For a long time, neither of them slept. The storm howled outside, the sea’s fury carried even that far inland. Halvard listened toElsie’s breathing, shallow at first, then slowly evening out as he held her in his arms, close.
His thoughts churned darker than the water beyond the shore. Halvard stared into the black, jaw clenched, and made a silent vow to a sea that had never denied him before.
It could rage all it wished.
Come morning, he would take Elsie across it and he would bring her sister to Brochel Castle.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The morning was quiet, as though the storm had exhausted itself in the night. Elsie woke to a pale, silvery light slipping through the cracks of the shutters and the steady hush of the sea beyond the town. Not raging now—only breathing. She lay still for a moment, listening, aware of the warmth beside her that she had been clinging to through the long, restless night.
Halvard lay on his back, one arm bent under his head, his chest rising slow and even. In sleep, his sharp edges softened. The laird, the warrior, the man the Highlands called savage—gone. In his place was someone quieter, younger almost.
She turned her gaze away before he could wake and catch her watching.
By the time they stepped outside the inn, the town had shaken off the worst of the storm. The air smelled clean, sharp with salt and wet stone. The sea still rolled dark and restless, but the sky had lifted enough to let a thin wash of blue show through.
They walked without hurry, their boots crunching over damp earth. Sten trailed a respectful distance behind, pretending very badly not to watch them, though Elsie was keenly aware of his gaze on her the entire way.
Elsie drew her cloak tighter and took in the village—the low cottages crouched against the wind, nets drying on wooden frames, smoke curling lazily from chimneys. There was something achingly honest about the place, something that contrasted so sharply with the estates she was used to visiting back home.
And amongst it all was a chapel, one that stood near the edge of the village, half-hidden by a stand of wind-bent yew trees. It was small and ancient, its stone walls softened by moss and lichen, the roof sloping low as if bowing to the land itself. A simple wooden cross stood above the door, weathered silver by time and storms.
“Oh,” she breathed, stopping without realizing it.
Halvard turned. “What is it?”
“That,” she said, pointing. “The chapel. It’s… very beautiful.”
It was not beautiful in the grand English sense. There were no spires, no stained glass, no gilded doors. But it felt real—like something that had endured.
Elsie remembered the way her heart all but stopped when Halvard called her his wife. Every time she received a reminder of their ruse, it broke something open inside her—something tender and aching that would not let her rest.
Now that feeling was back, just as powerful as it had been the previous night.
Halvard followed her gaze and something unreadable crossed his face.
“Will ye marry me?” he asked, the words rushing out of his mouth like a waterfall.
Elsie stared at him, struck speechless for what seemed like eternity.
When she managed to speak, all she said was, “What?”
Halvard did not smile. He did not laugh or retreat behind humor. He only looked at her with that steady, unsettling intensity that always made her feel as though he were seeing too much.
“We already are,” he continued quietly. “In the eyes o’ the king, o’ his men, o’ every lord who’s heard the tale. This—” he gestured vaguely, encompassing the village, the sea, the world that seemed suddenly very small—“is only truth catchin’ up tae the lie.”
Elsie’s heart began to pound, excitement and terror mixing inside her. She wanted nothing more than to be his wife. It was all she had hoped for.
And yet, the possibility of it terrified her as well.
“This is risky,” she said, the words tumbling out too fast. “If the Crown discovers…”
“They already believe us wed,” Halvard said. “Naethin’ changes but the honesty o’ it.”
Elsie searched his face for doubt, for calculation, but she found neither.
“And if you regret it?” she whispered.
