“Or he thinks it keeps ye soft,” her mother said.
Erica had no tidy answer for that.
She stopped by the small window that looked over the inner yard, as if more light would help. Alex had his sword in motion again. She saw the turn of his wrist and the small step that made the next cut land where he wanted it. It steadied her for one breath and then did the opposite.
“We just need to be more careful.”
“I daenae ken what else to expect from him,” Erica said. “He never says more than he must.”
“That is the point,” her mother said.
They turned toward the stairs, their steps soft on the stone. A pair of maids came down with sheets in their arms and stepped to the side so the ladies could pass.
Leah waited at the landing with a small basket.
“Do ye need anything, me Lady?” she asked.
“Nay,” Erica said. “Thank ye. I will be in me room for a bit. I hear Fergus wants a candle count. If ye find him, tell him I will bring it later this afternoon.”
“Aye,” Leah said, before walking away.
They reached the corridor that led to the chambers. The air there always carried a cool trace from the north wall.
Lady Bryden rested her hand on Erica’s shoulder, a comfort and a reminder at the same time.
“Ye will be fine here, lass,” she said. “But if anything goes wrong…”
“I will leave,” Erica finished. “I ken, Maither.”
Her mother’s hand squeezed once. “Ye have done well,” she said. “But trust nay one but those who prove themselves. Understand? Laird MacMillan has proved himself.”
“Aye,” Erica said.
They stopped by her door. Her mother waited a breath longer, as if she might say more, then nodded and went to her own room. Erica watched her go, with the letter in her hand and the weight in her chest that had not moved since the maid had handed it to her.
She went inside, letting her thoughts crowd her mind.
Maybe her mother was right. Maybe there was more under the polite lines than she wanted to admit. Maybe MacGee’s fear was less about truth and more about losing his hold. Maybe sending the letter here was his way of tying a string around her wrist to see if he could pull.
She walked to the window, since she had found that looking out steadied her more than sitting still. She rested her palm on the sill and stared ahead.
The pressure in her chest refused to ease, but she knew better than to let it slow her down.Especially in a moment like this.
Late afternoon sat soft in the study. The fire was low, only a red seam under ash. Alex stood over the desk, maps spread, ledgers stacked where he had placed them. His eye settled on the maps as he tried to decide what other security measures they could take.
He was still thinking when a light tap sounded at the door.
He did not look up. “One moment,” he said, eye on the margin.
Silence followed for almost ten seconds before the tap sounded again, this time a touch firmer. He pressed his thumb on the border of the map to keep it flat.
“One moment,” he repeated.
A breath, then a third tap, quick as a bird at the pane. He let the pen rest and lifted his head.“Enter,” he called.
Nothing. Only the slow tick of heat in the grate and the soft hiss where a coal settled.
He bent again to the ink. Then the fourth tap came.
