“Aye,” she said, wishing she were wearing skirts so that she could clench her hands in them.
He motioned with his hand. “After ye. I have tae put on mah boots.”
Finley turned on her heel and walked out of the room, her cheeks burning. Why did she feel like she didn’t want to leave at all?
After dinner, Finley walked outside to take in some of the night air, her head buzzing with the ale she had consumed with her meal. It was because her aunt had put Erik next to her at the table. Her traitorous body wouldn’t forget the way that his arms had been around her, the smell of him, and it had driven her to drink far more than she normally did.
Now she had a pleasant buzzing in her head, her limbs feeling like mush, and Finley knew that she would pay for it in the morning when her head would be pounding, and she would be forced to rise early.
“Finley.”
Finley closed her eyes at the sound of his voice. “Go away.”
His chuckle followed, and soon he was standing next to her, his hands clasped behind his back.
“I just wanted tae thank ye for earlier. I dinnae know how long I would have been in there if ye hadnae come along.”
“Ye’re welcome,” she replied evenly, staring up at the stars. “Is that all?”
“Nay,” he answered. “Can I walk with ye?”
She should say no. Having him this close and her mind as addled as it was, she didn’t know how to handle him.
But it felt nice to have someone else to walk with. “Aye, ye can,” she said softly.
He didn’t respond but instead fell in step beside her as she walked the circle around the keep. “Do ye do this often?” he asked as the guards called out greetings.
Finley smiled. “Aye, every night when the weather is nice. Well, since mah aunt took over, that is.” It became a way for her to clear her mind after dinner, to think about her next day, or to think through something that was troubling her.
“I do this back home,” he said softly, surprising her. “I’m quite restless when I dinnae have a sword in mah hands.”
Finley could relate. She often felt like she was missing something when she wasn’t in the sparring circle or holding her sword aloft.
“I cannae sleep some nights,” she admitted as they made their way to the backside of the keep, away from the gates that led to the village.
“Especially after battles.” She had only been in a few with the former laird, but they were enough to cause nightmares for months after.
“Tell me how ye became a warrior,” Erik said.
She stopped and looked at him, seeing nothing but curiosity on his face. “Why? Because I am a lass?”
He chuckled. “Nay. Because I am curious how Finley became a warrior. Ye being a lass has nothing tae do with it.”
She placed her hand on her hip. “Tell me yer story instead.”
Something akin to pain crossed his face, and she immediately regretted asking him for his story.
“’Tis not a story tae tell aloud,” he finally said, blowing out a breath as he looked away from her.
But he told her, and by the time he was finished, Finley had tears in her eyes.
“Erik,” she breathed, her heart hammering against her ribcage, “I’m sorry.”
He chuckled, some of the pain clearing from his expression, but he still didn’t meet her eyes, as if he were embarrassed to do so.
“’Tis not yer fault, lass. We all have our own story tae tell.”
“Nay,” she said, reaching out to touch his forearm. Tension vibrated under her hand, and she realized that he was as hard as a statue. “Ye survived.”
