Halvard gave a low grunt. “Days.”
She gave him her sharpest look. Under the table, her slippered foot found his shin.
He didn’t flinch. “Feels longer, though,” he added with maddening calm.
A few of his men roared with laughter.
Thomas Redfern’s lips twitched as if suppressing a smile. “Newlyweds, then. A fortunate thing to find love in such uncertain times.”
“Yes, indeed,” Elsie said quickly, her voice brittle with nerves no matter how she tried to hide it. “Quite fortunate.”
She felt Halvard’s knee bump hers, deliberately. She turned to find his eyes sparkling with amusement.
The brute is enjoying this!
A servant refilled her cup with some kind of mead or ale. It was sweet and she took a large gulp. The conversation turned to the journey north from England. Mr. Redfin asked something polite about her adjustment to the Highlands.
“It’s been quite…” Elsie began, stalling, knowing she could not answer honestly but the good English lady in her made her feel horrible about lying to a representative of the crown. “Well, wild, sir.”
Halvard coughed into his drink as another roar of laughter rose up from the room.
“Wild?” Thomas repeated, clearly entertained.
“Well, compared to England,” she said, flushing. “It’s rather… untamed. But the people are lovely.” She thought of kind Muirin, and even Sten, who seemed to be able to tame Halvard’s more brutal instincts and had so far treated her with kindness.
Someone at the end of the table gave a hear hear, and when laughter rang out again, Elsie felt as if she could crawl under the table and disappear. She was unused to any attention at all, let alone being the sole focus of dinner conversation.
Then the earl spoke, his tone smooth and cutting. “Aye, untamed indeed. The Highlands seem to breed savagery in both landscape and men.”
The hall went quiet as Harcourt turned his calculating gaze toward Halvard. “Tell me, Laird MacLeod, do you truly live up to your name? Halvard the Savage, as I believe you are called. The moniker reaching even the most polite of London’s sitting rooms.”
The words landed like a slap.
Halvard didn’t smile. Elsie was afraid to breath. Her “husband’s” pale eyes were cold steel as he met the earl’s gaze. “Names come cheap in London, me lord. Earned ones maybe less so.”
The silence that followed was heavy enough to choke upon. Elsie wondered what Halvard had done to earn such a name, but more so, she felt anger bubble within her at the Earl’s blatant disrespect of Halvard in his own home, in front of his men.
Thomas Redfern was the one who broke the silence in the great hall. “Gentlemen, surely, we can save titles and legends for another time. The hour grows late, and the ale too generous.”
Sten muttered something in Gaelic that made a few of the men snort, and the tension broke. Elsie swallowed hard. She wasn’t fully aware of what had actually occurred between Halvard and the earl, but she could feel the weight of dislike and danger between them.
Halvard stood and offered her his hand, and she reached up, taking it properly as she knew was expected as his lady, and he led her from the great hall.
They walked in stiff silence back to his chamber, and Elsie suddenly felt the weight of the last few days. She was ready for sleep.
“You can take the chair,” she declared once the door to their chamber was closed.
Halvard arched a brow. “Th’ chair?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “You may have rescued me, for which I am grateful, of course, but that does not entitle you to share my bed.”
He gave a low laugh. “Aye, my lady, wouldnae want tae scandalize ye further.”
She ignored his teasing and busied herself adjusting the blanket on the bed. Her hands trembling slightly, though she told herself it was exhaustion and not nerves. Suddenly she found herself curious about this man who had rescued her.
“Why did Lord Harcourt call you that name?” She stepped closer to where he stood by the hearth, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders to ward off a chill.
Halvard looked up from where he was unbuckling his sword belt. “Which name, lass?”
