Chapter twenty-three
I took the stone stairs to Buchanan’s bedchamber two at a time, my boots striking each step, the torchlight along the corridor wall casting unsteady shadows across the narrow passage.
My knuckles were still white from clenching my fists in the king’s solar, where I’d been held back and forced to recount every detail of my journey while Katreine was taken from me.
The injustice of it burned in my throat.
It had taken every ounce of my restraint to stand there and watch her walk away, her shoulders stiff, her golden eyes meeting mine for one brief moment before the heavy oak door closed between us.
The king’s questions had come in a relentless stream after that, and when he had satisfied himself that I was still a reliable tracker, he’d told me of another assignment he wished me to complete, one he would reward with all the same prizes he had dangled in front of me before.
I could barely keep my thoughts on his words, though, as my mind kept returning to Katreine.
In the end, I had used my wound as an excuse not to take on the assignment, which would take me across the sea and far away from Katreine.
I was not ready to give up on her, on us, and there was no longer a prize great enough to entice me away from the woman I loved.
As I strode toward Buchanan’s bedchamber, I thought of her and of all I had heard in the king’s solar.
She had told me she left her home because she feared being named a witch.
I frowned. That did not make sense, since in the solar it was said she had been ten summers.
What could a child of ten have done to earn that fear?
Plus, what they said in the solar about when she had fled did not match what she had told me.
There was much to ask her, if she would even see me.
She was the heir to the Renfrewshire stronghold. How likely was it that she would believe I wanted her for herself alone, now? I did not want the answer, but it slammed into my brain. There was little chance.
I shoved the thought aside as I reached the top of the stairs.
It did no good to wonder why she’d kept her past to herself when I’d been dishonest with her, and she likely hadn’t even known she was now the heir to the stronghold.
The door to Buchanan’s chambers stood before me, a solid oak door banded with iron.
My insecurities surged, gripping me. Was I even worthy to tell her of my heart?
I had no name, no stronghold, no warriors, and she was betrothed to a lord.
Yet I could not, would not, turn away from this door.
I raised my fist and pounded on it, hard enough that the sound echoed down the corridor.
No answer came. I knocked again, louder this time, my impatience making my handshake.
I’d already wasted precious time being questioned by the king, and every moment I stood here was another moment Katreine spent alone with a man I had no reason to trust. If nothing else, I would ensure she was wedding as she truly wished to do.
The door swung open, not on the face of a servant or a guard, but on Alec Buchanan himself. He stood framed in the doorway, composed and unhurried, his tunic open at his neck, and his hair mussed, as though he’d been tumbling a lass in bed.
It could not be.
“Alec,” came a woman’s voice, muffled from within the bedchamber. “Come back to bed.”
God’s blood, was that Katreine? As the question popped into my mind, Buchanan gave me a smug, irritated look.
“Is this Katreine’s bedchamber?”
Buchanan’s eyes sharpened. He didn’t step back or call for guards; he simply stood his ground, one hand still on the door, his posture casual.
“How is it that ye ken Lady Wallace?” he asked, his measured calm eroding the last remnants of my control.
This was a man who held every advantage and knew it.
“We traveled together from the Summer Walkers,” I said, my words clipped. “Most of the journey.”
Something shifted across Buchanan’s face then. Not surprise, exactly, but a look of quiet satisfaction, as if he’d just fitted the last piece of a puzzle into place. It vanished in an instant, replaced by a mask of polite interest, but I had seen it, and I didn’t like it.
“This is my bedchamber, but she’s now staying with me.” He smiled, looking like a feral hound. “She insisted. She’s inside, waiting, as I’m certain ye just heard. She’s a lusty lass, between ye and me.”
I stood in the torchlit corridor, my jaw locked, my hand still raised from the knock, as something cold and heavy settled in my chest. A lusty lass. I turned away from the door and from the man who would be Katreine’s husband.
“Did ye nae wish to speak to her still?” he called from behind me.
I didn’t reply. Instead, I walked in a daze through the passages and down the stairs, Buchanan’s words echoing in my mind.
Lusty lass. Lusty lass.
Images I didn’t want to see of Katreine in Buchanan’s arms rose, her golden eyes dark with desire, her long brown hair spread across his pillow. I had imagined her here as a prisoner, perhaps, or a reluctant guest. I had not imagined she would already have bedded him. I was a fool.
I had dared to think something real had grown between us on the road and had been solidified by our joining, and though I had hurt her, things might be patched if I explained, if I could make her understand.
She did not feel for me as I did for her, and who could blame her?
Buchanan could give her the world, and I, I did not even know my real name to offer her.
It didn’t matter now. She had chosen, and it wasn’t me.
Every old wound I had ever carried rose up to swallow me whole: the whispers from other children that had followed me through childhood, calling me a bastard, nameless, nothing, and the knowledge that I would never inherit, never belong, never be enough.
I had spent my life proving my worth, building my reputation piece by piece, fighting for every scrap of respect I had earned.
And still, it wasn’t enough. Still, I was a man without land, without title, without anything to offer the woman who had slipped into my heart.
And the worst part was wondering whether I had been honest from the beginning, would it have turned out differently?
I paused then, half-turned to go back, to try to talk to her anyway, but no, she had made her choice, and it had been a swift one, indeed.
I had not lost Katreine. I had never had her to lose.
My chest felt cracked open, my insides exposed.
I would return to Ross’s stronghold. By nightfall, I would be leagues from here, and I would use this all-consuming pain to achieve my goals.
I could still take the king’s assignment.
I could return in a sennight and claim my injuries had healed much more quickly than I’d expected.
Mayhap, I’d even send word ahead, hinting at it, so the assignment would not go to another.
The chance to achieve all I had been after should have bolstered me, but it didn’t.
One question kept coursing through my mind.
What good were the lairdship, the land, the warriors, the clan name if I did not have Katreine to share them with?