“It takes a lot o’ hands,” Halvard finished for him.
Once Eoiffe brought the ale, the four of them settled into a comfortable rhythm, a quiet conversation exchanged amongthem as the children ran and laughed. Elsie watched them, warmth blooming in her chest. This home was warmer than any hall back in England, any estate she had ever visited.
Before they left, Finlay pulled Halvard aside near the door. Elsie lingered, overhearing their conversation as she said goodbye to Eoiffe and the children.
“Me laird, ye should ken there are camps near the borders,” he said. “I dinnae ken how many or who it is, fer I didnae see them with me own eyes, but others seem tae have seen them. We dinnae ken who they are but they’re there.”
Halvard cursed quietly, then gave a stiff nod. “Thank ye,” he said. “I’ll look intae it.”
By the time they were back on the road, the sun had disappeared behind thick, steel gray clouds. The keep was not far, no more than an hour’s ride away, but the first few, sparse raindrops began to fall when they were less than halfway there. Elsie tightened her cloak around her shoulders, pulling on her hood, but soon, none of it mattered. Before they knew it, the heavens opened and it began to pour.
“Quickly!” Halvard called, as he steered his horse out of the path. Elsie followed him as fast as she could, her horse’s hooves sticking to the mud, splashing water on her ankles. Neither of them was prepared for such a heavy rain, and Elsie knew there was nowhere they could go—no town or village that could shelter them was in sight, and they couldn’t continue on their way to the keep like this.
Halvard led her under the shelter of a giant oak, its branches thick and its leaves long enough to provide some cover. Elsie joined him, letting him tie her horse to a thick branch before the two of them settled side by side by the roots, trying to find a dry spot to sit. Soon, Elsie realized they were much closer than she had intended, the wet ground and the cold pushing them closer and closer together until their arms brushed against each other.
It was barely any contact, nothing more than an innocent touch, but after the kiss they had shared, it was difficult for Elsie to think of anything else in that moment. Her gaze kept drifting back to their arms, pressed tightly side by side, and she drew in a shivering breath, one that Halvard misinterpreted as her being cold.
“Come,” he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and placing a length of his plaid over her. Instantly, Elsie’s cheek burned and she had the urge to pull away, but that would surely only result in even more embarrassment from her part, when Halvard would inadvertently tease her for it.
So, she stayed where she was, sharing his warmth; not that she needed it now that her entire body seemed to be burning.
Halvard’s arm was a comforting weight over her shoulders, so much so, that she found herself leaning into it against her will. She wanted nothing more than to lean her head on his chest, to have him wrap himself around her and hold her close, but it seemed far too intimate of an ask, far too dangerous.
“I don’t like rain,” she admitted, watching the heavy raindrops as they trickled down the leaves and splattered against the ground. There was nothing around them but the sound of the rain, hitting the ground hard and fast, turning the path nearby into a shallow brook. “And it rains so often here.”
“Are ye tellin’ me that it daesnae rain where ye’re from?” Halvard asked with a chuckle. “Come now, lass, it rains just as much in England as it daes here.”
“Oh, I suppose it does,” Elsie said with a sigh. “But I’m not usually out when it does. In fact, I’m not allowed out when it does. Maybe that’s why I dislike it so much. There’s nowhere for me to go, not the gardens, not the stables… I can never ride a horse. All there is to do is sit inside in the drawing room and work on my embroidery skills.”
“Ye any good at it?”
“Embroidering?” Elsie asked with a small frown. “Of course. We all are.”
And by all, she meant all the girls of her status. There were three things a woman like her should know well—needlework, painting, and playing the harpsichord. All things Selene excelled at, and all things Elsie did well, if not as well as her sister.
“As good as ye are at ridin’?”
Elsie let out a surprised snort, one that was entirely unladylike. “No,” she said. “No, I’m not.”
She turned to look at Halvard and, for a moment, time seemed to freeze. He was staring right at her, his face soft, the rough, strong features of his face now softened with something she couldn’t name—or didn’t dare to.
Ever so slowly, he reached out with a gentle hand and tucked a stray curl of her hair behind her ear. The touch was so tender, so soft, that it cut Elsie’s breath short, making it hitch in her throat.
“Ye ken… ye are far too uptight,” he said then, breaking the spell. “An’ a bit o’ a prude.”
Elsie glared at him, her brows knitting into a frown. She pulled back, just a little, studying his face as she did. He bore a smug expression, as if she had just proven him right, and if she were honest, she had.
It was ridiculous. She had never considered herself uptight in England, when everyone around her was so prim and proper—so much more than her, seemingly always knowing the right thing to say and do, when she stumbled. But there, in the Highlands, her efforts to appear proper were simply too much and entirely unnecessary.
“I suppose you’re right,” she said. “But with every passing day by your side, less so. You’re a terrible influence.”
Halvard let out a soft chuckle. “Aye, I am,” he said. “Would be rather dull if I was prim an’ proper like yerself.”
Dull… and safe.
“What dae ye think will happen if ye go out intae the rain?” Halvard asked.
“Well, I’ll get wet, of course,” said Elsie. “What kind of question is that?’
