She froze. “I am not yours.”
“Are ye nae?” he ground out. “Perhaps naye but they dinnae ken that.”
The air between them tightened, sparking with something he dared not name. All Halvard knew is that he didn’t want to step back. He wanted to stay right where he stood breathing her in. Lavender and sweetness.
Then she muttered, “You’re impossible.”
“And you,” he shot back, “drive me half-mad.”
They stood there, both unwilling to move until Muirin quietly cleared her throat, soft but firm.
“Me laird,” she said gently. “The lass came tae bring ye word o’ supper soon. That is if th’ two of ye are done… ehm… discussin’ things.”
He didn’t think it was possible, but Elsie flushed a deeper red. He wiped a hand over his face. Perhaps the lass was right and he was half-mad.
Elsie left the training grounds in a flurry of skirts and indignation, Muirin hurrying after her with soft, worried steps.
Halvard watched them from across the courtyard. Elsie’s cheeks were still pink from anger or embarrassment or both. Her back was rigid, her chin held high, and her gait as sharp as a blade. An English blade all polished and precise clashing with the rough stone and wild wind of Raasay.
Muirin spoke quietly at her side, Halvard could tell the maid was trying to soothe the lass, and he was grateful. But Elsie only shook her head before letting out a flurry of frustrated words and looking across the yard in his direction.
Halvard’s chest tightened and he could not help but wonder if that was what guilt felt like.
Before he could follow the lass, Sten appeared beside him like a curse summoned by regret.
“Well,” his second said. “That went poorly.”
“I dinnae need yer commentary,” Halvard growled.
“Aye, ye dae” Sten replied. “Someone has tae tell ye.”
“The lass has been here a handful of days,” Sten continued. “And ye chase her off the training grounds like a damn bear because what? A few of th’ men glanced in her direrction?”
Halvard’s jaw flexed. “They were starin’, and ye ken it.”
“They were lookin’,” Sten corrected. “There’s a difference. And even if there wasnae, she’s nae truly yers.”
Halvard looked away. His friend’s words hitting harder than he liked.
“Aye,” he muttered like a bairn. “I ken it.”
Sten softened a fraction. “Then mayhap dinnae act like she’s yers tae guard.”
But that was the issue, wasn’t it? Every time Elsie walked into a room, head held too high, eyes too bright, mouth too ready with her sharp English retorts, something in him responded like she was his. Even though he knew better.
Especially because he knew better.
Halvard exhaled roughly and sat on the low stone wall at the courtyard’s edge, knuckles stinging from his training. The wind had cooled the sweat on his skin and his irritation had begun to fade into a heavy unwelcome shame.
Sten watched him for a long moment.
“Well?” Halvard snapped. “Say what ye truly want tae say.”
Sten’s mouth twitched. “What I truly want tae say is that ye’re an idiot, but what I’ll say is ye overreacted.”
“I didnae,” Halvard groaned.
“Aye, ye did,” Sten insisted. “Lady Elsie’s already scared half the time, although aye, she hides it well, but Muirin sees it. Ye snappin’ and snarlin’ at her like a beast willnae help.”
