For the briefest moment, Duncan paused. But it was only long enough to step inside Iain’s guard, hook his blade, and send it skittering across the floor with a sharp clatter.
“There,” Duncan announced, lowering his sword. “That’s care enough.”
Iain stared at his empty hand, then looked up and laughed. “Just a good host, are ye?”
“That is precisely what I am,” Duncan replied, turning away to retrieve his cloak. “Now pick up yer sword before ye embarrass yerself further.”
Iain grinned unabashedly as he did just that.
Sleep refused him that night.
Duncan lay staring at the darkened ceiling, listening to the slow hush of the castle settling around him. Every sound found him awake and waiting. He turned onto his side, then onto his back again, but rest would not come.
He had not seen Elaina all day. She had vanished into the rhythm of the castle as if by design: moving early, working late, leaving no trace behind her but the faint scent of herbs in the corridors and the quiet efficiency of someone determined not to be noticed.
Avoiding him again, he suspected.
That morning, he had corrected at least one mistake. He had given new orders. She was to take her meals wherever she pleased. She was right. She was not his prisoner.
Still, knowing that did little to ease the restlessness that gnawed at him. There was something about her, something she carried close and guarded fiercely and every instinct he possessed told him it mattered. The only question was how much and why.
His mind returned to it again and again, circling the thought as though persistence alone might uncover what she had so carefully concealed. Yet the more he considered it, the more certain he became that whatever it was, it was no small thing, because Elaina did not seem the sort of woman to guard trifles so closely.
Rubbing a hand down his face, Duncan finally pushed himself out of bed. The chill of the stone floor crept into his feet as he pulled on his shirt and moved quietly through the corridor. The castle was nearly silent at that hour, the sort of silence that encouraged thought rather than rest.
He made his way to the kitchen, following the low glow of the hearth, which was spilling warm light across the stone floor. But as soon as he stopped at the threshold, he realized he was not alone.
Elaina was standing by the fire with her sleeves rolled up. A guard stood in the shadow to her left but moved out of the room discreetly with a nod as soon as he saw his laird. She was intent on whatever simmered gently in a small pot. The warm, earthy scent of rosemary filled the chamber. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sharp, calming fragrance settle around him.
She turned at the faint sound of his step, got startled, and the spoon slipped from her fingers, clattering loudly against the stone. She gasped, with her hand flying to her chest.
Duncan lifted both hands at once, smiling. “I didnae mean tae startle ye.”
She exhaled sharply, visibly steadying herself, and bent to retrieve the spoon. “It’s nae yer fault. That’s on me.”
But it wasn’t. He saw it then with painful clarity: the way her shoulders remained tense even after the moment passed and the way her eyes flicked to the shadows before returning to him. Fear lived in her body as habit now, woven into waking hours just as tightly as it haunted her sleep.
He stepped closer, careful to announce himself with each movement. “Isn’t it late fer brewing potions?”
She straightened, stirring again. “Late is when I work best. The castle is quieter. It makes it easier tae think.”
He nodded, understanding her more than she knew. Silence had always been his ally as well. For a heartbeat, he wanted to ask her about the nightmares, the way terror seized her without warning, the past that stalked her even here. He wanted to tell her he understood what it meant to carry ghosts, that strength and fear were not opposites.
But he did not. She would see it as an attempt to pry, or even worse, asweakness.So, he swallowed the words and kept his concern to himself.
“Smells calming,” he said instead.
“It’s meant tae be,” she replied, not looking at him. “For sleep.” When she glanced over her shoulder again, she frowned slightly. “What brought ye down here at this hour?”
Duncan hesitated only a moment. “I couldnae sleep,” he explained. “I came for warm milk.”
The admission seemed to surprise her. Then she let out a soft laugh, which both thrilled him and unnerved him with the effect it had on him.
“That is… unexpectedly human of ye, me laird.”
His mouth curved. “I try nae tae disappoint.”
She turned fully toward him then. “If ye like, ye can have some of this. It will help more than milk alone.”
