Page 60 of The Ruthless Highlander's Hellion
“I thought—” she gasped against him. “Did ye find her? Is she safe?”
Nicholas nodded, then turned toward the riders behind him. From behind Marcus, a rider removed her cloak, revealing a dirt-smudged face, eyes wide with emotion.
Alexandra’s breath hitched as she screamed, “Erica!”
The young woman slid from her horse and stumbled forward. Alexandra met her halfway, arms flinging around her in a desperate, tearful hug.
“Ye’re alive,” Alexandra sobbed. “Oh, heavens, I thought ye were dead.”
Erica clung to her just as fiercely, trembling with relief. “I thought I’d never see ye again,” she whispered. “I prayed—every night I prayed for ye.”
Alexandra pulled back enough to look at her, brushing tangled hair from her friend’s face. “I'm so blessed to see ye again.”
The courtyard watched in reverent silence as the two women embraced again, their sobs filling the night air.
And for the first time in days, Alexandra felt whole.
But then her heart twisted as she looked at Erica’s bruised face and dirt-streaked skin. Her friend’s dress was torn, her hands scraped, with ligature marks on her wrists, and her eyes hollow from exhaustion.
“Come, love,” Alexandra said softly, looping an arm around her. “Ye need rest and a bath, and I’ll see to both meself.”
She led Erica up the stairs, all but ignoring the curious glances from passing servants. In her own chambers, she gave a flurry of orders—a bath, hot water, clean cloths, lavender oil. When the tub was finally filled, steam rising gently from its surface, she turned to Erica with a smile.
“Soak that tired wee body of yers. I’ll fetch ye some food.”
"Thank ye, Alexandra," Erica said.
Alexandra swept down the corridor and into the kitchen, where she quickly loaded two trays with roasted pheasant, thick slices of bread, jam, cheese, honeyed apples, and a crock of stew. She added two mugs, a bottle of whiskey, and a pitcher of cider. One of the servants helped her carry it all back up the stairs. She opened her chamber door carefully, mindful not to spill the tray.
Inside, Erica lay with her head tilted back in the tub, eyes closed, hair wet and slicked against her shoulders. Alexandra set the tray down and poured a whiskey into a mug before handing it over.
“Here, drink this. It will warm ye up and put numbness to any pain."
Erica opened one eye, took the mug, and let out a tired laugh. “Feels strange, this does. Ye waitin’ on me like I’m the lady and ye the handmaid.”
Alexandra smiled, sitting beside the tub. “Ye were never me maid, nae truly. A daughter of Laird McLaren, hidin’ in plain sight. I wish ye’d told me.”
“I couldnae,” Erica whispered. “It was safer if nay one kent. I’m sorry I lied.”
“Och!” Alexandra sat up straighter. “I was so glad to see ye safe, I forgot to ask Nicholas! Is Leo... is he comin’ for us as we speak?"
A ripple of anxiety passed through her as her fingers curled against her skirts.
“Nay,” Erica said, voice low but steady. “He’s nay longer breathin’. Nicholas saw to that.”
Relief crashed over Alexandra like a wave. But another thought followed swiftly, sour and sharp.
“That might start a war,” she muttered. “His clan willnae stand for it.”
Erica’s lips quirked into a smile. “They will if the new Lady doesnae wish for retaliation.”
Alexandra blinked. “New Lady?”
“Aye.” Erica nodded. “James told me—me parents left written instruction. I was meant to be the Lady all along. Leo murdered them to steal it from me.”
Alexandra gaped, her mouth forming words that didn’t quite come out. “So... ye… ye’re Lady McLaren now?”
“I am as long as I marry soon. It was part of the conditions me parents left that would see me rule alongside me husband.”
