Page 54 of The Ruthless Highlander's Hellion
She buried her face in her hands, letting the sorrow wash over her. The loss of Erica clung to her like fog—cold, damp, and impossible to shake. How was she to breathe without her dearest companion by her side? A sob escaped her lips just as the sound of small footsteps crunched softly nearby.
“Why are ye cryin’?” Charlie’s little voice broke through the haze, sweet and full of concern.
Alexandra quickly wiped her face, not wanting to frighten him, but he was already standing before her, his head tilted in curiosity.
“Does yer heart hurt?” he asked gently. She nodded, her voice trembling as she replied, “Aye, lad… it does. What are ye doing out here? Ye should be in the great hall.”
"Oh Mistress. I am so sorry," the nursemaid darted over. "I cannae keep up with the young master. He left his favorite toy in the garden earlier and we are fetchin’ it." She held up a carved warrior.
"That's quite all right. It is a nice night," Alexandra smiled.
Charlie blinked, then looked around the garden. With determination, he reached down and yanked a small wildflower from the earth, roots and all, and held it out to her. “Here,” he said proudly. “This’ll make ye feel better.” Alexandra gave a watery laugh, touched by the gesture, and took the flower with trembling hands.
“Thank ye, sweet lad,” she whispered, her lips curling into a smile despite the ache. Charlie stepped forward and wrapped his small arms around her, hugging her with all the strength his little body could manage.
Her arms came around him slowly, and she held him close, her heart softening in ways she hadn’t expected. In that moment, she realized how much she’d grown attached to him.
He was Nicholas’s son, yes—but more than that, he was a light in this dark place. A bright, warm soul who reminded her that not everything had been lost.
"Come now, young master. Let's get back afore yer da be lookin' for ye," the nursemaid picked up Charlie and carried him away.
"A good night to ye," Alexandra said.
She sat alone again under the full moon, still clutching the small flower Charlie had given her.
"Open the gates!" a guard shouted.
Her heart leapt into her throat. The sharp, familiar creak of the portcullis chains rang out across the courtyard.
She sprang to her feet and ran across the lawn, skirts gathered in her fists, and hurried toward the walls. Climbing the inner steps two at a time, she reached the battlements just as the gate creaked open to reveal Marcus and a handful of scouts riding into the courtyard.
Her heart pounded as she scanned the men for any sign of Erica, but the group returned with only themselves and weary horses.
She ran down to the courtyard only to find that Marcus had already gone to report to Nicholas. Her feet moved quickly, taking her into the great hall.
"Where's Nicholas?" she asked a guard.
"Gone to his study with Marcus," the guard responded.
She headed toward Nicholas’s study as quickly as she could. She stopped in the corridor, drawn by the low murmur of voices spilling from the slightly ajar door.
“What did ye find?” Nicholas’s voice was low, firm, and tense with expectation.
“They’ve nae gone back to McLaren castle,” Marcus replied, the sound of boots shifting on stone between his words. “We tracked them clear to the border of our own clan lands. They’ve made camp nae far from the old crofter’s glen. Hidden from the main road, but we saw the fires last night. They’re watchin’, waitin’.”
“Exactly as I thought,” Nicholas muttered. “Leo’s nae finished. He’s bidin’ his time, likely waitin’ on reinforcements.”
“Aye,” Marcus agreed grimly. “What shall we do? Sit back and let them come knockin’ at the gates?”
“Nay,” Nicholas said darkly. “This is a chance. If Leo’s sent word to McLaren castle, he’ll expect backup—but they’ll be on the move, vulnerable. If we strike before they arrive, we might just catch him on his heels. We raid them with an ambush before they can regroup and bring war to our gates. This way we keep our people safe."
Alexandra couldn’t listen anymore.
She pushed the door open, stepping into the firelit study with eyes wide and voice trembling.
“Please—please, Nicholas—I’m beggin’ ye,” she said, her hands clutching her skirts tightly. “Ye must save her. I’ll do anythin’—anythin’ ye ask. Just… just bring Erica back to me.”
She watched as Nicholas seemed startled at first by her sudden entrance. Then his jaw tensed as his gaze landed on her tear-stained face. “Lass,” he said gently, “ye shouldnae be listenin’ to war talk.”
