CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“ S he’s a fiery one, that lass.” Alan chuckled as Nicholas closed the door behind him. He leaned back in the chair, stroking his beard, eyes twinkling. “If I were twenty years younger, I’d be the one stormin’ after her.”
Nicholas folded his arms and leaned against the edge of the desk, his expression stony. “Aye, well, it’s nae a path I plan to walk.” His voice was cool, deliberate. “I’ve had me fill of weddin’ bands.”
Alan snorted, shaking his head. “Ye talk like a man twice yer age, lad. Ye’re still breathin’, still strong. What’s stoppin’ ye from reachin’ for marriage again?” His voice softened just slightly. “It’s been a while since Annabeth passed.”
Nicholas turned away slightly, eyes narrowing at the hearth across the room. “It doesnae matter how long it’s been,” he said. “A curse doesnae follow a calendar.” He swallowed hard. “Some men are nae meant to wed twice.”
The councilman watched him in silence for a beat, then gave a quiet hum. “Is that what ye tell yerself to sleep at night?” His voice wasn’t cruel, but it was firm. “Why is it ye think ye’re cursed?”
Nicholas stiffened, jaw tightening. He didn’t answer right away, but the silence was answer enough. Alan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes steady on Nicholas. “That’s nay way to live, lad.”
Nicholas turned, his face unreadable. “Am I nae cursed? I wed her, and she died.” The words were low, heavy. “If I wed another, she’ll meet the same fate.”
“Ye daenae ken that,” Alan said gently. “But what I do ken is if ye keep hidin’ behind guilt and ghosts, ye’ll wake one day and realize life passed ye by.” He stood, patting Nicholas’s shoulder. “Daenae wait until yer too old to reach.”
Nicholas didn’t respond as Alan walked to the door. The councilman paused at the threshold, looking back with a knowing smile.
“I’d wager she’s already cracked that wall around yer heart. Be a shame if ye turned her away.” Then he left, the door clicking softly behind him.
Nicholas remained where he stood, his breath slow and tight in his chest. The fire crackled in the hearth, but the warmth did nothing for the chill beneath his skin. He pressed a hand to the edge of the desk, grounding himself.
Cursed or nae, it’s better I daenae get involved.
Nicholas stepped into the parlor and closed the door behind him with a heavy thud. Alexandra stood near the fireplace, arms crossed, her eyes already burning with fury. The moment their eyes met, she stepped forward, voice sharp and unrelenting.
“Why are ye avoidin’ yer own son, Nicholas? He’s beggin’ strangers for affection—ye daenae see the pain in his eyes?”
His face hardened like granite, and he strode past her to the decanter, pouring himself a measure of whisky. “That’s nay concern of yers, lass,” he said coolly. “What happens between me and Charles is private. Ye’d do well to keep yer nose out of it.”
She stalked after him, eyes flashing. “He’s a bairn, and he’s sufferin’. And ye—ye pretend like ye care for him ready to start a war for his abduction, but where are ye when he needs ye most?” Her voice cracked slightly. “He asked me how I got close with ye, as if it were a bloody miracle.”
Nicholas turned on her, jaw clenched tight, his glass forgotten in his hand. “Ye’ve nay idea what yer talkin’ about.” His voice dropped to a growl. “Ye ken nothin’ of what it takes to protect a child—ye think affection is enough?”
Alexandra stood her ground, even as he loomed before her. “Nay, but I ken what it means to feel unwanted. That lad thinks he’s a burden to ye—and ye’re doin’ nothin’ to prove him wrong.” She lifted her chin. “So aye, I’ll meddle if I must.”
“Ye will nae.” He slammed the glass down on the table, stepping closer until she had to tilt her head to look at him. “Ye are in me home, question me choices, and now ye dare to tell me how to raise me own son?” His voice dripped with fury. “This is nae yer place.”
Alexandra’s breath came fast, but she didn’t back away. “Maybe nae,” she snapped, “but someone has to tell ye the truth. And the truth is—ye’re failin’ him.” Her voice trembled now, hot with anger and something deeper. “Ye’re so lost in yer own misery, ye cannae see what’s right before ye.”
Nicholas’s nostrils flared, and he moved in until there was hardly a breath of space between them. “And what would ye ken of misery, lass? Ye think ye see all, but ye daenae ken what I’ve lost.” His voice grew low, rough with restraint. “I’ve buried more than ye can fathom.”
“I daenae care,” she whispered fiercely, her chest brushing his with every breath. “I daenae care what ye’ve buried—he’s still here, and he needs ye.” Her eyes searched his face. “And if ye think pushin’ folk away will keep them safe, ye’ll lose him too.”
His hands flexed at his sides, fury and guilt warring beneath his skin. “Damn it, Alexandra,” he muttered, voice ragged. “Why do ye care?” His breath hitched. “Why do ye keep pressin’ into places that’ll only bring ye pain?”
She stared up at him, chest heaving. “Because someone has to.” Her voice was quiet now, but fierce. “And maybe—maybe because I cannae stand seein’ ye rottin’ in yer own silence.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked, and his hand lifted before he realized it, brushing a stray curl from her cheek. “Ye’re trouble,” he murmured, voice husky. “Ye drive me mad.” His eyes dropped to her mouth, and his breath came shallow.
“And yet ye cannae stay away,” she whispered, her lips trembling.
Nicholas stared at her, breath ragged, her nearness setting his nerves alight.
His hands itched to grab her waist, pull her close, and kiss her senseless—but he clenched them into fists instead.
She was too bright, too pure, and he was already soaked in shadows.
He stepped back, the space between them a necessary torment.
“I keep me distance for the lad’s sake,” he said roughly, voice like gravel.
“I’m nae fit to be a faither, and I’m worse company for anyone kind.
” His gaze flicked over her face, lingering at her lips, and he forced himself to look away.
“He’s already lost too much—I willnae poison what’s left of his world. ”
Alexandra’s eyes softened, but her jaw stayed set. “He doesnae need perfection, Nicholas. He needs ye. A flesh and blood faither, nae a ghost hauntin’ the halls.”
Nicholas scoffed and paced to the window, arms crossed tightly. “Ye think I daenae ken that? Every time I see his face, I see hers. Annabeth.” His voice broke slightly. “He lost his maither, and I cannae put me child through that again.”
The silence that followed wrapped thick around them, broken only by the fire’s low crackle. Alexandra walked closer, her voice gentler now. “I lost mine too—both of me parents. I miss them. Death took them when I was just a lass. There’s nae a day goes by I daenae ache to see their faces again.”
Nicholas’s eyes flicked to her, something shifting in their depths. “Then ye ken what pain is.” He turned fully to her, arms falling to his sides. “But the difference is—I daenae want it again.”
She stepped into his space again, close enough that he could smell the faint lavender in her hair. “That’s fear speakin’, nae sense. Love doesnae kill, Nicholas—grief does.”
Her hand nearly touched his arm before she let it fall. “And if ye keep hidin’ from him, ye’ll give Charles another grave to mourn.”
His eyes flared, something wild flashing through them. “Ye think I daenae feel it? I wake every day expectin’ him to vanish. To die.” He stepped closer again, nearly chest to chest. “I’m tryin’ to protect him. And maybe… maybe I’m tryin’ to protect ye too from this cursed life.”
Alexandra blinked up at him, breath catching. “Protect me?” she echoed, voice nearly a whisper. “From what?”
He let out a bitter laugh, deep and broken. “From me, lass. I’m nay hero—I’m wrath and ruin in flesh.” His eyes dropped to her lips again, then to her eyes. “Ye stand there lookin’ like spring, and I… I am the winter that’ll tear it all down.”
She didn’t flinch. “Then maybe the winter needs a bit o’ spring.” Her voice was quiet but firm. “And maybe ye need to stop thinkin’ ye’re cursed and start rememberin’ ye’re still alive.”
Alexandra’s voice cracked. “Do ye nae see what a gift that is? A bairn who loves his faither despite the silence.”
His gaze lifted slowly, pain etched deep in every line of his face. “But God help me, I daenae want him to suffer.”
Alexandra stepped closer, placing her other hand against his chest. “Then daenae let him.” Her voice was a balm and a challenge all at once.
He stared down at her, his breath warm between them, his body rigid with restraint. “Ye’re a damn stubborn woman,” he muttered. “Ye should hate me, and instead here ye are—makin’ me want things I’ve nay right wantin’.” His hand lifted slowly, hovering by her cheek.
She leaned into his touch, eyes soft. “Then want it, Nicholas. Want it with yer whole heart.” Her voice was a whisper against the crackle of the fire. “Or ye’ll spend the rest of yer life watchin’ everythin’ good pass ye by.”
Nicholas narrowed his eyes as Alexandra’s voice softened yet held firm. “Ye ought to spend time with yer son,” she said. “Nae for show, but because he needs ye, Nicholas.”
He crossed his arms, jaw tight, and shook his head. “He has a nurse. He’s nae starvin’ for attention, and when the time comes, he’ll be trained as he should.”
Alexandra’s brow furrowed, lips thinning with disapproval. “He’s nae a soldier, he’s a wee bairn,” she snapped. “He needs more than tutors and structure—he needs a faither who cares.”
Nicholas scoffed under his breath, glancing toward the fire. “Feelings make men weak,” he muttered. “I’ll nae raise him soft.”
“Ye’ll raise him lonely,” she countered, stepping closer. Her eyes locked with his, fierce and unrelenting. “And one day, ye’ll wonder why he stopped lookin’ at ye with hope.” She reached for his arm, her grip unexpectedly firm. “In fact, ye’re comin’ with me now.”
Nicholas blinked, startled by her boldness. “Now?” he said sharply, resisting the pull. “Where in God’s name are we goin’?” Alexandra didn’t answer right away, but only turned with purpose.
“The nursery,” she said simply. “Where else would yer son be?” He frowned, a protest on his tongue, but it didn’t leave his mouth. Her hand stayed wrapped around his forearm like she belonged there.
He could’ve pulled back. One sharp word, one cold glare, and she’d have let go—but he didn’t. Her fingers were warm, her stride confident, and part of him found it easier to follow than fight. Something about her command unsettled him, and yet… he liked it.
As they stepped into the hall, Nicholas glanced at the back of her head, watching the way her hair shifted with every step.
She's maddening. Reckless. Impossible. And somehow, she makes me feel like less of a ghost .