She stayed close to him, closer than she ever had. When the path narrowed, her fingers brushed his sleeve.
He did not mention it. He matched his pace to hers and took the side closest to the hedges that lined the path, leaving her the safer ground.
A cart trundled toward them, wheels biting stone. He shifted his body to block her from the rim and held her there until it passed.He did not make a show of it. He simply did it. Like her own knight in shining armor.
They must have walked for hours or even minutes; it was hard for her to tell. She simply couldn’t stop turning to see if they were being followed. It was a good thing the twins had gone ahead before any of this started.
Doing this with them would have been a whole different story and would have probably placed them into a whole pool of worry. She was thinking it, and the momentary flashes of relief she saw on Alex’s face told her that he was doing the same.
After a while, the gate rose in front of them, dark under the bar. Voices faded as they stepped under the arch. The air here was cooler, and the yard teemed with men and buckets and a pair of boys sweeping grit into a pile.
None of it mattered. Alex stopped just inside and asked a guard to fetch his man-at-arms.
Calum was there in minutes. “Aye, me Laird. Ye have returned.”
“Double the watch at the east wall till midnight,” Alex ordered. His voice stayed low. Every man near them heard it anyway. “Stagger the change. Eyes on the road, the bend, and the orchard. Pull two from the stores if ye must. I need this place to be a fort.”
“Aye, me Laird,” Calum said.
“The gate needs to be at half bar after sunset,” Alex continued. “Make sure the carts are checked and the men are searched. If any bastard complains, he can speak to me in the morning.”
“Aye.”
“Keep an eye on the north tower as well. We have to imagine that we can be breached from anywhere, nae just the front gate.”
“Aye.”
Calum did not ask why. He nodded and went.
On the wall, a sentry turned his head and widened his stance. The yard took the shape of order faster than a shout could travel.
Erica saw backs straighten. She saw hands rise to shield lines of sight from the sun and heard the sound of a pail settle on the floor without a clank. The subtle but noticeable change in the atmosphere steadied her more than any kind word might have.
Alex did not slow down. He crossed the yard and went up the steps. Two servants moved to follow, eyes bright with questions. He turned once, sharp. “Nay. Ye can take this inside and then stay put.”
They stopped where they stood, taking the portrait. No one argued. No one tried again.
He led Erica down the passageway to her chamber and opened the door. She stepped inside, and the door clicked shut behind them.
The room was as it had been in the morning, neat and plain. The fire held a small bed of coals. The window showed a strip of yard wall and a square of grey sky. She fixed her eyes on the table because it was something to look at that did not look back.
A knock came, and she almost jumped out of her skin.
“Relax. ‘Tis probably just the maid.”
Erica swallowed but remained as on edge as she could and watched as Alex opened the door a hand’s width. Sure enough, a maid stood with a tray laden with bread, a small pot of soup, a jug of water, and two clean cloths folded neatly. He took the tray and shut the door with his heel.
He set the tray down and checked each item. Then he uncapped the jug, drank a mouthful, and swallowed. He poured water into a cup and passed it to her. “Drink.”
Her hand shook and caused the rim to click once against her tooth. She hated the sound of it. She kept the cup steady with both hands and took three small sips.
Alex tore a piece of bread and set it near her elbow so she would not have to reach far. Then he lifted the pot lid and let the steam rise, before covering it again. He looked at the cloths, picked oneup, dipped it in the basin, wrung it out with even pressure, and lowered himself to one knee in front of her.
“Here,” he said, and placed the dry cloth in her hands.
Her fingers trembled against the weave. She had not known they were shaking until the cloth made it plain.
Alex brought the wet cloth to her face. His touch was careful and deliberate. He wiped the dust from her cheekbone, the corner beside her nose, the curve under her mouth. He worked down the line of her jaw to her neck. He paused at the spot beneath her ear long enough to avoid pressing against her fluttering pulse, then moved on.
