Page 30 of Married to the Cruel Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #5)

30

E rsie straddled Fanella, the afternoon sun beating down on the back of her neck brutally, and the heat of Trouble against her chest.

Everything about that day felt wrong.

Keith and Lucas met them down in the courtyard that morning. Lucas walked with a wince, each step earning him a jeer from both her and Ciaran, and the four of them laughed. But when she glanced at Keith, his eyes were trained on the ground.

“Goodbye, Ersie,” was all he said as he checked the reins of her mare.

His eyes met hers in a flash as she returned his farewell. His large hand engulfed the tiny gray kitten as he pulled it in for a nuzzle and a gentle kiss on the head before putting it back on her lap.

“Lady Ersie, it has truly been a pleasure,” Lucas said, pushing Keith aside and bowing dramatically.

“Lucas. Indeed, it has been,” she said, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she tucked the kitten against her chest.

“I wish ye a safe journey home. And if ye are ever back in the area, do pay us a visit,” he added, then gently pulled her hand down to his lips and planted a kiss on her knuckles.

It was strange, but not as intrusive as he had been during most of her stay. Kind and polite, nothing more.

Ersie rested a hand on his shoulder. “Take care of yerself, Lucas.”

“Dinnae fash, lass. I’ll watch over him too,” he said quietly with a wink.

The two of them shared one last laugh as she shook her head, and he backed away.

It had been just in time for her to hear Keith say, “I’d tell ye to take care of her, but ye and I both ken she doesnae need anyone to do that.”

He and Ciaran shook hands before he stepped away.

The wind whipped through the moors as Ersie and Ciaran rode side by side, the MacAitken lands growing nearer with each mile. Their journey had been long, and though not a word had been spoken between them for the first leg, the silence between them was anything but comfortable. It was thick with unspoken thoughts and suppressed emotions.

Fanella’s hooves struck the soft earth beside Ciaran’s stallion, the rhythm steady but too slow for Ersie’s liking. She wanted to gallop. To forget.

But she didn’t. Because beside her was Ciaran Barcley, her brother, her Laird. Her tether to reality.

He cleared his throat. “Ye ride like ye’re bein’ chased.”

“Maybe I am,” she replied, not glancing his way.

Ciaran huffed, adjusting his grip on the reins. “Ye’ll tell me when ye’re ready.”

“Aye,” she said softly.

The rest of the journey was quiet. Occasionally, he’d point out a fallen tree that had been cleared or a rebuilt fencepost. She’d nod, grateful for the small talk that didn’t require unraveling the mess she’d left behind at MacAuley Keep.

But every time she closed her eyes, it was Keith’s face she saw. Every time Fanella shifted beneath her, she thought of his strong hands guiding the beast through the woods. His breath on her neck. His lips on her skin.

She gritted her teeth.

Keith was behind her now.

MacAitken Keep loomed ahead, its familiar stone facade stirring a strange ache in her chest. The banners still flew proud and high, the sound of clanging steel echoing from the training yard. As they passed through the gates, the guards gave respectful nods. One called out a welcome.

All of them were obviously relieved that their commander had returned safely.

And then Laura was there, rushing down the front steps, her arms open wide.

“Ersie, dearest! Och, ye’re back!”

Ersie dismounted, smiling tiredly as Laura embraced her.

“Let her breathe, woman,” Ciaran muttered behind them.

“Ye better let me be!” Laura huffed, and the two kissed in greeting.

“I’m so glad ye’re safe,” Laura whispered in Ersie’s ear as she pulled her into a tighter embrace.

“Aye,” Ersie said, trying not to show how much she needed the comfort in front of her men.

Of course, they were watching—they were always watching.

They headed inside together. The warmth of the Great Hall enveloped her, and soon she found herself in Laura’s solar, curled up on a cushioned bench, a warm cup in her hand and a blanket over her lap.

“Tell me everything ,” Laura demanded, perched on a stool beside her.

Ersie hesitated. “Ye want the real story or the story I gave yer husband?”

Laura grinned. “What do ye think?”

So, Ersie told her everything. Almost everything.

She told her all about the investigation. The hissing near the wall. The ledgers and the shadows in the kirkyard. She told her about Trouble and the villagers. About Lucas and his flirting.

And then, in a quieter voice, she said, “And we kissed. More than once.”

Laura gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. “Ye and Keith? The Mad Laird himself?”

Ersie rolled her eyes. “He’s nae so mad.”

Laura squealed. “Tell me. Was it…?”

Ersie sighed, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “It was… everything.”

Laura sighed dreamily.

“But it cannae be,” Ersie added quickly.

“Why nae?”

“Because I’m me and he’s him.”

Laura leaned forward. “That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard.”

Ersie laughed but felt her stomach slowly creep down and drop to the floor.

“I still dinnae ken how ye found yerself there, to begin with,” Laura said, twirling a ribbon around her finger nonchalantly.

“Och! I heard someone calling for help in the woods, and when I followed the sound, I found Keith standing over a man—bound and on his knees. Keith looked like he was about to flay him alive.”

“Really?” Laura said, intrigued.

“Aye. I stepped in front of him and let the man go. I later found out that the man had told Keith something about his dead son, and that it was his only lead in the cold, five-year investigation…”

“Och! Och nay!”

“So, he took me with him to help him?—”

“He took ye?”

“I guess I can say that I went… mostly willingly.”

Laura sat back and laughed heartily, her hand resting gently on her belly. “How delightful!”

“It was never a bad time, I must say.”

“I daresay nae!”

The two women laughed for a moment, before Ersie pushed herself to her feet. “I should bathe before dinner.”

“Sure. I’ll see ye later, Ers!”

“It’ll just be the family, right?” Ersie asked, heading toward the door.

“Aye, just a small group tonight,” Laura said excitedly, her shoulders rising to her ears with glee.

* * *

Dinner that night was not, in fact, intimate. It was quite a grand affair. With all of the family in town for the anticipated birth of their second child, Laura and Ciaran had ordered a feast for everyone to join in welcoming Ersie back.

The long table was laden with roasted meats, baked root vegetables, and fresh bread. Torches flickered along the stone walls, casting golden light across the faces of her clansfolk.

Ersie sat beside Laura, across from her brother. She was dressed in her usual tunic and trousers, though her hair was down and brushed, soft around her shoulders.

Ciaran raised his goblet. “To me sister, returned and victorious in her quest to uncover the truth.”

The hall cheered.

She smiled, nodding.

As dinner progressed, she caught her brother’s eye. He gave her the smallest nod.

She stood up, clearing her throat. The hall quieted.

“I have an announcement,” she said.

Ciaran arched an eyebrow.

“Tonight, I resign from me post as man-at-arms to Laird MacAitken.”

There was a stunned silence.

Ciaran looked at her intensely. “Ye dinnae jest?”

She met his gaze. “I dinnae.”

Ciaran looked at Laura and then back to Ersie. His jaw twitched, but then something passed between them. Understanding. Acceptance.

Under the table, his knee bumped hers gently.

“Then I suppose it’s time,” he said softly. “Time ye made yer own way.”

Ersie nodded. “Aye.”

The hall cheered again, this time louder, but her gaze flicked to the far end of the table, where, in her mind’s eye, Keith should’ve been.

But he wasn’t.

He never would be.

And yet her heart still turned toward him, like a lodestone to steel.

* * *

The fire in Keith’s study had long since burned down to glowing coals, but the warmth in the room couldn’t touch the heat in his chest. He paced the worn stone floor, one hand dragging through his hair, the other clenched at his side.

She was gone.

Ersie Barcley.

Back across the hills to her brother’s keep, wrapped in a life Keith wasn’t sure he fit into.

He should have said something more. Done something more. God, anything more.

His boots clicked against the stone again as he turned at the far end of the room.

A laird without a bride was nothing new, but a laird who let the only woman who had ever made him feel alive walk away? That was weakness. And Keith was not weak. Not anymore.

He halted before the window overlooking the loch. The same loch that had taken his son. The same loch she had circled with him, fearless in her pursuit of the truth. Fierce in a way that felt like fate.

Ersie Barcley was everything he could never be.

And he let her go because he thought that was what she wanted, that he was protecting her, but she didn’t need his protection. She never did.

She could live without him.

He should have married her.

No. He still could.

Keith turned again and strode toward his desk. An alliance with Clan MacAitken would mean solid trade routes. Safer travel across the low passes. Protection along the border. It wouldn’t just be a marriage. It would be a strategy.

He could send word to Ciaran.

Nay .

He could ride there himself.

War?

He’d fought for far less. But not against her . Never against her. He’d tear down his own walls brick by brick before he ever let someone threaten her.

He rested both hands on the desk, leaning forward, staring at the grain in the wood like it might give him the answer.

Maybe if he came not as a suitor, not even as a laird, but as a man willing to build something with her.

Would she say yes?

Would she laugh in his face?

Would she look at him the way she used to, before the hurt, before the doubt?

The study felt too quiet. Too still.

Keith exhaled and straightened, heading for the door. If anyone might know what she was thinking, it would be Lucas.

He climbed the steps toward his brother’s chambers, the cold air of the hallway nipping his skin.

Lucas’s room smelled faintly of smoke and salve, the remnants of the healer’s work still lingering in the air. Keith knocked once and entered.

Lucas was sitting in a chair by the hearth, a blanket tossed haphazardly over his lap, his side bandaged and his hair a mess. He looked up, cocking an eyebrow.

“Didnae think ye’d visit,” he said. “Figured ye’d be drownin’ in reports or some battle plan or other.”

Keith grunted and folded his arms. “Just came to see how yer wound is healing.”

“Pain in the arse,” Lucas muttered, shifting in his chair with a grimace. “But nae fatal. More inconvenient than anything.”

Keith didn’t respond right away. He stood near the hearth, his eyes fixed on the flames.

Lucas narrowed his gaze. “Ye look like hell.”

Keith snorted. “I’m fine.” Then, he sighed. “But I dinnae recall askin’ ye to slaughter them before we finished questioning them.”

“Well,” Lucas snapped, “I dinnae recall askin’ to be stabbed this week, and yet”—he gestured to his torn tunic and the bloodied bandages at his side—“here we are.”

Keith stared at him, unmoved. “They were our last leads.”

“Aye, and they confessed,” Lucas countered. “Said I killed the bairn and then admitted they were paid to lie to make it stick. It’s done.”

Silence fell between them.

“Unless,” Lucas added, with a quirk of his eyebrow, “ye’d rather I let them gut me like a stag, and maybe Ersie could’ve stitched me back up while ye stood brooding in the corner.”

Keith turned sharply toward him. “Leave her out of this.”

Lucas smirked. “Why? She’s already in it.”

Keith fixed him with a glare, but Lucas pressed on.

“She’s a damn good warrior. Sharp. Clever. Kept us all on our toes.”

Keith didn’t answer.

Lucas clicked his tongue. “She kept ye on more than yer toes, aye?”

“Watch yer mouth.” Keith’s voice was low, dangerous.

“Och, come now,” Lucas said with mock innocence. “I was only makin’ an observation. She’s spirited, beautiful, and clearly unafraid to challenge a man twice her size with half his wits?—”

“Lucas.”

“—nae to mention the way she handled that dagger at breakfast?—”

Keith’s fist slammed into the table. “Enough.”

Lucas chuckled, not cowed. “So, just so I’m aware, ye’ve nae fallen for her, then?”

Keith went rigid.

Lucas raised his eyebrows, waiting.

Keith’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I dinnae have time for yer childish games.”

“That so?” Lucas said teasingly. “Because ye’ve been actin’ like a lovesick hound with a thorn in its paw for the better part of the last two weeks.”

Keith didn’t deny it.

Lucas’s smirk widened. “She’s gotten under yer skin, has she nae?”

Keith stared at the wall, unmoving. “I brought her here to help. That’s all.”

“Aye,” Lucas drawled. “And yet when she walks into the room, ye act like someone tossed a lit torch into yer bed.”

“Because she disobeys me constantly,” Keith snapped. “She puts herself in danger?—”

Lucas shrugged. “Sounds like every lass who’s ever meant anythin’ to someone.”

“I’m just a laird to her, nae her?—”

“Lover?” Lucas finished, grinning. “Yet.”

Keith’s nostrils flared.

Lucas raised both hands in mock surrender. “Easy now. Just callin’ it like I see it. The way ye look at her… it’s like ye are torn between wantin’ to throttle her and protectin’ her from the world.”

Keith’s voice was quiet. “She deserves better than a cursed man in a cursed keep.”

Lucas tilted his head. “Maybe. But she doesnae seem to think so.”

That struck harder than Keith had expected.

Lucas gave another shrug as Keith turned to leave. “Think on it, Braither. Ye have been alone for a long time. Maybe it’s time to stop punishin’ yerself for survivin’.”

Keith didn’t speak. He couldn’t.

But he paused at the door as Lucas’s voice carried over his back. “And if ye let her go, I’ll be there to catch her.”

That earned his brother a sharp glare.

“Ye ken that ye can go to her, right?”

“Dinnae start,” Keith warned, his voice low.

“Just sayin’,” Lucas intoned.

Keith shot him a look. “I dinnae wish to talk about it.”

Lucas smirked. “And yet here ye are.”

Keith didn’t reply.

The silence stretched between them.

Finally, Lucas leaned forward. “Ye still think she’ll come back?”

Keith shook his head. “I dinnae think she can .”

Lucas’s eyes softened. “Then maybe it’s time ye start thinkin’ about what ye can do. Because if she’s really it for ye…”

Keith clenched his jaw and turned back toward the door, pausing as he reached the threshold.

“Get back to the training grounds once ye’re healed. Pistols will only take ye so far.”

Lucas grinned, despite the pain. “Blades, then?”

Keith looked over his shoulder, his voice grave. “Blades. Until war leaves the Highlands.”

“Ye ken that ye were always shite at expressin’ yer feelings, Keith. Remember when Da caught ye cryin’ over that hawk’s broken wing and ye punched me in the gut to cover for it?”

Keith snorted despite himself. “Aye, because ye wouldnae shut up about it.”

Lucas chuckled, clearly enjoying the conversation, while Keith was not. “Ye will have to kill me to stop me from bringing it up. Just sayin’—if this Ersie thing is real, dinnae wait until she flies off with someone else. Or I will bring up the hawk’s broken wing every bloody feast day ’til ye die.”

Keith scoffed and shot his brother a harsh glare, before turning on his heel. Without another word, and with plenty more to think about, he stormed out.