The air tightened between them. Halvard reached up again, this time not stopping at the curl beside her ear. His knuckles skimmed down along her jaw, a slow, deliberate trace that sent a shock through her. She inhaled sharply.
He stepped closer, close enough that his chest nearly brushed hers. The heat of him wrapped around her like a soft plaid, his scent coupled with the peat smoke in the air dizzying in its nearness.
His fingers slipped from her jaw to the side of her neck. She turned slightly, giving him more access, even though he barely grazed her skin. The touch was enough to make her knees weaken. Her breath caught and her pulse leapt against his thumb.
Halvard seemed to feel it. His gaze dropped to her lips. She parted them ever so lightly, preparing for something, though she knew not what. He looked at her as if he were hungry but uncertain. Wanting.
He leaned closer, slowly, deliberately… she didn’t move away.
He was a breath from her lips when…
“Me lady?”
Elsie jerked back as Muirin appeared at the far end of the corridor clutching a basket, eyes wide as she took in the scene before her. “Oh! Forgive me. I didnae see…”
Halvard exhaled sharply, and Elsie swore she heard him mutter a curse under his breath as he stepped away from her. The moment shattered.
Elsie felt her face burn. “It’s quite all right, Muirin.”
But her heart was still racing, and she could feel Halvard’s gaze upon her, even as she dropped her eyes to the floor. The almost-kiss lingered between them. Unresolved and impossible to ignore.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Morning came far too soon, and Halvard ran a hand down his tired face. He had slept little, as usual. When he entered the council chamber, the fire was already crackling in the stone hearth. Sten stood by the window, speaking with an older man Halvard hadn’t seen in months.
Osric.
White-haired and sharp-eyed, wrapped in a thick wool cloak that looked older than Halvard himself. The man had served three lairds before retiring to a small croft on the south slope.
Yet there he stood, studying Halvard with a gaze that could cleave through granite.
“Osric,” Halvard clasped the man’s forearm. “I didnae expect ye.”
“So, I hear,” the elder grunted, giving him a once over. “But word reaches even old ears. A marriage, eh? And a surprise one at that, to a Sassenach? Thought I’d best see if ye’d lost yer mind entirely or only halfway.”
Sten choked on a laugh. Halvard did not bother hiding his eye roll. But before he could answer Redfern entered, pale but looking better. The envoy bowed slightly.
“Me apologies at arriving late, Laird MacLeod.”
“Ye should be abed,” Halvard said.
Redfern lifted a brow. “You’ve enough trouble without rumors of mistreating an envoy by insisting he rest. Also, I am on the mend I believe, thanks to your healer.”
Halvard exhaled and smiled. He’d rather not have the king’s envoy die in his castle.
The rest of the Council filed in, seven men, most older than he, and none shy in their judgement. They took their seats at the long oak table, grumbling like a flock of crows settling on a branch in a wind.
Once everyone had gathered, Halvard lowered himself into the laird’s place.
“Let’s us begin.”
Osric spoke first. “We’ll speak plainly, lad. Yer sudden marriage, without proper banns, without warning, has set tongues waggin’ from Rasaay tae Skye.”
“And angered an Englishman who was promised somethin’ else,” another clansman added. “Nae tae mention a king nay one wants tae provoke.”
Halvard’s jaw tightened. Elsie was not a bargaining chip, nor a piece of property. “I ken th’ risks,” he warned.
“Aye, and we ken the consequences,” the oldest of the Council added. “We need th’ king’s goodwill. Winter’s breathin’ down our necks. Our crops were half their usual yield. We’ll need trade an’ peace if we’re tae get through winter unscathed.”
