Page 19 of Married to the Cruel Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #5)

19

G et a grip, Ersie!

Her mind was racing.

Ground yerself in reality.

She didn’t speak, not at first, but then she pulled back slightly to look at him, hesitating so as to not ruin the moment.

“Rona. It’s what still bothers me the most,” she said, her voice husky and quiet.

He blinked, then gave a soft grunt.

She nodded. “Ye ken? She was there, and then she wasnae. Nay trace. And nay one in the keep asked questions either. It’s like she was… erased.”

Keith exhaled hard, and his jaw set tightly. “I looked. That’s why I ken we shouldnae go to Kitarne. We’ve been warned to stay away and to stop askin’ questions; they’re sour that their kin was killed, and they hold it over me head.”

“Is there any possibility that she was the one who did this?”

“Nay. Stubborn as he is, Laird Kitarne wrote and told me that he found and questioned the lass himself. The loss of his daughter was one thing, but the loss of his grandson was a completely different matter.”

“But what if? — ”

“Ersie,” Keith said, pulling her closer to him. “It wasnae her. Promise me ye willnae go after her . ”

A loaded silence fell between them as she chewed on her cheek.

Eventually, she sighed in resignation. “I willnae go after her, I trust ye. And as I said, I cannae suspect Mrs. Morrigan either. I think there’s something still with the guards and mayhap something else we’re missing.”

Keith’s fingers twitched where they curled at her hip. His expression remained unreadable. Then, he said, “We will speak to the guards at the southern border after the festival. See if anyone remembers anything from that night. Anything about the maid. Anything .”

Ersie nodded slowly. “And if they do?”

He turned his gaze back to her. “Then we follow the truth.”

A swift pang of sadness pricked the back of Ersie’s eyes because she knew that once that happened—once they discovered the truth—she would have to leave.

Does he seem eager for me to leave?

“Come, lass,” Keith said, leaning forward and standing before offering her a hand.

Her eyes landed on his and then his hand, before flicking back up to his gaze. “Aye, we’ll follow the truth,” she said, placing her hand in his and letting him pull her up.

“Good. Now, let’s get back before our absence is noticed.”

Keith kept a firm grip on her hand as he led them back through the winding trees and out into the clearing they had left quite a while ago.

The festival still roared on, if only a bit more wild with intoxication than when they left it. The scent of roasted boar and peat smoke wafted to her, and the last tendrils of sunlight stretched across the hills.

She clutched her cloak as the wind tugged mischievously at her braid. Keith was lost in thought while he led them back to the festivities.

“Me Laird! Me Laiirrrrrrd!” a drunken Tomas called out, stumbling toward them as they emerged from the trees. “Ma’am,” he hiccuped. “Ye both must stay the night! The festival willnae end until the dawn, and there’s more wine than we ken what to do with.”

Ersie opened her mouth to protest, but Keith held up a hand. That hand. “Tomas, we dinnae wish to impose?—”

“Posh nonsense.” The village leader waved a wild hand between them. “The people wish to celebrate with their Laird and his… lovely guest . And we have already prepared a place for ye both. Warm hearth. Clean linens.”

Ersie met Keith’s gaze. He looked grim, hesitant.

She leaned in and murmured, “We refuse, we offend. They’re proud folk—ye said so yerself.”

Keith let out a slow breath. “Aye, man. Very well.”

Cheers erupted as Tomas jumped with glee. “The inn is just beyond the grove. It’s empty but kept clean. Cozy as ye like.”

“Lead the way,” Keith said, his grip tightening on her hand.

Two beds. Two beds. Two beds, he thought to himself.

As soon as they arrived at the inn, Keith retrieved the key of the room from the innkeeper and then climbed up the stairs. Ersie was nearly out of breath by the time she caught up to him.

The heavy wooden door slowly opened, and the sight set his teeth on edge. Because, of course, there was only one bed.

Ersie was about to say something, but Keith stormed out of the room, infuriated. He was going to have some words with the innkeeper.

The stout woman proudly stood behind the counter, a mischievous grin on her face.

“ Ye , woman, what are ye doin’? Only one bed in the room? That is Lady Ersie Barcley, and she is under me protection.”

“I ken that well enough, Me Laird. The room has two beds. They were just pushed together. I can send up a lad to unhook them, but he’s busy in the stables. I’ll have him wash up and meet ye upstairs.”

“Nay. Dinnae bother. I’ll do it meself.”

“I do apologize, Me Laird,” the woman said, quite unapologetically.

Keith turned, leaving the smiling woman behind him, and took the stairs two a time. This time, the door was left slightly ajar, and he instinctively reached for his dagger.

“Lass?”

Sounds of a struggle drove him to immediate madness, and he burst through the door with reckless determination.

“Ersie!” he exclaimed as he took in the scene.

She was crouched beside the bed, trying to separate the two narrow cots.

She stood back, her arms crossed, her chest heaving, and muttered, “Built for bairns.”

Keith sighed with relief but then huffed a breath. “Push them back together. Ye can have the bed; I’ll take the floor, lass.”

Ersie arched an eyebrow, then unfastened her cloak. “Dinnae be daft. It’s big enough for both of us.”

He turned slowly. “After—well, after everything , I think it’s best if?—”

“Exactly,” she interrupted. “It was great. This has been one of the best nights of me life, but we cannae keep doin’ that, Me Laird. Neither of our clans will forgive us if we lose control… again.”

Keith looked at her for a long moment, trying to get a better read on her. Trying to decide if she meant it.

She shrugged. “So, we share the bed. Back to back. Nay touchin’.”

Nae a good idea, man.

His lips twitched. “Ye think I can lie next to ye and nae touch ye?”

“Consider it a challenge.”

He let out a low grunt and began pulling off his boots. “Ye’re a cruel lass.”

“Aye, but I’m an honorable one.”

They moved about the room in quiet agreement. Keith placed his pistol on the nightstand. Ersie unbraided her hair. Each of them placed a dagger under their pillow.

Keith caught her glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, but when he looked up, she turned her back quickly.

The mattress was soft—too soft—and warm.

Keith lay on his side, facing away from her as agreed upon, his heart racing. He felt her settle in behind him, the bed barely dipping under her weight. Then, silence.

A long, unbearable silence.

This is fine… This is fine, right?

He slowed his breathing. He worked on steadying his heart rate. Everything he did was measured carefully, to try and fall asleep.

“Are ye asleep?”

Keith paused, not quite certain that she had asked that, but when he felt her head lift ever so slightly off her pillow, he replied, “Nay.”

Her voice was quiet. “Do ye regret it?”

“I have great, deep, sorrowful regrets, lass—which are ye askin’ about?”

“Lettin’ me stay?”

He shifted but kept his back to her. “I only regret nae kissin’ ye sooner.”

Ersie turned slowly, and he mirrored her movements. “Ye dinnae think this is dangerous?”

“I’ve said I think it is already. Everything about ye is dangerous. Ye are lethal, Ersie. In more ways than ye ken.”

He raised a hand between them, gently brushing a wild strand of hair from her face.

“Keith, we cannae?—”

“Aye, we cannae. We willnae.”

For a breath, they just looked at each other. And in another world, maybe he would have kissed her again. Maybe he would have given in.

But not here.

Not yet.

He caught her smile in the low light from the hearth, before she turned around, not replying.

His heart raced, but he exhaled long and slow before reaching out and wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her close until her back met his chest.

“Just sleep, lass,” he whispered.

She didn’t argue.

He thought about pushing himself up onto his elbow and planting soft kisses down the curve of her jaw and neck. He thought about rolling her on top of him, so her strong legs straddled him. He thought about letting his hand wander to her core and down her body as he had in the woods.

The treacherous thoughts made his length stiffen, and when her breath hitched on a deep inhale, he felt his body lose its hold on the ground. He felt weightless.

But then she sighed softly, curling her body around his arm and nestling into every curve of his body, seeking comfort and warmth.

I cannae do more. We cannae do more. Saints above, if ye have any mercy, ye will pull me into slumber without delay.

He felt her breathing shift, slower and steadier.

He let the sounds of the dining hall below creep back into his senses.

And by the grace of all that is holy, sleep found him.

He didn’t dream that night. For once, he had no nightmares to battle. Just pure, deep sleep.

The rustling sounds of the inn brought him back to full awareness. Well, that and the fact that the warm body next to him was missing.

His hand searched her side of the bed before his eyes flew open.

“Lass?” he whispered.

But there was no response.

“Ersie!” he hissed.

Still no response.

Cursing under his breath, he dragged himself out of the warmth of the bed. He pulled his tunic on and armed himself with the blade under his pillow before he grabbed his boots and tugged them on. He snatched his cloak from the peg by the door and stalked out of the room.

Left of her own accord, she did.

He gritted his teeth at her senselessness.

I’ll tell ye right now, I’ll give her an earful when I find her.

The inn was silent, save for the crackle of the dying fire.

Keith stepped outside, scanning the misty morning. His breath came in small puffs in the cold air. The village was still asleep, save for the wisps of smoke curling up from a few chimneys.

Then, he heard it.

His feet moved before his mind caught up.

Around the corner of the inn, near a crumbling stone wall, he found her. Ersie Barcley, the fearsome warrior, crouched low on the ground, whispering in a voice so sweet and absurd it made him freeze.

“Och, look at ye, ye wee thing,” she crooned, gently petting a scruffy, soot-streaked kitten huddled against the wall. “Ye are just the bravest wee lad, are ye nae?”

Keith leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud.

“Never thought I’d see the Almighty Ersie Barcley usin’ a baby voice,” he drawled.

Ersie jerked upright, her face flaming red. “Dinnae ye dare!”

Keith couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips. “Saints above, lass. If the men back at the keep could hear ye now…”

She narrowed her eyes, one hand slipping to the dagger at her hip. “If ye tell a soul, Keith Dunn, I’ll gut ye in yer sleep.”

He laughed then, deep and rough, the sound rumbling through the cold morning. And after a beat, she laughed too, a bright, unguarded sound that made something dangerous and sweet coil in his chest.

She turned back to the kitten, who purred loudly as it rubbed against her leg.

“Did ye nae hear him cry?” she asked, her voice softer now, running her fingers over the kitten’s tiny head. “All alone, poor wee thing.”

Keith stared at her, really stared, and found himself utterly ensnared.

This woman.

This warrior who’d fought him, defied him, challenged him at every turn, was crouching in the dirt, whispering to a half-starved kitten like it was the most precious thing in the world.

He couldn’t look away. The contradictions of her, the layers she kept hidden, twisted something inside him until it ached.

Clearing his throat roughly, he pushed off the wall. “Come on, lass. Time we head back.”

Ersie glanced up at him, a small, secretive smile playing on her lips. She scooped up the kitten and tucked it inside her cloak without a word.

Keith didn’t say anything about it either. He just fell into step beside her as they made their way back to the sleeping village, the warmth of her smile lingering longer than it should have.