Page 48 of The Ruthless Highlander's Hellion
“Here, drink, lass. Let it ease yer sorrow, if only for a wee while.”
His heart ached as he watched Alexandra take it without a word. Her eyes, red and swollen, stared into the fire as silent tears slid down her cheeks.
After finishing the mug, her head drooped to the side, resting on her folded arms atop the table. Her breath came slow and heavy, sleep stealing over her like a shroud.
Nicholas watched her for a long moment, chest tight with things he couldn’t say aloud. The firelight flickered across her hair, casting it in soft waves over her shoulder like a sleeping angel.
He rose and walked to her side, bending low to lift her into his arms. She was light against him, her breath warm on his neck as he carried her through the quiet corridors. He pushed open the door to her chamber with his foot and stepped inside.
Laying her gently upon the bed, he brushed a curl from her face. For a moment, he stood there, unmoving, gazing down at her fragile form.
Och, what a fool I am to care so much for a stolen spoil to use as leverage. But ye have turned out to be so much more than that, haven't ye, lass?
It wounded him more than steel ever could to see her broken in sorrow for someone she loved.
She shifted in her sleep, murmuring softly, the weight of the day still pressing down on her even in slumber. He couldn’t leave her like that, still wrapped in the stiff, cold folds of her gown. With a steady breath, he moved to her side, kneeling carefully so he didn’t startle her.
His fingers worked gently at the laces of her bodice, slow and respectful, careful not to disturb her rest. She stirred only slightly as he loosened the ties, his touch as light as the breeze. Once her dress had slackened, he eased it down over her shoulders, inch by inch, until he could slide it free. He kepthis eyes focused on the task, not lingering, his jaw tight with restraint as he left her in the soft linen of her chemise.
Setting the dress neatly on the nearby chair by the hearth, he turned back and pulled the woolen blanket over her, tucking it beneath her arms. She looked so small in that moment, her face turned slightly toward him, her lips parted in sleep. He stood there a while longer, hand resting briefly on the bedpost, as if letting go of it might mean letting go of her. His heart was heavy with all the things he hadn’t said—his guilt, his longing, and the strange, growing fear that he might lose her again.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his heart twisting with the ache of what he couldn’t protect her from.
“Sleep well, lass,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’ll nae let any harm come to ye again.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Morning light crept through the narrow windowpanes, casting golden slants across the stone walls. Alexandra stirred beneath the thick woolen blanket, her head heavy, her limbs slow to wake. For a breath of a moment, she thought she’d dreamt it all—but then it struck her like a bolt through the chest.
"Erica! She's gone."
She sat up abruptly, her breath catching as grief twisted through her again. Her feet swung over onto the floor.
Glancing down, she noticed she wore only her nightshift, and a blush crawled hot to her cheeks. She hadn’t gone to bed on her own—that much she knew.
Nicholas?
Her heart beat a little faster as her mind conjured the image of his strong arms carrying her, the careful hands that must’ve undressed her.
She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed a palm to her cheek, trying to will away the shameful thoughts. It was indecent—unbecoming of her position—but she couldn’t stop the warmth that bloomed in her chest. He’d treated her like something precious, and that alone confused her more than anything else.
Shaking the thoughts from her head, she stood. The chill of the stone floor bit at her feet as she moved to the washbasin. She scrubbed her face, dressed quickly, and pinned her hair back into a tidy braid. Duty stirred in her bones, though sorrow lay heavy on her shoulders.
She stepped into the hallway and descended the spiral stairwell into the heart of the castle. The morning air was thick with the scent of peat smoke and baking bread. Servants bustled to and fro, their footsteps echoing against the walls as they carried baskets, linens, and platters.
As she walked through, in the great hall, scullery maids polished the long wooden tables, while a cook bellowed orders from the kitchens.
Outside the windows, stable boys hauled fresh water, and a blacksmith's hammer rang in the distance. The hearths roared back to life, and the tapestry-laden corridors grew warmer as the day broke in earnest. Life in Castle O’Donnell moved with a kind of determined rhythm—predictable and unrelenting. But insideAlexandra, all felt still and shattered as she watched everyone go back to their normal routines.
She wandered the corridor near the great hall, scanning every passing face. Erica should’ve been among them, chiding her for sleeping late, fixing her hair, whispering something cheeky about Nicholas. A knot rose in her throat. She was truly gone—and she'd left to save Alexandra.
Swallowing the lump, Alexandra moved forward, her jaw set. She would find a way to bring Erica back. She had to.
Alexandra climbed the narrow steps to the outer wall, the wind tugging at her skirts and the morning mist curling around the stones. She spotted Nicholas pacing along the battlements, his arms crossed, gaze fixed on the horizon. His hair ruffled with each gust, and his cloak billowed behind him like a banner. She cleared her throat and approached.
“Mornin’, Nicholas,” she said softly. “What are ye doin’ up here?”
He didn’t turn right away. “Keepin’ an eye out for Marcus,” he replied, his voice low, edged with quiet tension.
