When the door closed behind them, the noise of the inn dulled, replaced by the whistle of wind and the groan of the building settling against the storm.
Elsie removed her cloak slowly, her fingers stiff with cold. Firelight from the hall slipped through the cracks around the door, painting her in gold and shadow.
“So,” she said quietly. “We wait.”
“Aye.”
Her shoulders rose and fell as she drew a steadying breath. “I don’t like waiting.”
A ghost of a smile touched Halvard’s mouth. “I’ve noticed.”
Outside, the storm raged on, rain finally breaking loose and hammering against the roof. The inn shuddered under it, its beams creaking like bones under strain.
Halvard moved to the window and shoved the shutters closed, latching them firmly. When he turned back, Elsie stood near the bed, uncertainty written in the tight line of her mouth, her gaze distant as if she was trying to peer through the sea, to see all the way to England.
Halvard removed his weapons methodically, setting them within reach—the habit of a warrior who never truly rested. When he finally shrugged out of his cloak and tunic, the chill of the room seemed to deepen.
Elsie undressed down to her shift and lay down on the bed, her back straight, her hands folded over her stomach like a shield.Halvard extinguished the small lamp and lay beside her with a sigh, his mind drifting to England, too—and to the English waiting for them at the borderlands.
The darkness pressed close. Halvard pressed even closer, gathering Elsie in his arms.
She went with ease, relaxing against him with a sigh seeking his lips in the dark. Halvard kissed her, the act soft and sweet, tender in a way he was only with her, only in the safety of these walls. He was the laird of a clan—the one they called asavage. But he gave in to his desire to be tender with her, to his need to be softer around her.
“Halvard,” she mumbled, his name barely more than breath.
He caught her hand gently, threading his fingers through hers. “I’m here.”
Elsie exhaled, the sound trembling, and moved closer, her knee brushing his thigh under the covers. In the dark, she felt smaller somehow—less guarded. He rolled onto his back to give her space, but she followed, resting her head against his shoulder, her hair spilling across his chest.
Her lips found his throat first, a hesitant kiss that lingered longer than it meant to. Halvard’s breath caught, his heartbeat picking up, his pulse thundering in his ears. Every time she touched him, it was as if he came alive under her hands. He turned his head toward her, guiding her gently with a hand at her jaw, and their mouths met in another kiss.
It was slow at first, careful and searching, but it deepened naturally, as though the night itself urged them on. Her lips were warm and sure now, moving against his with quiet intent. Halvard responded without restraint, one hand sliding into her hair, the other resting at the small of her back, holding her close.
Elsie sighed softly into his mouth, a sound that went straight through him. They broke apart only to breathe, foreheads touching in the dark.
“Halvard, what if… everythin’ goes wrong?”
Her words were weighed down by worry, by fear, and Halvard wished there was something he could say, something he could do to reassure her. But the truth was that he, too, feared it. There weren’t many things he feared, but one of them was losing her, and now he was too close to that thought for comfort. The more he considered their plan, the more he despised it, even if he knew it was the only way for them to move forward. Elsie would never rest until she knew for certain that her sister was safe, and Halvard could never take that chance away from her—even if it would put them in danger.
Now all he could do was protect her, no matter what it would take. It was his duty, the one thing pushing him forward.
His thumb brushed her cheek, tracing the dampness there. “Naethin’ will happen tae ye. I willnae allow it. Ye will never face anythin’ alone again,” he said firmly. “I swear it.”
For a few moments, Halvard could feel her staring at him in the dark. He could see the glint of her eyes in the embers of the fire, in the scant incandescence they offered.
She kissed him again then, more urgently, her hand fisting in his shirt as if to anchor herself. Halvard rolled onto his side, drawing her with him until she lay half atop him, their bodies fitting together with quiet inevitability.
He kissed her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth, each touch deliberate and reverent. She laughed softly under her breath, the sound fragile and full.
“You’re here,” she said, as though reassuring herself. “You’re here, with me.”
“Aye,” he said, pressing his lips to her forehead. “An’ ye’re safe.”
Elsie settled against him fully then, her head under his chin, his arm wrapped securely around her. Her breathing slowed, matching his, and he felt the tension drain from her inch by inch.
In the dark, with the world held at a distance, Halvard held his wife and thought—not for the first time—that tenderness was the bravest thing he had ever learned.
And he would protect it, always.
