Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
For a moment, for one fragile, trembling moment, Elaina considered telling him the truth… the whole of it.
He stood so close she could feel the warmth of him, steady and real, his fingers still beneath her chin, not demanding or restraining, only there.
He had shown her nothing but patience since arriving at this castle.
He had shown her kindness, and protection offered without cruelty.
And he was right, whether she liked it or not.
She was a stranger he had brought into his home, and she had met his care with sharp words and distance.
Guilt twisted through her chest.
I am nae ungrateful. I am terrified.
Her thoughts raced, tumbling over one another.
She wanted to tell him that fear ruled her nights, that it followed her even here, that discovery would not mean embarrassment or discomfort but something far worse.
She wanted to tell him she did not know what would happen to her if she were found, only that it would be irrevocable.
But the words lodged in her throat.
Because once spoken, they could not be taken back. And secrets, once shared, could become weapons in the wrong hands.
She was acutely aware of his gaze, of the quiet intensity in it, the way he waited without pressing. It made her chest ache. It made her want foolish, dangerous things.
She wanted him to pull her into his arms, to wrap that steadiness around her and hold fast. She wanted to feel his strength not as a distant promise, but as something tangible and sheltering. She wanted him to tell her that everything would be all right.
The want startled her with its force. She had learned long ago not to want things she could not keep.
The scent reached her a moment too late.
“Oh!” Elaina turned sharply, pulling away from him as she rushed back to the cauldron.
She stirred quickly, lifting the pot from the heat before it could turn bitter. The sudden movement broke the fragile stillness between them as decisively as if a door had been shut.
She set the pot aside with a small sigh. “It’s overdone,” she said, more briskly than necessary. “Yer milk will have tae suffice tonight.”
Duncan watched her for a moment, then nodded. “I doubt anything would help much, truth be told.”
He turned toward the door, the moment clearly ended… or so it seemed.
“Me laird?” she called out to him, and her voice made him stop.
Then, he turned to face her, but he said nothing.
“Trust,” she said quietly, the word feeling steadier than she herself felt, “works both ways. If ye want mine, ye could show some of yers. Perhaps, I might be granted a moment of solitude in this castle, without an armed guard?”
The words felt perilous, balanced on the edge of honesty she rarely allowed herself. He turned back to her then, studying her with that same quiet intensity. A faint smile touched his mouth, but it was thoughtful rather than amused.
Still, he said nothing. Then, with a small nod that could have meant anything, he left the kitchen. She listened to the sound of his footsteps retreating into the stillness of the castle.
Elaina stood alone beside the dying fire, with her hands resting against the warm stone. She had never felt her heart racing in that manner, not from fear this time, but from the fragile hope that she had been heard.
Morning came quietly to Elaina’s chamber, the pale light of dawn slipping through the narrow window and laying soft bands of silver across the floorboards.
For a few blissful moments she remained still beneath the blankets, with her eyes closed, allowing herself the rare luxury of listening to nothing at all.
She drew in a slow breath and released it carefully, as though even that small sound might summon the world back too soon.
“How very generous of the castle,” she murmured to herself, while her voice was still heavy with sleep, “tae grant me five entire minutes of peace.”
The remark earned her the faintest smile, though it faded almost at once as memory returned.
Castle Grant. A guard stationed outside her door like a reminder that freedom, in this place, was granted rather than assumed. Still, for the moment, the guard was outside and she was inside, and that small distinction felt like a victory.
Elaina pushed the covers aside and sat up, her bare feet touching the cool floor. She crossed to the washbasin and splashed cool water over her face, gasping softly at the shock of it.
“Well,” she said to her reflection, pushing damp strands of hair away from her cheeks, “ye are still alive, Elaina. That is a promising beginning tae the day.”
Her reflection, unfortunately, offered no opinion.
Elaina reached for the small bundle of clothes she had folded carefully the night before.
She dressed slowly, savoring the quiet movements: the rustle of fabric, the gentle tug of laces and the familiar routine that required no assistance and no witness.
In her father’s household, a maid had always arrived the moment she stirred. Privacy had been considered unnecessary, perhaps even suspicious.
Here, she had no intention of calling for one. She tied the final knot of her sleeve and paused, glancing toward the entrance.
“Standing there all night must be terribly dull,” she said under her breath, imagining the poor man shifting his weight in the corridor. “Perhaps I should prepare him a tonic for patience.”
The thought amused her enough that she nearly laughed, though she quickly pressed her lips together. Best not to be heard conversing with herself before breakfast. It might only confirm whatever suspicions Duncan Grant already entertained.
And she was quite certain he entertained many.
Her gaze drifted to the small satchel of herbs resting on the table beside the bed.
Even from where she stood, she could catch the faint scent rising from it, rosemary and lavender, clean and calming.
The fragrance had clung to her hands so persistently that she suspected the entire castle would soon associate it with her presence.
It reminded her of her mother, of quieter mornings, gentler ones. For a moment Elaina simply stood there, breathing it in.
“Very well,” she told herself softly, straightening her shoulders. “Enough hiding in yer room. Ye came here tae live freely, nae tae lurk like a frightened mouse.”
A pause.
“Though,” she added thoughtfully, “a cautious mouse daes tend tae live longer.”
Satisfied with this reasoning, she gathered her hair and quickly braided it over one shoulder. When she finished, she took one last look around the chamber, committing its peaceful quiet to memory before the day began in earnest.
Then she moved toward the door. Her hand hovered over the latch for a moment. She tried to listen to the sound of the guard in front of her door. There was always a faint scrape of leather or the clink of metal. This was nothing.
She frowned, then leaned closer to the door.
Still nothing. Perhaps he’d stepped away for a moment, although that wouldn’t be advisable. It was probably that he merely didn’t hear her.
She rested her palm flat against the wood. It felt colder than it should have. Then, her fingers curled slightly around the knob.
“Well,” she sighed softly, “let us see how closely His Lairdship intends tae keep watch today.”
And with that, Elaina opened the door. It let out a soft creak. She stepped into the corridor, and stopped so abruptly that the hem of her skirt swayed fully forward before settling around her feet again.
There was no one there.
She blinked once, certain she must be mistaken. Her gaze moved immediately to the left, but all she could see was an empty stone passage. Then, she looked to the right. It was also empty.
Her brows drew together in a puzzled frown.
She took a cautious step forward, leaning slightly to peer farther down the hall as though a guard might simply be standing just out of sight.
But no. The corridor lay quiet and undisturbed, lit only by the thin shafts of morning light slipping through the narrow windows.
“Well, that,” she murmured softly, “is unusual.”
Elaina stepped fully into the hall, closing the door gently behind her. For a moment she simply stood there, listening. There was no soldier trying and failing to pretend he was not observing her every movement.
She walked a few paces down the corridor, glancing again to either side. Still no guard.
“Well,” she mused thoughtfully, “it would seem that I have been granted a remarkable measure of trust by the laird.”
Her curiosity pricked sharply now, but she did not allow it to trouble her overmuch. The castle itself appeared perfectly normal. As she moved farther along the passage, she passed two soldiers stationed at the stairwell. They nodded respectfully as she approached.
“Good morning, me lady,” one of them said.
“Good morning,” Elaina replied with mild interest.
Neither man made the slightest move to follow her.
Neither seemed particularly concerned that she was wandering the corridors unattended, which meant only one thing.
Her personal shadow, the guard who had been posted at her door for days, was gone.
Duncan had taken her words seriously and in turn, showed her that he trusted her. The very realization warmed her heart.
She descended the stairs slowly, waiting for the inevitable sound of hurried footsteps behind her. And still, none came.
By the time she reached the great doors of the castle, the faintest smile had begun to creep across her lips.
“Well,” she said quietly to herself, “it would be quite ungrateful nae tae appreciate such generosity.”
The morning air greeted her the moment she stepped outside, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and distant water. Elaina paused just beyond the threshold, lifting her face slightly as the breeze brushed across her cheeks.
Freedom, even in small portions, was intoxicating.
Here, each moment she spent alone felt like something gently unfolding inside of her, a freedom she had almost forgotten how to hold.
The silence was not watchful any longer, but rather kind, providing her with a space to breathe and to move without thought of consequence.
It settled over her shoulders like warmth long denied, and with every passing second, the memory of how tightly she had once been held, how carefully she had measured her every word and her every step, seemed a little more distant, as though that life belonged to someone else entirely.
Her gaze drifted toward the distant glimmer she had watched for days from her chamber window.
The loch.
From above it had appeared like a sheet of polished silver nestled among the hills, beautiful but distant, always just beyond reach. She had not neared it since her arrival here.
Elaina did not hesitate long. With the quiet decisiveness that often accompanied her most questionable decisions, she gathered her skirts slightly and set off along the path leading down the gentle slope away from the castle.
“Just a short walk,” she assured herself lightly. “Surely nay one can object tae a short walk.”
She walked as if she were not touching the ground at all, as if the freedom granted was far greater than the distance of a few miles.
The path wound between patches of wild grass and scattered stones, the morning dew clinging stubbornly to the edges of her shoes.
As she descended, the lake grew steadily larger and the still surface was reflecting the pale sky like a mirror.
Elaina slowed her steps, taking care over the uneven ground. Her attention was focused on the quiet beauty of the loch. Then the water moved in a long, smooth sweep across the glassy surface.
She stilled. There, some distance from the shore, a figure cut through the water with steady strokes. Elaina blinked in mild surprise.
The swimmer moved easily and powerfully, his shoulders rising and falling with each stroke as he moved farther out into the loch. Whoever he was, he was clearly accustomed to the cold waters.
Curiosity tugged at her immediately. Elaina stepped closer to the edge, brushing past a cluster of reeds so she could see more clearly. The morning light struck the water, scattering silver reflections that made the figure difficult to discern at first.
Still, something about the shape of him felt… familiar.
She tilted her head slightly, watching the swimmer as he turned and began making his way back toward the shore, though still angled away from where she stood.
The silhouette had broad shoulders, and its dark hair was slicked back by the water.
There was a powerful, unhurried rhythm to his movements.
Her breath caught. Her heart, quite traitorously, skipped.
“Oh,” she whispered faintly.
She did not know how she knew. He had not yet turned toward her. His face remained hidden from view, his back to her as he swam. And yet her body recognized him before her mind could catch up.
Duncan.
The realization struck her with such certainty that she felt momentarily foolish for even questioning it. Of course, it was him.
Who else would swim in a Highland loch at dawn as though the freezing water were little more than a morning convenience?