Elsie’s throat tightened. Muirin and Sten both obviously knew how she came to be at Brochel Castle and what truly happened. Muirin’s kind attention toward her was enough to cause a slight sting in the corner of her eyes.
“I do,” she replied softly. Her argument with Halvard forgotten as she turned to sit at the small writing desk placed under the window. The waning light of late afternoon coupled with the tallow candle was enough for her to see by, everything around her forgotten as she sat to write a quick missive to her sister.
How sick with worry Selene must be. It had been days since she had last seen her sister. Selene would have had no word, no way to know what had become of her. Her breath started to come in quick bursts. The reality of what had occurred settling like a lead weight upon her chest.
Steady hands came down upon her shoulders.
“All will be well,mo bhean.”Halvard had gently placed his hands on her shoulders and she found the touch a comfort.
“I must write to my sister,” she choked out.
“Aye, that ye should.”
The candlelight flickered over the parchment as she began to write. Her hand still trembled.
When she finished, she let out a small sigh. She had not given too many details, not wanting to cause anymore worry for Selene. She folded the letter neatly, sealing it with wax Halvard had brought her while she wrote. He hadn’t spoken a word the entire time, though she had felt his gaze on her more than once.
She looked up at him, tears still fresh in her eyes. He held out his hand. “I’ll send it with a fast rider,” he said simply.
She blinked. “You’d do that?”
“Aye, ye’ve folk worried fer yer safety. I’ve nay quarrel wi’ that.”
Something in his tone, a tenderness beneath his gruff exterior, unsettled her more than his teasing had. “Thank you,” she said softly.
He stepped back, shrugging as if it were nothing. “Dinnae thank me yet. Th’ messenger’ll have tae cross a sea and two ridges tae get tae yer sister.”
“Is that what I travelled over as well?”
“Aye,” he smiled faintly. “That’s th’ Highlands.”
Elsie turned the quill in her fingers, feeling strangely seen, and suddenly not wanting the attention. “Very well then,” she said primly. “Now about those rules…”
Halvard let out a groan. “Ach, woman, ye and yer rules,” he said. “I swear ye’d try tae teach manners tae a wolf.”
“Someone must,” Elsie replied, happy to have their natural bickering dynamic back. “Otherwise, how will I survive this charade with my dignity intact?”
“Dignity’s overrated,” he muttered, just as a sharp knock interrupted them.
Before Elsie could snap back Halvard opened the heavy wooden door, and a young man stepped inside, broad-shouldered and dust on his boots. He froze mid-step, clearly realizing he had interrupted something.
“Me laird,” he said quickly, dipping his head. “Forgive me fer interruptin’. Word came from th’ stables, one of th’ riders has returned from th’ southern road.”
Halvard nodded, and Elsie paid close attention.
“And?” the laird asked.
“All’s clear. Lord Harcourt an’ his men crossed th’ ridge an’ now ride toward the Lowlands.”
“Good.”
Elsie didn’t quite understand why she felt relief for both herself and Halvard, but she did.
“That is good news the servant brought,” she said sweetly.
The air shifted. She looked up to find Halvard was looking at her as if she had said something blasphemous.
“He is nae a servant,mo bhean,” he said, his voice quiet, but edged. “He’s kin.”
