Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Morning crept in reluctantly, with pale light slipping through the narrow window and settling across the stone floor. Elaina woke with a sharp intake of breath. Her body felt tense as though it had not truly rested at all.
She was lying still, staring up at the ceiling. The echoes of fractured dreams lingered like smoke: faces without form, hands reaching, a voice she refused to name.
Nightmares, it seemed, had followed her there just as faithfully as fear had.
I hoped I might find peace here.
She pushed herself upright, rubbing her temples. Her throat felt dry and her limbs heavy, as though she had spent the night running rather than resting. She could not remember whether she had spoken in her sleep, whether she had cried out, but the possibility alone made her stomach tighten.
Perhaps there was something she could prepare, a draught to still the mind.
Valerian, maybe, or lemon balm, if she could find it.
She needed something to keep her tongue from betraying her when her will could not.
The night terrors had followed her even after she’d fled her father’s castle, and she could see now that distance alone was not enough to silence them.
With a quiet sigh, she rose and dressed, smoothing her hair into a loose braid, more out of habit than vanity. When she opened the door and stepped into the corridor, she stopped short.
A guard was standing directly outside her chamber.
He straightened at once when he saw her, and his hand shifted toward his belt. She doubted he did it threateningly, but rather out of a practiced reflex. He was young, broad-shouldered and clad in Grant colors.
“Good morning, me lady,” he greeted her courteously.
“Good morning,” she greeted him back.
Then, she stepped into the corridor and set toward the stairs, intent on the kitchen, already cataloguing in her mind what she might find there: water heated just enough, perhaps, and herbs she could coax into something calming.
But behind her, boots sounded. She slowed, then stopped altogether.
When she turned, the guard halted as well, leaving a respectful distance between them. “Is there something amiss, me lady?”
“Must ye follow me?” she asked, keeping her tone even.
“Aye,” he replied at once, keeping his tone respectful and polite. “I was given orders tae dae so.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m only going tae the kitchen. I wish tae prepare some medicine fer meself. Ye could remain outside me chamber.”
He shifted his weight, discomfort flickering across his face. “I’m sorry, me lady. Truly, I am. But me orders are tae follow ye wherever ye go.”
The words struck deeper than they should have.
She could feel heat rise in her chest, sharp and unwelcome.
The stone corridor blurred for a moment, and she smelled not bread and hearth-smoke, but cold halls and iron keys.
She remembered servants reporting her movements, her father’s eyes always knowing and always waiting.
Protection, they had called it.
Her fingers curled into her sleeves.
“I willnae run away,” she said quietly. “Nor am I a threat.”
“I ken that,” the guard said, utterly earnestly. “But orders are orders.”
Elaina drew a slow breath, steadying herself. Arguing further would lead nowhere, and she refused to be followed like a shadow through the castle halls. She lifted her chin.
“Very well,” she said. “Then tell me, where can I find the laird?”
The guard hesitated only a moment. “In his study, me lady.”
“Good,” Elaina replied crisply. “Then ye may show me the way.”
His discomfort was immediate and obvious. He shifted his stance, glancing down the corridor as though hoping someone else might intervene. No one did.
“Aye, me lady,” he managed to mutter.
He turned and led the way. The study was closer than she had expected, just down the corridor, revealed by a heavy wooden door set into the wall. The guard stopped before it, clearly relieved to go no farther.
Elaina did not hesitate. She knocked once, firmly.
“Enter!” came Duncan’s voice from within.
She opened the door and stepped inside, the words leaving her before courtesy could stop them.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded. “Am I a prisoner here?”
Duncan’s eyes widened the moment those words left her mouth. It was not in surprise, because he knew exactly what she was referring to, but rather due to the sudden, unwelcome realization that he had misjudged how quickly she would feel it.
“Elaina…” he began.
But she was already standing there, with her chin lifted in rebellion and her eyes bright with fury.
The sight of her like that struck him far harder than it ought to have.
Angry, unyielding, alive with defiance… she was utterly mesmerizing when provoked, and the knowledge did nothing to improve his situation.
He reined himself in at once, forcing his mind back to the present moment and away from the dangerous pull of her presence.
“Ye are nae a prisoner,” he explained as much as reason allowed. “But ye are nae an ally yet either…”
Her eyes flashed. “Then what am I? A guest under guard?”
“A stranger,” he replied evenly. “One I brought intae the heart of me lands without kenning who ye truly are. I ken naething about ye, Elaina. And trust,” his voice lowered at the mention of this word, “is nae something I give lightly. Nae tae mention that after what happened tae ye, I also think ye need protection.”
Her hands clenched at her sides. “If I had kent ye meant tae treat me as an enemy, I would never have come.”
“That is nae what I said.”
“It is what ye meant,” she shot back. “I didnae flee one cage tae be placed in another, nay matter how kindly ye pretend it is built.”
The words struck close.
Duncan moved around the writing table then, closing some of the distance between them, though he stopped short of touching her.
“Ye are nae being punished, I want ye tae ken that. Ye are being protected. And we are also being protected. Dae ye understand that?”
“A difference that feels remarkably thin,” she retorted.
For a heartbeat, they stood there, with that fiery tension coiled tight between them, attraction flaring in the very space where anger lived. He could see it in the way her breath quickened, in the way she refused to step back, even as emotion threatened to spill over.
At last, he exhaled slowly. “If ye wish tae leave, ye may. I willnae stop ye.”
That gave her pause.
“But,” he continued, keeping his gaze steady on hers, “I would rather ye stay. We need a healer. And I believe ye are worth having.”
Her expression hardened. “On what terms?”
“Mine,” he said simply. “If ye remain, it will be under me rules. Ye must accept them.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then ye walk out that door freely,” he replied with a shrug. “Nay guards and nay pursuit.”
Silence filled the space between them, where neither was willing to take a step back, not even an inch.
Duncan held her gaze, aware of the risk he was taking not just for the clan, but for himself. He had faced enemies with less certainty than the woman standing before him now.
“The choice is yers,” he said at last. “I will nae make it fer ye.”
She stared him down, without flinching. And in that charged stillness, Duncan had the absurd, undeniable thought that he had never seen a more beautiful woman or a more determined one.
There was fire in her eyes, sharp and unyielding, and something devilish beneath it that promised she would never be easily bent.
If anything, she would break a man before she broke herself.
For one mad, reckless moment, temptation struck him hard.
He imagined crossing the distance between them, grasping her by the waist, crushing his mouth to hers until her anger turned breathless, until every sharp word was silenced by heat and disbelief and want. The image was vivid enough to make his fingers twitch.
Yet, he did not move. Discipline, long-honed and hard-won, dragged him back from the edge. He straightened, every inch the laird again, not the man.
Her lips pressed into a thin line, as if unable to hide the battle he had just won.
“I have work tae dae,” she told him, barely moving her lips. “And I willnae have breakfast with ye.”
Before he could answer, before he even decided whether he should, she turned on her heel and strode out of the study. The door slammed shut behind her with enough force to rattle the shelves.
Silence followed.
Duncan remained where he was for a long moment, staring at the door. Then, slowly, he lifted a hand and rubbed at his chin. A grin crept in despite himself.
“This devil woman will be the death of me,” he murmured to the empty room, feeling equal parts amused and undone.