For the first time since she had known him, Halvard looked moved. He was not shaken, but something warm and solemn passed across his face, as though a door inside him had quietly closed behind her, sealing her safely within.
“Ye did right,” he said. He reached for her, resting his hands on her shoulders, solid and steady. “Ye could have kept this from me. But ye didnae.”
Elsie’s eyes burned with unshed tears. “I was afraid you’d forbid it.”
“I will,” he said without apology. “Ye are nae meetin’ him alone.”
“I know,” she said again. Then, firmer, “But you cannot go in my place. He will not speak to you… only to me. He made that clear.”
Halvard’s brow furrowed. “Then I will stand with ye.”
“No,” Elsie said, shaking her head. “He’ll vanish the moment he sees you. Or worse, he’ll act.” She drew a slow breath, steadying herself. “We do this together. But he must believe I am alone.”
Understanding dawned slowly in Halvard’s eyes—and with it, resistance. Elsie could see it—the way he warred with himself, apart of him considering the plan reasonable and perhaps even their only option, and another part of him desperate to keep her safe.
“Ye’ll be watched,” he said in the end. “Every step.”
“Yes.”
“An’ if he so much as breathes wrong?—”
“You’ll be there,” she finished. “Close enough to strike. But far enough that he believes he has me.”
The candle flickered, throwing their shadows long across the wall. Outside, the wind whispered through the village like a warning. Halvard looked away for a moment, his hands tightening on her shoulders. When he looked back, the decision was written plainly across his face—and the reluctance under it cut deeper than any refusal.
“I dinnae like this,” he said.
“I know.”
“But I trust ye,” he added. “An’ that means I must trust yer courage as well as me own strength.”
Elsie swallowed hard, trying to choke down the swell of emotion that threatened to rise up her throat. “Thank you.”
Halvard leaned forward then, resting his forehead briefly against hers—a gesture so intimate it stole her breath.
“We will be watchin’,” he assured her. “Sten, the men, me. Ye will never be truly alone.”
Elsie’s eyes closed for a heartbeat, drawing comfort from the promise. Midnight was almost upon them, and whatever waited in the dark behind the tavern would not find her undefended.
The night felt wrong, the air around them too crisp, too still, too quiet. Halvard felt it the moment they stepped into the narrow lane behind the tavern, where the sea’s breath curled in cold and damp against the stone. Midnight had stripped the village of its warmth; the laughter was gone, the shutters were drawn tight; only the distant creak of a sign and the low surge of waves carried through the dark.
He hated this plan.
He hated every heartbeat that carried Elsie farther from his reach.
She walked ahead of them, her cloak drawn close, her steps measured and careful. To any watching eye, she was alone. To Halvard, she was a thread stretched too thin, pulling him taut with every step she took.
He and Sten lingered in the shadows near the edge of the square, men fanned out farther still—silent, waiting. Halvard kept to the dark, his breathing slow, his body coiled like a snake’s. His hand never strayed far from his sword.
If anythin’ happens tae her, I will burn this place tae the ground.
Elsie stopped near the rear wall of the tavern, where refuse barrels and stacked crates cast long, broken shadows. She stood straight, her chin lifted as if in defiance, a woman bracing herself for the worst.
A figure stepped from the darkness opposite her; the same man from before—plain, forgettable, dangerous in his anonymity.
Halvard’s vision tunneled. He shifted his weight, ready to strike, every fiber of his being urging him to throw himself at his target. It took all of his willpower to stop himself from doing so.
The man spoke too quietly for Halvard to hear, but he watched Elsie’s posture change—the way her shoulders stiffened, the way she folded her hands as if to keep them from trembling.
