Page 16 of Married to the Cruel Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #5)

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K eith stood in the shadows just beyond the Great Hall, unmoving, save for the slight twitch in his jaw as the moonlight filtered through the narrow stone windows above. The torchlight in the corridor danced behind him, but he paid it no mind.

She’s gone. The damned woman actually escaped.

He’d left the door unlocked on purpose. A test. A dare , if he was being honest with himself. He wanted to see if she’d take the bait—and she had. Not long after the keep fell silent, after the last hearth had burned low and the servants had retreated to their chambers, Ersie had slipped out of her room without a sound.

He’d heard her soft steps—lighter than most warriors’, quiet enough that even the dogs didn’t stir. But he had heard. The need to control the chaos of her and the chaos of this world had led him to watch over her.

Keith stepped away from the wall and followed her. He moved silently, the years of blood and battle having trained his body to drift through the halls like a shadow. His boots made no sound against the cool flagstone. No guard called out to him. No maid saw him. Even the mice kept to the shadows when he walked.

He tracked her with ease—a feather-light trail of disturbed dust, the ghost of movement in the torches that lined the outer corridor. Through the kitchen vestibule, past the servants’ garden. He paused by the old chapel ruins, the breath of the night brushing his face. The scent of heather and steel clung to the air like a memory.

Then, he saw her.

She stood alone on the edge of the keep’s outer wall, a dark silhouette outlined by silvery light. Her arms were crossed, but not tightly. Not defensive. Her head was tilted back as she looked up at the stars above, their reflection mirrored faintly in the loch below.

She wasn’t trying to escape. She was searching. And Keith stayed by the ruins, just watching.

The moon turned the tip of her braid into molten silver. The breeze caught her cloak and ruffled it like the wing of a restless raven. She turned her face slightly, and for a moment, her expression was completely unguarded.

Not the warrior. Not the commander. Not the blade-sharp second-in-command of Laird MacAitken.

Just a woman standing at the edge of something he couldn’t name.

He took a step closer, silent as the dead, but still her head snapped toward the sound, her eyes sharp, her body shifting into readiness. He’d seen her draw her blade faster than men twice her size. She would strike if she felt threatened.

But she didn’t draw her blade.

She squinted into the dark, and then, with a muttered curse, turned back to the wall. “If ye’re goin’ to skulk in the shadows like some bleedin’ ghost, ye may as well come out where I can see ye.”

Keith stepped into the moonlight. “Are ye always this pleasant when ye break the rules?”

Ersie didn’t flinch. “Depends on who is settin’ them.”

Keith exhaled, folding his arms across his broad chest. “I left the door unlocked. Figured I’d see what ye’d do.”

“Well, now ye ken.”

“I do.”

They stared at one another for a long beat. Neither spoke. The moon hovered above them like a guardian, casting long shadows behind their boots.

Keith’s voice was softer when he spoke. “Ye werenae plannin’ to run.”

“Nay,” she said. “Just wanted to see the keep. The loch. What it looked like at night… for the investigation.”

His jaw flexed. She was more like him than she knew.

“I watch the grounds most nights,” he admitted. “It calms me.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “A man like ye needs calmin’, does he nae?”

“Aye. More than ye think.”

Ersie stepped forward, slowly, until only a handspan separated them. “Ye came out here to stop me?”

“Nay,” he said. “To see if ye’d come back.”

“And if I didnae?”

Keith tilted his head, a smug smirk playing on his lips. “I’d have kenned where ye were, lass.”

Her lips parted. That fire sparked in her eyes again—that impossible defiance. “What is it about me that makes ye so certain I’d need findin’? I’m nae a lost lamb.”

“Nay,” he said, his voice dipping low. “Ye’re worse. Ye’re the wolf that strays from the den.”

He could feel her breath when she spoke next. “And what does Laird MacAuley do with strayin’ wolves?”

Keith raised his hand before he could stop himself. Not to grab, not to restrain—just to touch. His fingers hovered near her cheek, just shy of contact. “Depends if they bite.”

“And if they dinnae?”

“Then I ask.”

The next words weren’t a threat. They weren’t a command. They were something else entirely.

“Stay. Please.”

She blinked. Slowly. Her mouth moved, but no sound came. Ersie searched his eyes, looking for the trick. The ploy. The power play. But there was none.

It was only him. Silent. Standing in the moonlight, showing more vulnerability than he’d shown anyone in years.

Ersie’s gaze softened. Her brow creased as if the request hit her somewhere deep—deeper than she had expected.

Finally, she nodded. “Aye. I’ll stay.”

Keith stepped back. Not out of fear. Not out of relief. But out of respect .

Without a word, he turned and led the way back to the keep. And this time, she followed.

Ersie walked beside him in silence. Not ahead or behind him, but beside him. And that alone was enough to make his thoughts tangle into knots.

The air between them was too still—not empty but charged. Like the sky before a storm, when the wind forgot how to blow and all the birds fell silent. He kept his steps slow and measured. She matched him without effort, stride for stride, as if they’d done this a hundred times before.

But they hadn’t. And he’d never walked beside any woman like this.

Her presence buzzed at the edge of his awareness, an ache he couldn’t touch. His eyes drifted toward her more than once—always cautious, always sideways—but she never turned. She kept her gaze fixed on the loch ahead, the black water lit by moonlight like a blade left out in the cold.

“What were ye lookin’ for?” he asked at last, his voice low and rough.

Her eyebrow rose slightly, but she didn’t answer right away.

Then, “I dinnae ken. Maybe I just… wanted to see it for meself. What the night feels like here. If it’s as heavy as it seems in daylight.”

He looked at her properly then. “And is it?”

Ersie tilted her head, thoughtful. “Heavier, maybe. But honest. Darkness doesnae lie.”

Keith’s lips twitched—not quite a smile, but something close to it. “Neither do I.”

“Then why did ye order me to stay put?”

The question cut deeper than he had expected. He let the silence stretch, let the weight of her words hang between them.

“Ye dinnae follow any line I draw. Nae out of defiance. Just… ye walk yer own,” he said finally.

She looked at him then. Really looked at him. Her expression was unreadable.

“I’m nae yer prisoner, Keith,” she said, her voice softer.

“I ken that,” he replied quietly.

A rustle of wind stirred the reeds by the loch’s edge. An owl called once, far in the trees. Keith turned his eyes to the water.

Ersie walked a few steps more before stopping suddenly. Keith halted beside her.

The loch stretched wide before them, the stars caught in its still surface. It was beautiful in that lonely, brutal kind of way—like the sea, or war, or truth.

She stepped closer to the edge, just far enough that the breeze caught her braid again, whipping it gently over her shoulder. Then, she turned toward him.

“Why do I feel like I’m bein’ hunted?” she asked, her voice so low it nearly vanished into the wind.

He didn’t answer because she was being hunted… by him. And not for blood or punishment or power, but for answers.

Why she made his chest tighten every time she smiled—which wasn’t often.

Why her voice lingered after she left a room.

Why he could still taste her name in his mouth even after hours of silence.

“I’m nae huntin’ ye,” he said, but the lie rang hollow.

Her lips parted slightly. As if she didn’t believe him but didn’t want to challenge him yet.

She took a step closer. “Ye look at me like ye want to,” she whispered.

Keith exhaled slowly, his control slipping like snow through his fingers. “I do.”

The space between them shrank.

They stood at the loch’s edge, the wind folding around them, the stars blazing above. His hand rose again, hesitant this time, until his knuckles brushed the line of her jaw.

She didn’t pull away.

His fingers traced the curve of her cheek, his callused thumb brushing her skin as if memorizing the feel of it. His other hand hovered near her hip, not touching, not quite.

Her eyes, God help him, burned —fierce and bright and terrifying.

“I could kiss ye right now,” he said, his voice gravelly.

“Aye,” she replied, her chin tilted up, her eyes still locked onto his. “Ye could.”

A beat passed. Then another. And then he stepped back. Just half a pace, but it was enough. Ersie blinked, surprised.

They stood like that a moment longer, hands hovering near each other, surrounded by moonlight and cold air and stars.

Then, she pulled her hand away and turned toward the keep.

And once again, he followed.

The castle loomed quiet in the night, all slumbering stone and the slow creak of the wind winding through the eaves.

Keith led her through the side passage—the long one near the chapel ruins—not because it was the quickest, but because it kept them hidden from the guards and the servants. He didn’t want anyone to see her return, cloak windblown, cheeks kissed red from the cold, boots scuffed with damp soil from the lochside.

He didn’t want to give the clansfolk anything to whisper about.

Ersie walked in silence beside him, but it was a silence weighed with thoughts, not bitterness. Her braid bounced gently with each step, catching faint glimmers of torchlight as they passed. He kept pace with her, not looking at her face—not yet.

He still felt the ghost of her hand over his. The warmth of it had settled into his bones like an ember, faint but steady.

He hadn’t meant to let that happen.

But he hadn’t stopped it either.

And now… now there was no going back.

The hall leading to her chamber stretched long and dark, lit only by the pale shimmer of the moon through the high slits in the walls. Keith reached the heavy oak door first and paused, his hand resting on the iron handle. He didn’t open it right away.

Instead, he turned to her.

Ersie stood a pace behind him, her arms crossed lightly over her chest. She wasn’t scowling, wasn’t posturing. Just waiting.

“I should have never force ye to stay inside,” he said, his voice low.

Her eyebrows rose slightly. “No, ye shouldnae have.”

Keith nodded, his jaw tight. “I dinnae believe in cages. Nae for beasts, and nae for women braver than most men I’ve kenned.”

That surprised her.

Her gaze softened. Just slightly.

“Ye werenae wrong to test me,” she relented. “But ye’d better nae do it again.”

“I willnae,” he said.

They stood in the hush of that corridor for a long moment, the silence almost tender.

Keith ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “I’ve never done this,” he muttered.

“Done what?” she asked, tilting her head.

“This. Talked like this. Cared this much.” His voice turned hard, but not at her—at himself. “I was trained to lead, nae to trust. Nae to ask.”

Ersie didn’t flinch. “And yet ye did.”

Keith looked at her then. Full-on. None of the guarded glances or stolen looks from earlier.

“I dinnae ken what ye are to me,” he admitted. “But ye’re nae just another fighter. Ye’re nae just another laird’s second-in-command. And God help me, if somethin’ happened to ye out there tonight?—”

Her brow creased.

“I can handle meself, Keith.”

“I ken ye can,” he snapped. “That’s nae what I meant.” Then, quieter, he added, “It’s what it would do to me if ye didnae come back.”

The words echoed off the stone walls like a vow.

He hadn’t planned to say them. Hadn’t planned any of this.

But there it was. Raw. Real. And hanging in the air between them like something sacred.

Ersie’s breath caught. Her posture shifted, her arms lowering slightly. She took a step forward. “What is it ye’re askin’ of me?”

Keith turned the handle but didn’t push the door open.

“I’m askin’ ye nae to make me chase ye again. Nae because I need control. Nae because I think I own ye. But because the thought of ye disappearin’ nearly broke somethin’ within me.”

She was so close now that he could see her throat bob as she swallowed. Could see the pulse tick just beneath her jaw.

“Can I trust ye?” he asked.

The words weren’t forceful. Weren’t barked. They were… open. Frighteningly so.

Her lips parted, and for a second, he thought she might deflect—joke, dodge, brush it off like she’d done before.

But she didn’t.

Ersie stepped forward again, close enough now that he could feel the warmth of her.

“Aye,” she said. “Ye can trust me.”

Keith stared at her, searching for any crack, any sign of deceit.

He found none.

He nodded slowly and pushed the door open.

The chamber inside was still. The fire had long since died, but the embers glowed faintly in the hearth. Her bed remained untouched, the woolen blanket smooth across the mattress. The air held the faint scent of her skin—salt, leather, and lavender.

Ersie crossed the threshold and turned back to him once she was inside.

“I’ll nae lock yer door then,” he teased.

She smirked. “Good.”

“And if ye want to leave, walk through the front gate. I’ll nae stop ye. I’ll only ask that ye tell me first.”

Something flickered in her eyes. Regret? Maybe. Or maybe the beginning of understanding.

She nodded again.

Keith lingered a moment longer in the doorway.

He should’ve turned around and left. Instead, he reached out and touched the frame next to the handle. Gently. Almost reverently.

Then, he looked back at her.

“Ye wanted to ken what this place feels like at night,” he said. “What it becomes when the torches go out.”

Ersie’s lips curved faintly. “Aye. What’s the answer?”

Keith stepped back, letting the torchlight illuminate half of his scarred face.

“It becomes honest,” he said. “Like ye.”

She didn’t smile. Not fully. But her eyes said everything.

“Goodnight, Ersie,” he said.

“Goodnight, Keith.”

And then he closed the door.

Unlatched.

Unbarred.

Just as it should be.

And for the first time in longer than he could remember, Keith walked away from a woman’s door without fear in his chest. Only something far more dangerous.

His boots scraped quietly across the stone as he walked not to his chambers, not to the war room or the forge, but up the narrow, winding stairs at the west end of the keep, toward the battlements.

The chill in the air bit sharper up there, but he welcomed it. The night sky stretched above him, endless and uncaring, pinpricked with stars. A gust of wind tugged at his tunic and reminded him he was alive.

God, what am I doing?

Keith braced his hands on the edge of the rampart, breathing hard, his eyes fixed on the distant shimmer of the loch far below.

He wasn’t built for this. Whatever this was.

He didn’t court. He didn’t pine. He didn’t hope .

He commanded. He bled. He endured.

And yet… he hadn’t been able to look away from her all night. Hadn’t been able to let her walk those grounds alone. Hadn’t been able to stop himself from asking—not demanding—that she stay.

He’d even said please.

Please.

He hadn’t said that word in years.

Not since his son died.

He didn’t ask anymore.

But tonight, with Ersie, it had slipped out like a confession.

Keith closed his eyes, the wind carving cold lines down his neck. Her voice echoed in his skull—calm, strong, steady.

“Aye. Ye can trust me.”

Trust. The word was a blade in his gut. Not because she didn’t mean it—he believed she did—but because it was so damn fragile. Trust wasn’t armor. It was skin . And she’d just handed hers to him like a gift.

What would he do with it? Protect it? Or tear it apart trying not to need it?

Keith pushed off the rampart and paced, his fists clenched at his sides.

He wanted her.

God, I want her.

Not just her body—though that haunted him too—but her mind, her fire, her damn spirit . The way she challenged him, matched him, made him forget what it meant to be feared and reminded him what it meant to feel .

But she wasn’t some conquest. She wasn’t a prize or a peace treaty.

She was Ersie Barcley.

And if he ruined that trust—if he took even one wrong step—he’d lose her. She’d leave.

And he wouldn’t follow.

Not because he didn’t want to.

But because he wouldn’t deserve to.

Keith let out a sharp breath and dropped to the bench near the parapet. He leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees, his hands laced together tight enough to make his knuckles crack.

The keep was silent. Only the wind and the distant call of owls marked the hour.

He should sleep.

He wouldn’t.

Instead, his mind raced.

He grimaced and raked a hand through his hair.

This would’ve been easier if she’d just escaped. If she’d run and made him the villain. That he could handle. That he knew how to be. But this?

This thing forming between them—it had no shape. No precedent. No armor.

It was two people—two damaged, hard, unyielding people—trying not to destroy something delicate.