpin closed the door and leaned against it, arms crossed over that bare chest. A smile tugged at his mouth. "Tae what dae I owe the pleasure of a late night visit from a beautiful lass in her nightclothes?"
Heat flooded Mhairi's face. "I'm nae…this isnae what it looks like."
"Relax, lass. I'm teasin'." But his eyes were warm as they studied her face. "What's wrong? Truly?"
"The door," Mhairi blurted out. "Me chamber door. It daesnae have a lock."
Alpin's smile faded. "What?"
"There's nay keyhole. Nay lock. Just a latch that anyone could open from the outside." She wrapped her arms tighter around herself. "Ye said I'd have a key. Ye promised."
"Christ." Alpin ran a hand through his hair, makin' it stick up even more. "I didnae think, the guest chambers dinnae usually have locks because—" He stopped, shaking his head. "Ye're right. I promised ye a key and ye should have one."
"So there isnae one?" Mhairi's voice came out smaller than she'd intended. "I cannae lock the door?"
"Nae that door, nay. But—" Alpin pushed away from the door and moved to his desk, pullin' open a drawer. "There are other chambers. Ones with proper locks. I should've put ye in one of those from the start."
"Dinnae worry," Mhairi said quietly.
"I told ye ye would have a lock." He was rifling through the drawer, searching for something. "Ye told me ye needed tae feel safe. I should've thought of that instead of puttin' ye in that room just because it is our nicest guestroom."
The fact that he understood the importance immediately made Mhairi's throat tight.
"It's all right," she managed. "I can move tomorrow. I just... I needed tae ken that ye hadnae forgotten. About the key."
"I didnae forget." Alpin turned to face her, something that looked like a key ring in his hand. "I just didnae think. And ye're nae waitin' until tomorrow. Come on."
"What?"
"There's a chamber one floor down. Smaller than the one ye're in now, but it has a proper lock. We'll move ye taenight." He was already walking toward the door. "Ye shouldnae have tae spend even one night feelin' unsafe."
"Alpin, it's late. Ye dinnae have tae."
He stopped and turned back to her. The expression on his face was intense, almost fierce. "Aye, I dae. Because I gave ye me word that ye'd be safe here. That ye'd have control. And I willnae have ye spendin' the night lyin' awake, terrified that someone might walk through that door."
Mhairi's breath caught.
"I would be." His voice softened. "If I'd been through what ye have, if I'd lost all sense of safety and control, I'd be lyin' awake too. Watchin' that door. Waitin' fer the worst tae happen."
He understood. He truly understood.
"Thank ye," Mhairi whispered.
"Dinnae thank me fer daein' what I should've done from the start." Alpin's mouth quirked. "Now come on. Let's get ye settled somewhere ye can actually rest."
He moved toward the door, but as Mhairi turned to follow, the sleeve of her nightdress caught on the corner of his desk. She reached out instinctively to free it, and the fabric slid up her forearm.
Alpin went very still.
"Mhairi." His voice had changed. Gone flat and hard. "Yer wrists."
She looked down and her stomach dropped.
In the firelight, the rope burns were clearly visible, angry red welts circlin' both wrists where the bindings had dug in. They'd been hidden beneath her long sleeves all day. She'd almost forgotten about them in the chaos of everythin' else.
Almost.
"It's naethin'," she said quickly, tugging the sleeve back down. "They'll heal."
"Let me see. Please." He was in front of her now, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his bare skin. "Let me see."
Slowly, reluctantly, Mhairi held out her hands.
Alpin took them gently, his large fingers cradling her wrists like they were made of glass. He pushed the sleeves up carefully, revealing the full extent of the damage.
His jaw clenched so hard she could see the muscle jump.
"Those bastards," he said quietly. "
"It's nae as bad as it looks," Mhairi tried.
His eyes met hers, burning with barely controlled fury. "Dinnae try tae minimize what they did to ye. These are deep. They're goin' to scar."
"I ken." Her voice came out steadier than she felt.
Something shifted in Alpin's expression. The fury was still there, but now it was mixed with something else. Something that looked almost like admiration.
"Let me take care of this," he said softly. "Please. Let me help ye."
Mhairi's breath caught at the gentleness in his voice. She nodded.
"Aye," she whispered. "All right."
He guided her to a chair near the fire, then moved to a cabinet in the corner. When he returned, he was carrying a basin of water and medical supplies––clean cloths, bandages, and a small jar of something that smelled faintly of herbs.
“What is that?” Mhairi asked.
"Somethin' the healer makes. It helps with inflammation and prevents infection.
" Alpin worked the salve into her skin with slow, circular motions.
"Me maither used tae make somethin' similar.
When I was a lad, I was always gettin' scraped up from trainin' or climbin' trees.
She'd sit me down just like this and tend every scratch and bruise. "
Alpin knelt in front of her chair.
The position put him lower than her, his broad shoulders between her knees as he reached for her hands. Mhairi's breath shortened as he dipped a cloth into the water, his fingers circling her wrist with infinite care.
The cloth was cool against her inflamed skin. He worked slowly, each touch deliberate, his eyes focused entirely on the task. But Mhairi could feel the tension in him––the barely restrained fury at what had been done to her, the gentleness he was forcing into hands built for wielding swords.
When she flinched at a particularly tender spot, he paused immediately. His thumb stroked the inside of her wrist, just above the worst of the damage, soothing without words. The touch sent warmth spreading up her arm that had nothing to do with the injuries.
"Better?" he murmured, his voice rough.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
He continued cleaning, moving from one wrist to the other. His breath was warm against her skin. Occasionally his fingers would brush the sensitive skin of her inner arm, and each time Mhairi had to fight to keep her breathing steady.
This was the closest they'd been since the forest. Close enough that she could see the faint stubble along his jaw, could smell leather and something uniquely him. Close enough that if she leaned forward just slightly, she could––
Alpin looked up, and their eyes met.
The intensity in his gaze made her forget how to breathe. He held her stare for a long moment, his hands still cradling her wrists, his thumb moving in slow circles against her pulse point.
Then he looked down again, reaching for the jar of salve.
The paste was cool when he applied it, his fingers working it into her skin with slow, circular motions that were almost hypnotic.
He took his time, spreading the salve over every inch of damaged skin, his touch firm enough to be effective but gentle enough not to hurt.
Mhairi watched his face as he worked. Watched the concentration there, the care. The way his brow furrowed slightly when he encountered worse damage. The way his jaw stayed tight with suppressed emotion.
When he began wrapping the bandages, his movements were practiced, efficient, never rushed. Each wrap was careful, each knot tied with precision. And through it all, his fingers kept brushing against her skin in ways that made her pulse race.
Finally, he tied off the last bandage and sat back on his heels.
But he didn't let go of her hands.
They stayed like that, kneeling and sitting, hands clasped between them. The fire crackled beside them.
And neither of them moved.
"Thank ye." Mhairi flexed her fingers carefully, testing the bindings. They were snug but not too tight, supportive without being restrictive. "Ye did a good job."
"I've had practice." He stood, offering her his hand. "Now. Let's get ye moved to that other chamber so ye can actually rest."
Mhairi let him pull her to her feet. But as she stood, she found herself suddenly very aware of how close they were. How the firelight played across his bare chest. How his hand was still holding hers, warm and strong.
"Is there..." Alpin's voice was rougher now. "Is there anythin' else ye need? Anythin' that would help ye feel safer?"
Mhairi thought about it. Really thought about it.
What did she need? A locked door, aye. That was important.
But beyond that?
"I dinnae ken," she admitted finally. "So much has happened so fast. I havenae had time tae think about what I actually need. Just... what I'm afraid of."
"Then think about it," Alpin said gently. "And when ye figure it out—when ye ken what would help ye feel safe, feel whole again—ye tell me. Whatever it is, if I can provide it, I will."
Then he stepped back, breakin' the moment before it could become something more. Something neither of them was ready for.
"Come on," he said, his tone lighter now. "Let's get ye settled somewhere with a proper lock. Ye need rest."
Mhairi nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
As Alpin grabbed a shirt and pulled it on—which was somehow both a relief and a disappointment—she touched her newly bandaged wrists.
“Nay, the room is fine fer now, I’ll manage.” She said abruptly and left the room before Alpin could say anything.