CHAPTER TWELVE
A lexandra’s heart thundered in her chest, a frantic rhythm that refused to calm.
She pressed a hand against her bodice, trying to slow her breathing as she leaned against the corridor wall.
Nicholas's scent still clung to her—earth and leather and something darker, something male.
The memory of his whisper curled hot in her belly.
She should hate him for it—for cornering her, for speaking to her as if she were his to claim.
But instead, her body had betrayed her, drawn to him with an instinct she could neither explain nor deny.
He unsettled her, pulled at something buried deep, a desire long locked away.
And that, more than anything, left her shaken.
With trembling fingers, she straightened her skirts and turned down the hall, walking in the opposite direction from where he'd gone.
Her steps were measured, but her mind was a storm. She needed air, distance, clarity—anything to make sense of what had just happened. Her path led her around a corner where a familiar figure appeared.
“Alexandra?” Erica's brows lifted. “Ye look flushed. Are ye feelin’ ill?”
“Nay,” Alexandra replied quickly, forcing a tight smile. “I just need to lie down a while. That’s all.”
Erica looped her arm through Alexandra’s without hesitation. “Come now, let’s get ye to yer chamber. Ye’ve got that look like ye’re thinkin’ too much again.”
Once inside the room, Erica helped her to the chair near the hearth and fetched a glass of water from the pitcher on the side table.
She handed it to Alexandra, who took it gratefully and sipped. The coolness steadied her, if only a little. The room was quiet, save for the distant crackle of flames.
“Are ye upset because ye’re unsure what to do?” Erica asked gently, sitting across from her.
Alexandra hesitated, then nodded. “Aye. It’s like I’m caught in a snare. I keep thinkin’ we’re stuck—and I daenae ken how we’ll get out of this mess.”
Erica’s gaze softened. “Is it about yer brother?”
Alexandra was too ashamed to admit her lustful thoughts about Nicholas, so she simply agreed.
“Aye,” Alexandra said quietly. “I still daenae ken if Caelan is aware of what's happened to us. And when Leo finds out I’m nae comin’ to marry him—” she broke off, eyes clouding. “God kens what he’ll do. He’s nae the sort to take insult lightly.”
Erica sighed, folding her hands in her lap. “It’s all happened so fast. Too fast, really. But we’re here now, and we’re safe, and that’s what matters.”
Alexandra looked at her gratefully, the pressure in her chest easing just a little.
“Thank ye, Erica. I daenae ken what I’d do without ye.”
“Well, I’ll fetch us a bit of food, and ye can lie down after,” Erica said, rising with a determined nod. “A nap will do ye good.”
“Thank ye,” Alexandra murmured again, eyes heavy with more than just exhaustion.
Erica left with a swish of skirts and returned a few moments later with a wooden tray in her hands. The scent of warm bread and rich meat filled the room at once.
“Brought us a bit of bannock, some smoked haddie, and leftover neeps and tatties,” she said cheerfully.
They ate quietly, the hearty food grounding them both. Alexandra nibbled slowly, but every bite soothed her, the familiar tastes reminding her of home.
Erica chatted lightly, and Alexandra was grateful for it. She felt her body finally beginning to relax.
When they finished, Erica took the tray and set it aside. “Now, off for a nap with ye,” she said with a wink.
Alexandra didn’t argue. She crossed to the bed and lay down, the soft mattress beneath her helped.
Her eyes drifted shut, but her mind lingered still on Nicholas—on his voice, his hands, and the heat in his gaze. Sleep took her, though it was fitful, restless, and filled with fragments of dreams she did not dare to name.
Alexandra stirred awake, the weight of sleep still heavy in her limbs.
The room had dimmed with the sinking sun, shadows stretching long across the wooden floor.
She sat up slowly, pressing a hand to her forehead before swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.
With a soft sigh, she rose, crossed to the washbasin, and splashed cool water on her face.
The cold bite of it cleared the lingering fog from her mind.
She patted her cheeks dry with a linen cloth and smoothed her hair as best she could.
The hunger from earlier had faded, replaced by a restlessness she couldn’t name.
She stepped out of her chamber, the air in the corridor carrying the faint scent of peat smoke and baked oats.
Her steps led her toward the kitchen, drawn by the comfort of warmth and the hope for a bit of fresh bread. The hallways were quiet, save for the faint creak of old timber beneath her slippers. Then, a soft voice pierced the silence—high and cautious. “Is anyone there?”
Alexandra turned swiftly, her skirts swishing against her ankles. She recognized him at once—Charles, Nicholas’s son.
She softened and approached with a gentle smile. “Look at you, wee one. What brings ye wanderin’ the halls?”
Charles tilted his head, his voice a careful whisper. “Ye’re the lady that played with me earlier. Are ye me faither’s friend?”
Her heart tightened. There were a hundred truths she could’ve spoken—but none a child ought to hear. She crouched to his level and gave a kind nod. “Aye. I suppose I am.”
He blinked at her, brow furrowed. “How did ye do it?”
Alexandra frowned slightly. “Do what, love?”
He shuffled on his feet, looking down, then up at her again. “How did ye get close with Da? To be a friend? He's nae me friend.”
The ache in his voice gutted her. So young, yet already carrying loneliness no child should bear.
Her hands rested gently on his small shoulders. “Surely ye and yer faither are close already, aye?”
Charles shook his head, the movement small and resigned. “He avoids me. All he does is shout at the lads and write parchments.”
She bit back the fury that burned in her chest. Nicholas, for all his commanding presence, had failed his most important role. Still, she kept her expression warm and hopeful.
“Well now, sounds like he needs a lesson in fun, doesn’t he? Tell me, Charlie—would ye like to play with me for a bit?”
His face lit like a torch, all sadness melting in an instant. “Aye! Can we?”
“Aye, we can,” she said, standing and offering her hand. “Come on then. Let’s find us a bit of mischief.”
They headed down toward the smaller parlor, a space less formal, with woven rugs and old chests filled with oddments.
Alexandra remembered a few games from her own childhood, taught by nursemaids and stable boys. She drew a few pebbles from a dish on the window ledge and knelt on the floor.
“Do ye ken how to play Five Stones?” she asked, scattering the pebbles in a small circle.
Charles dropped beside her, nodding eagerly. “I’ve seen the lads do it. Ye throw one up and snatch another before it comes down.”
“Just so,” Alexandra grinned, tossing a pebble and snatching another mid-air. She fumbled it, laughed, and let him try.
They moved on to “The Corners,” using the corners of the rug as boundaries, where one had to reach a corner without being tagged by the other.
Charles squealed with laughter as Alexandra lunged and missed, purposefully slow to keep the game lively.
After that came a clapping rhyme game, one she barely remembered, but Charles caught on quickly, giggling when she mixed up the rhythm.
“Ye’re good at this,” he said breathlessly, cheeks pink.
“I’ve had years of practice,” she teased, tapping the tip of his nose.
They played until their sides ached and the fire in the hearth crackled low. Alexandra knew it would be near supper soon, and his nursemaid might come searching. But for the moment, she held onto the sound of his laughter and the warmth it brought to her chest.
As Charles curled up beside her on the rug, eyes heavy and smile soft, Alexandra reached over to gently smooth his hair.
He leaned into her touch without hesitation.
She closed her eyes a moment, her heart torn in two—half melted by the boy, half burning in anger for the man who had left him so starved for affection.
After she led Charles back to the care of his nursemaid, she went on a mission. Her anger led her blindly, and she found herself pushing open the door to Nicholas's study without even a knock.
The heavy oak door slammed shut with a crack that echoed through the stone corridor. Alexandra strode in like a storm in full fury, her eyes locked on Nicholas with fire burning behind them. Her cheeks were flushed, her jaw set, and her hands clenched into trembling fists.
Nicholas looked up from his seat behind the desk, a single brow arched in calm surprise.
“A word, if ye please,” she snapped, her voice clipped and shaking with restrained rage. “What in God’s name were ye thinkin?”
Nicholas, unbothered, leaned back in his chair with maddening ease.
“I’m in a meeting, lass,” he said coolly. “Unless ye care to elaborate, I’ve nay idea what has yer feathers ruffled this time.”
His tone was dry, almost amused, and it made Alexandra's blood boil all the more. The man had a gift for making her feel both foolish and furious in one breath.
Her face turned hotter as she realized she’d barged in without thinking. Only now did she fully register the councilman’s presence, the man blinking at her with mild discomfort. Straightening her spine, she drew a breath and forced her voice lower. “We’ll speak in private, then?”
Nicholas regarded her for a moment, then turned back to his guest. “I’ll return soon. Ye’ll excuse us, Alan.”
He didn’t wait for a reply before shifting his gaze back to Alexandra, sharp and unreadable. She felt his hand clasp around her arm as he pulled her into the corridor.
“Go on and wait in the parlor. I’ll join ye when I'm good and ready. Now go with ye.”
Alexandra didn’t reply, only spun on her heel and stalked away toward the parlor down the hall.
Her heart thundered in her chest, fury giving way to a rising swirl of doubt and anticipation.
The man drove her to the brink, always pushing and pulling, always keeping something back.
She paced the room, arms crossed tightly.
“He will drive me mad with his stubbornness. I willnae let him get to me.”
But why is me arm still warm from his touch?