When she glared at him, he suspected whatever caused her ire had to do with him. But she’d barely spared that attention as she breezed past him. Being ignored burned a pit into his stomach, and he wondered if he’d hurt Caitlyn just as badly. He also worried about her moving through the keep alone at night. He’d barely taken a seat when the commotion started, so he slipped toward the wall after Caitlyn passed him and moved along it until he passed through the doors she’d used.
When she left the arrow slit, Alex feared that she had caught sight of him. He wasn’t prepared to talk to her, but he could not overlook her need for protection. He ducked into an alcove and peeked around the tapestry. His lips drew tight with annoyance at himself when he realized Caitlyn had nearly seen him. He breathed easier when he observed she carried the dirk he’d given her and trained her to use. He caught sight of her checking for the dirk he was grateful she kept hidden in her skirts. But his heart raced as she took off toward the stairs, then raced to climb them. He feared he was creating too much noise as he followed at a distance. He remained in the shadows until he watched the door close behind her. He hurried after her and arrived at her door in time to hear the lock click.
Alex loathed stalking Caitlyn from the shadows, inadvertently scaring her, but letting her risk her safety was unconscionable. However, he chided himself for the thought as he made his way to his chamber, forsaking the evening meal. He was incapable of doing much if a man really attacked her, or God forbid, several men were there. But too many years of friendship, and a pledge to Innes and Collette that he would always watch over Caitlyn and Cairren, weren’t easily cast aside.
Alone in his chamber, Alex stared at the empty bed. He had not coupled with a woman since before his injuries. He never brought women to his chamber in Mangerton, but neither had he gone to any woman’s croft or room at the tavern since regaining consciousness. He doubted any of the widows or bored matrons who usually flirted with him would take an interest during this visit. But he couldn’t fool himself. He had wanted no woman in his bed but Caitlyn for years. He wasn’t a monk, but she was who he always thought of, and who he envisioned sharing his chamber one day at Mangerton.
Alex heaved a sigh as he stripped off his clothes. Knowing the night’s inevitable progress once he retired, he figured he should get the scant sleep he could. It didn’t matter if he stayed awake for a few more hours or merely woke during the early morning. He only ever managed a few.
* * *
Alex spun around. His right hand struggled to grasp his sword while holding his left arm, which was attached to his shoulder by a few sinews. He glanced down at his feet and found Brice unconscious, blood dripping from his temple, although he wasn’t searching for Brice. There was someone else he had to find. But when Brice groaned, Alex’s attention snapped to his younger brother. He sheathed his sword and grabbed Brice by his collar. Keeping his head on a swivel and praying his left arm didn’t fall from his body, he dragged Brice off the battlefield. He found the Armstrong men waiting with their horses and left Brice with them.
There was someone else he had to find though he still didn’t know who it was. Once more trying to hold on to his arm, his eyes scanned the pandemonium playing out before him. Rain washed the blood from his injured shoulder, leaving puddles of it at his feet. He pushed his sodden ebony hair from his eyes as he tried to catch sight of whoever his mind insisted he find. His gaze alighted on a solitary figure standing in the middle of the melee. It was a woman, and he recognized her even in the dark.
“Caitlyn!” Alex cried out as he tried to run toward her. Agonizing pain rent through him, but he pushed himself to reach Caitlyn. Hearing his voice, she turned to him, her face bloody and her gown torn. He leapt over the bodies strewn before him and weaved past enemy combatants, singularly focused on reaching her. As he neared, he stumbled and pitched forward. He caught himself before he fell, but his half-severed arm swung at his side. He looked back at Caitlyn as his arm seemed to grow until his fingers dug into the dirt. He attempted a step forward, but his mangled arm remained stuck in the mud.
Alex locked his eyes on Caitlyn and watched a swarm of Scotts charging toward her. He peered down at his arm. He knew he had to choose. He knew he couldn’t keep both his arm and Caitlyn. It took no thought to decide. He wrenched his body away from his arm, which stood like a solitary tree trunk. Running once more, he was nearly within Caitlyn’s reach. She lifted her arms to him. Fear flooded him, but for a reason he didn’t expect. He feared his missing arm might revolt her or that she might pity him. But all he saw was Caitlyn’s loving eyes. But he’d paused, and in that moment of indecision, the Scotts reached Caitlyn. He watched as swords thrust through her, and her back arched as she fell forward.
Alex bellowed his rage as he pulled his sword from its scabbard and charged toward Caitlyn’s attackers. Yet he was far too late. Her body hit the ground and seemed to fracture into a cloud of dust that billowed where she’d just stood. Alex swept his sword through the air, vanquishing all of Caitlyn’s attackers. But it mattered not that he defeated them. Caitlyn was gone. He’d chosen her over his arm, but what good had it done? She was dead, and naught remained.
Alex woke with a start, sitting upright in his bed. His ears rang with such ferocity that he didn’t even notice the pain in his arm. He swept his gaze around the dark chamber, uncertain where he was at first and feeling panicked. As he recognized the décor, he realized he was at court. His breathing slowed, but his pounding heart threatened to steal the shallow breaths he managed. He stared down at his left shoulder, uncertain if he would even find his arm. The dream had been so vivid that it nearly convinced him he’d left his arm behind, and without its normal pain, he felt disoriented.
As Alex recalled every moment of his nightmare, bile rose through his chest and into his throat. He sprang from the bed and barely made it to the chamber pot before it spewed forward. He heaved over and over, only acidic bile coming forth since he’d missed the evening meal. When he was finally through, he wiped his mouth on a drying linen and chewed a sprig of mint. He glanced at the window embrasure, and no light peeked around the corners of the cow hide that covered the opening.
Alex realized it was only the middle of the night. He’d gotten far less sleep than he did on his usual restless nights. He moved to the opposite side of the bed from where he’d woken. He realized he must have thrashed even more than usual because he drenched the sheets almost the entire width of the bed. He positioned himself on the edge in a dry spot and tried to relax. He focused on relaxing each toe before relaxing his ankles, then his calves. He moved on to his thighs, imagining he could get each muscle to ease as his mind calmed. He kept his eyes closed, praying a miracle might strike, and he could fall back to sleep. On the best of nights, he fell back to sleep by the time he reached his waist. But that night, he attempted to relax his earlobes and was still wide awake.
I have to see her. I have to see for myself that she’s safe. I can’t go now, but I can be in the chapel before her. I can be in the Great Hall when she arrives to break her fast. But what will I do when she goes for her walk? I won’t head to the lists. I won’t be going to check a steed I can’t mount without a block or help. I’ll have to see her in the chapel or the Great Hall. Those are my only chances. But I won’t breathe easy until I do.
I know it’s only a dream. I know it’s not real. But it always feels so bluidy real. Caity has never been in my nightmares. She’s filled plenty of my dreams, but they were back when I had happy ones. I chose her, and she still died. I couldn’t get to her. I couldn’t protect her. She needs—she deserves—a husband who can. If I see her and know she’s fine, I don’t need to talk to her. I can still avoid her. I don’t want to. Not even for a fucking moment. But why drive yourself barmy hearing her voice, smelling her myrrh fragrance, seeing the flecks of green in her gray eyes—the ones I memorized years ago? What good will it do either of you? The sooner she understands she should look elsewhere, the better for her.
Alex lay in bed awake for hours before he rose to dress for Mass. He was among the first to arrive, so he positioned himself in the first pew after the ones the ladies-in-waiting normally occupied. He chose the opposite side from where Caitlyn routinely sat in the hopes of a better view. When he heard people approaching, he slipped to his knees and bent his head as though in reverent prayer. He hadn’t entirely abandoned God, nor did he think God had entirely abandoned him. But he felt overlooked, and he wasn’t certain if he was prepared to forgive God for that.
He kept his head bowed until the liturgy began. He attempted a surreptitious glance toward the ladies-in-waiting, but his moss-green eyes suddenly locked with a pair the exact shade of pewter. Caitlyn’s expression did nothing to warm toward him. He expected to see pity, but after his brusque attitude the night prior, there was no pity, hurt, disdain, or even confusion. There was nothing. It was as though she didn’t see him despite looking directly at him. She turned away as though she’d glanced at a stranger, not a lifelong friend and a once-potential suitor. Alex’s blood ran cold. He couldn’t court her, but he hadn’t intended to ruin their friendship.
Five
Anger vibrated through Caitlyn’s body as she felt Alex’s eyes remain on her. She hadn’t overcome the desire to stare at him, but she’d kept her expression studiously blank lest she crumble into tears. Heartbreak shot through her as their eyes met, but now only anger remained. She directed it toward herself for not having the willpower to ignore Alex. She directed it toward him for being hurtful and distant. And she directed it to whichever bastard had changed Alex and left him so bitter. She’d seen the change in his eyes the night before when he refused to meet her gaze.
It shocked Caitlyn just as much as it did others when she noticed Alex’s scarred face and realized his left arm no longer worked. She understood the two injuries were significant and no one could overlook them. Yet until his disdainful treatment of her, she’d still thought of him as the man she’d adored since she was a child and fallen in love with as a woman. She’d believed Alex’s sentiments matched hers, especially since he’d visited court more frequently over the past couple years. She’d written to her parents when Alex seemed to disappear for the past six months. All they knew was he’d been in a battle, and the situation remained tense with the Scotts. The ease with which he dismissed her last night felt like a mockery of everything she thought they shared.
The Mass continued around her, but she barely noticed as she received the Eucharist or as they passed around the pax board. She heard none of the hymns, even though she knew she sang along. By the end of the morning service, her anger dulled to strong irritation. But she refused to allow Alex’s foulness to destroy her day. She intended to go riding with her guards, so she hurried to the stables after filing out of her pew and following the other women from the chapel. She forewent the morning meal, knowing her guards carried dried beef and dried fruit that they would share with her. It was a familiar routine.
Caitlyn noticed Alex followed her at a distance to the bailey. He hung back, only watching her, so she made no effort to acknowledge him. Not so long ago, he would have joined her, and they would have raced across the meadow and up to the ridge with a vista of a flower-filled valley and the Highland mountains in the distance. Rather than have her friend join her, she couldn’t wait to escape. She mounted with ease and slipped her feet into the stirrups, turning her horse away from the stables and Alex. Her guards formed a ring around her, and she didn’t glance back as they clattered through the gates.
Alex watched Caitlyn’s rigid posture when she noticed him again. He didn’t approach, despite wanting to speak to her. However, he was unwilling to give her a false sense of hope. He was certain it was better to cut their ties so that his intentions could not be mistaken. Guilt nipped at him that he shouldn’t make this decision solely based on his desires. But he worried about her safety, and if he couldn’t protect Caitlyn with his sword, he would protect her by keeping his distance. While filing out of the chapel, he’d overheard some ladies talking as they glanced back at him several times. He learned what Margaret said in the Great Hall, which explained Caitlyn’s subsequent actions. His lips had twitched to witness that Caitlyn’s temper and loyalty were as they’d always been: fierce.
However, Alex chided himself since it—he—wasn’t what he wanted for Caitlyn. He’d feared people disparaging him, and, in turn, humiliating Caitlyn if people linked her to him. He strengthened his resolve to keep his distance. Watching her ride out, knowing he couldn’t join her, made that goal easier. It also stung and brought back waves of bitterness. Rather than seek his men and train with his knives as he’d begun doing at Mangerton, he retreated to his chamber. He swore he wasn’t going there to sulk. He spared his men the embarrassment of having their incapable tánaiste pretend he could still fight.
Alex hadn’t napped since his recovery from the fever that took hold for more than a fortnight when his wound became infected. But he toed off his boots and reclined on his bed. He stared at the canopy overhead and forced himself to think about the outstanding matter with the Scotts rather than a chestnut-haired beauty. He was certain the Bruce sided with the Armstrongs and Elliots, but he also suspected it came with a price. He tried to imagine the various outcomes and consequences and how he needed to handle them.
His mind jumped from one idea to another, a beehive of thoughts, so it surprised him when he woke. He hadn’t realized he’d been sleepy or that he was drifting off. Ringing bells permeated Alex’s mental fog, and he realized he’d slept through the morning all the way to the midday meal. It was the first time in months that nightmares didn’t wake him, and he felt rested after months of physical and mental exhaustion.
I didn’t sleep well last night. I suppose I thought seeing Caitlyn at the evening meal, even if I didn’t want to speak to her, would make me feel better. This morning was no better. So what else is different?
Alex glanced around the chamber, his eyes alighting on the window embrasure. Light poured through the opening, and the room was bright.
Is it the dark that gives me the nightmares? Is it because it was so dark that day? I can’t very well spend my days sleeping. What would I do at home? Prowl through the keep like a wraith? But I’ve underestimated how much better I feel sleeping without waking in a panic. It’s been so long. Mayhap lighting candles to burn through the night could help. If it were brighter in here at night, mayhap then I could sleep.
