“Then she claimed tae be with bairn,” Halvard said finally. “It was a lie but I believed her at first. I told her I would care fer the bairn but I would never love her. She would never be by me side as me wife. Well, she didnae take too kindly tae the news. At that time I was briefly betrothed tae another English lass fer politics… kind enough, but neither o’ us loved each other. Bonnie tried tae hurt her, she lied about the child an’ I… I had nae choice but tae send her away.”
“Oh, Halvard, I can’t imagine the weight of that,” she whispered. Even now, Halvard seemed so broken about it, so hurt, that she didn’t know how to comfort him.
Perhaps there was nothing she could do or say. Perhaps this was a wound that would never heal, a wound she couldn’t even lessen.
Halvard looked up at her, eyes glistening with a rare vulnerability. “I’ve never spoken o’ it,” he said softly. “Nae tae me men, nae tae me friends. An’ I’m tellin’ ye now because ye deserve the truth. Because I care fer ye, more than I’ve ever cared fer anyone.”
Elsie’s throat tightened. She pressed a hand to his cheek, feeling the roughness of his skin, the tension in his jaw, and her heart ached with love for him. “Halvard,” she said, shaking her head, “you don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”
“I… God help me, Elsie, I love ye. I want tae marry ye. I’ve wanted ye from the moment ye came tae this castle. An’ now I… I cannae imagine a life without ye.”
Elsie’s chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged breaths. She felt the storm of his words and the sincerity behind them crash over her like winter waves. Tears spilled freely now, a mix of relief, joy, and the fierce surge of love she had fought to keep contained. “You…” she whispered, almost disbelieving, her hands clutching his tunic, “you love me?”
“Aye,” he said simply, this one word carrying the weight of years he had kept silent. “Every day. Every damned day. I want tae marry ye.”
Her lips trembled as she leaned in, pressing her forehead against his. “I want to marry you too,” she said, her voice breaking. “I love you, Halvard. I’ve wanted… all of this, all of you, for so long.”
A shiver ran through him, and he drew her close, their bodies flush together. His lips captured hers in a kiss that was both desperate and tender, a collision of confession and desire, heartbreak and hope.
Elsie’s hands roamed over his broad shoulders, down his arms, memorizing the strength that had protected her, that had saved her again and again. She felt the warmth of him seep into her bones, anchoring her in a world that had so often been dangerous and uncertain.
“I’ve waited fer ye,” Halvard mumbled against her lips, his voice rough with emotion and intimate.
“And I’m not letting go,” she breathed, pressing herself closer.
The morning sun filtered through the high windows, spilling golden light across their tangled forms. They held onto each other, as though they were each other’s only anchor, as though they only existed when in each other’s arms, pressed close together, clinging.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Quick footsteps echoed behind Halvard as he walked down the hallway with Elsie, the two of them heading to supper. He recognized them instantly, and he turned around to see Sten there, approaching them, grey-faced and grim.
“Halvard.” His voice was low, clipped. “We’ve spotted more foreigners near the northern cliffs. Too many tae be travelers. An’ still nae word from the king.”
Halvard stilled. Every instinct sharpened to a blade’s edge, his heart thudding painfully as he considered the implications of it. Harcourt was not going to give up, it seemed.
How many English could he have at his doorstep before the threat as too real, too palpable to ignore? How long before they began to attack the villages, even if that wasn’t their target? It was likely that they would try to hit Halvard in as many ways as they could, and that included his territories, his people.
Elsie paused beside him, her fingers curling around the folds of her skirt. “More troops?” she asked.
Sten nodded. “Aye. An’ they’re armed. English tongues, from what our scouts could catch afore they slipped away.”
Halvard cursed under his breath. The walls of Brochel Castle felt smaller suddenly, as though the entire keep was exhaling uneasily around them.
The bodies from Bowen Harcourt’s failed attack were barely cold. The fire in the borderlands—another of the man’s little gifts—still left the country smelling of smoke. And now more men? More shadows with English accents and Harcourt’s stink all over them?
Elsie swallowed. Halvard heard it, barely; a soft, fragile sound which she hid quickly.
“So nay news from the Crown, ye say?” Halvard asked.
Sten shook his head. “Naethin’. Redfern rode out days ago, yet nay messenger has returned. England is silent.” His eyes flicked briefly to Elsie. “Too silent, if ye ask me.”
Halvard felt her stiffen at his side. He wanted to reassure her, to give her something which she could hold on to—a promise that everything would be alright, that it would all work out in the end. But how could he promise her something like that?
He gave Sten a sharp look before turning to her. “We expected delays. Snowstorms have blocked the lower passes. The king’s messenger might be?—”
But Elsie stepped away from him, just enough for him to feel the space like a blow.
“Do not insult me with gentling words,” she said softly. “Something is wrong. I feel it.”
