“Good morning, me lady,” he greeted her courteously.
“Good morning,” she greeted him back.
Then, she stepped into the corridor and set toward the stairs, intent on the kitchen, already cataloguing in her mind what she might find there: water heated just enough, perhaps, and herbs she could coax into something calming.
But behind her, boots sounded. She slowed, then stopped altogether.
When she turned, the guard halted as well, leaving a respectful distance between them. “Is there something amiss, me lady?”
“Must ye follow me?” she asked, keeping her tone even.
“Aye,” he replied at once, keeping his tone respectful and polite. “I was given orders tae dae so.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m only going tae the kitchen. I wish tae prepare some medicine fer meself. Ye could remain outside me chamber.”
He shifted his weight, discomfort flickering across his face. “I’m sorry, me lady. Truly, I am. But me orders are tae follow ye wherever ye go.”
The words struck deeper than they should have. She could feel heat rise in her chest, sharp and unwelcome. The stone corridor blurred for a moment, and she smelled not bread and hearth-smoke, but cold halls and iron keys. She remembered servants reporting her movements, her father’s eyes always knowing and always waiting.
Protection, they had called it.
Her fingers curled into her sleeves.
“I willnae run away,” she said quietly. “Nor am I a threat.”
“I ken that,” the guard said, utterly earnestly. “But orders are orders.”
Elaina drew a slow breath, steadying herself. Arguing further would lead nowhere, and she refused to be followed like a shadow through the castle halls. She lifted her chin.
“Very well,” she said. “Then tell me, where can I find the laird?”
The guard hesitated only a moment. “In his study, me lady.”
“Good,” Elaina replied crisply. “Then ye may show me the way.”
His discomfort was immediate and obvious. He shifted his stance, glancing down the corridor as though hoping someone else might intervene. No one did.
“Aye, me lady,” he managed to mutter.
He turned and led the way. The study was closer than she had expected, just down the corridor, revealed by a heavy wooden door set into the wall. The guard stopped before it, clearly relieved to go no farther.
Elaina did not hesitate. She knocked once, firmly.
“Enter!” came Duncan’s voice from within.
She opened the door and stepped inside, the words leaving her before courtesy could stop them.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded. “Am I a prisoner here?”
Duncan’s eyes widened the moment those words left her mouth. It was not in surprise, because he knew exactly what she was referring to, but rather due to the sudden, unwelcome realization that he had misjudged how quickly she would feel it.
“Elaina…” he began.
But she was already standing there, with her chin lifted in rebellion and her eyes bright with fury. The sight of her like that struck him far harder than it ought to have. Angry, unyielding, alive with defiance… she was utterly mesmerizing when provoked, and the knowledge did nothing to improve his situation.
He reined himself in at once, forcing his mind back to the present moment and away from the dangerous pull of her presence.
“Ye are nae a prisoner,” he explained as much as reason allowed. “But ye are nae an ally yet either…”
