CHAPTER FIFTEEN
N icholas was restless that night. Like he oftentimes did when he couldn't sleep, he made his way to the empty kitchen.
He stepped into the kitchen, drawn by the scent of warm honey and spice.
The fire was low, casting a soft golden glow across the stone walls, and there she was—Alexandra—perched at the edge of the wooden table with a half-eaten honey cake in her hand.
Her lips glistened with sugar, and her eyes widened when she saw him. He raised a brow, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned against the doorframe.
“Stealin’ cakes now, are ye?” he drawled, a crooked smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Dinnae ken I was holdin’ a prisoner so starved for sweets.”
Alexandra huffed, brushing crumbs from her skirts with exaggerated grace. “What else is a captive to do?” she retorted, her chin lifting in defiance.
Nicholas pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room, grabbing a jug of mead from the shelf. “Ye could drink instead,” he muttered, pouring two cups.
He slid one across the table toward her, the pottery clinking softly against the wood. Alexandra hesitated a moment, then took the cup and sniffed it like it might bite.
She took a cautious sip and made a face. “Och, it’s bitter,” she said, but she drank again anyway.
Nicholas watched her with a flicker of amusement. “That’s the bite of truth in it, lass. Goes down rough but warms ye by the end.”
They sat in silence for a moment, firelight dancing over their features.
Alexandra broke it with a low sigh, her voice quiet. “Nicholas… ye have to let me go.”
His gaze snapped to her, sharp and cold like iron freshly drawn from flame.
“I’m to marry Leo Rankin. Laird McLaren.” Her fingers tightened around the cup, knuckles whitening. "The reason ye took me at first is nay longer needed. So why am I here still?"
Nicholas’s jaw tensed, and a cold ripple spread across his chest. He ought to feel indifferent—she was a means to an end, nothing more—but the thought of her wedding another man coiled like a snake in his gut.
His hand clenched around the handle of his cup, the knuckles whitening. “Leo?” he growled. “That snivelin’ bastard?”
Alexandra flinched, but she didn’t back down. “Is he worse than ye?”
Nicholas stood sharply, pacing once before slamming the cup back on the table.
His voice dropped, low and dangerous. “He’s filth. Always was. I’ve seen the way he treats folk weaker than him—like he’s crushin’ insects beneath his heel.”
Alexandra’s eyes narrowed. “Ye judge him while he hold me prisoner?” she snapped, rising to her feet.
Nicholas turned, towering over her, eyes flashing with something darker than anger. “Is that why ye’d marry him? Because I’m the worse evil?”
“Nay, it’s because I’ve nay choice in the matter,” she said, her voice softening. “Leo sent word to me brother, Caelan. Said if we refused his offer, he’d bring war to our clan. Burn our homes. Spill our blood. What would ye have me do?”
He looked at her, truly looked, and saw the sorrow swimming beneath the fire. She wasn’t bluffing. Her words weren’t empty threats. Nicholas’s chest tightened with something like guilt—but deeper, more bitter.
He stepped back, the shadows clinging to him like a cloak. “So ye’d give yerself to a man like that for yer clan’s sake?”
Alexandra nodded, chin high, though her lip trembled just slightly. “Aye. I’d do what I must.”
Nicholas’s gaze lingered on her mouth, then drifted up to the stubborn defiance in her eyes. He could take her in his arms right then, kiss her until she forgot that cursed name. But he didn’t move. He didn’t dare. His heart had walls thicker than stone, and she was a danger to every part of it.
“And ye think he’ll treat ye kind?” he sneered. “Leo’s nae a husband, he’s a wolf with gold teeth. He’ll take what he wants and leave ye broken.”
Alexandra’s shoulders straightened, and her voice went steel. “Better broken by choice than from watchin’ from afar as me people fall.”
The words struck him harder than he expected. He turned from her, hiding the expression that flickered across his face. He felt like a fool, a man split in two. Wanting to claim her, yet knowing he couldn’t.
She watched him in the silence that followed, the firelight softening his scowl. “Ye speak of Leo like ye hate him,” she said finally. “But ye’ve never asked what I want.”
Nicholas’s eyes met hers again, and this time, there was something more than persistence in them—something tired, something real.
“To hell with Leo Rankin,” Nicholas snarled, his voice low and rough. “Marry me instead."
He heard Alexandra gasp, eyes wide as the firelight danced across her face.
“Ye’re mad,” she whispered, barely above a breath. He watched her hands clutch the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.
"I may be mad but I speak true. Marry me, Alexandra," he said.
"I cannae do that. Me clan will be punished," she said.
"I’ll deal with yer brother, and if Leo’s daft enough to bring war, I’ll stand with the Sinclairs and crush him meself.” He slammed his cup down, mead sloshing over the rim, and fixed her with a look that dared her to argue.
“Nicholas, me mind’s made. I willnae risk war.” Her voice trembled, not with fear but with conviction, and it lit a fire beneath his skin.
“It’s nae that I doubt Caelan could win,” she went on, softer now, “but I fear what would be lost in the fight—lives, homes, kin. Even victory leaves wounds behind.” Her brow creased, and she looked at him with tired, aching eyes.
“Ye men are always so quick to draw steel, never thinkin’ of what peace might yet be had. ”
Nicholas stepped forward, closing the space between them. The tension crackled in the air, thick and hungry. He stopped only inches away, his breath brushing her cheek, his gaze boring into hers.
“And givin’ yerself to Leo Rankin? Is that peace?”
She faltered, lips parting, breath catching in her throat. “It’s a trade,” she whispered, eyes flicking to his mouth, then back to his. “I might nae like it, but I’m only one life. A war could take many.”
He watched her, every twitch of her lips, the way her chest rose with each shallow breath. Her scent was honey and fire, maddening in its sweetness.
“One life?” he growled, voice rasping. “Ye speak as if ye mean nothin’, as if yer worth can be measured against a battlefield.”
She didn’t answer, only looked away, but her body trembled. Nicholas leaned in further, his mouth barely brushing her ear.
“Leo Rankin’s nay man. He’s a monster. Ye think he’ll stop with takin’ yer hand? He’ll take yer pride, yer joy, piece by piece until ye cannae remember who ye were.”
Alexandra turned her face toward his, her breath mingling with his own. He saw defiance still in her eyes, but it battled with something softer, something uncertain. “Ye daenae ken what he’ll do,” she said.
“Aye, I do,” he snapped, his voice low. “I’ve seen what he’s left behind—burned farms, broken folk. He finds joy in the sufferin’ of others.”
Her lip trembled, and still she held her ground, though he saw the weight she carried.
Nicholas’s hand lifted, then hovered at her waist, not quite touching, aching with restraint.
“Ye’re nae meant for him, lass.” His voice dropped even lower, rough with desire and fury.
“And if I must tear down half of Scotland to stop this, I will.”
Alexandra closed her eyes, and for a moment, he thought she’d lean into him.
Instead, she turned her face and stepped back with a shaking breath. “It’s nae yer war, Nicholas. And it’s nae yer choice to make.” But her voice had lost its fire, and her cheeks burned with heat.
He let her go, jaw clenched, hands fisted at his sides. “Then damn us both,” he muttered. “But I’ll nae stand by and watch ye march yerself into a nightmare dressed as duty. And has it crossed yer mind that Leo will go to war with yer brother even after ye marry him?"
"What?" she said loudly.
"Aye, ye havenae thought of it, have ye? Leo cannae be trusted. He's nae a man of his word. He will marry ye, make ye his, break ye and then find a reason to declare war on yer clan nevertheless," he said. "Did ye nae think of this?"
And though she didn’t answer, he saw it—the fear in her eyes, not of him, but of the truth he’d spoken.
Nicholas scowled and looked away, jaw tight. Alexandra had fallen quiet again, but the tension still burned between them like embers refusing to die out.
After a long pause, she sighed, a soft, weary sound that tugged at something deep in him. “I hate all of this,” she muttered, not looking at him. “Every bit of it.”
He frowned, watching the way her shoulders slumped. “What do ye mean?” he asked, voice low. Her eyes met his briefly before drifting toward the hearth.
“This mess,” she said. “The schemin’, the politics, the bein’ used like a pawn.”
She rubbed her arms as though chilled, though the kitchen was warm. “I miss home,” she said after a moment. “I miss when things were simple.”
His brow furrowed. “What do ye miss about it?” he asked.
Alexandra smiled faintly, a flicker of something warmer breaking through the storm cloud in her eyes. “Dancin’,” she said. “We used to dance in the evenin’, after supper. Nothin’ grand—just music, laughter, movin’ around the old hall.”
Nicholas blinked, surprised. Of all the things he’d imagined she might say, that hadn’t been one. “We’ve an empty room,” he said with a shrug. “Ye can dance there as much as ye like.”
Before she could answer, he stepped forward and caught her arm. “Come.” His grip was firm but not rough. Down the corridor they went, torchlight flickering on the stone walls, until he pushed open a heavy door at the end.
The room inside was large, high-ceilinged, and mostly bare except for a tall cabinet, a low bench by the wall, and a cloth-covered bench.
A grand window overlooked the hills beyond, the moonlight casting silver shapes across the wooden floor. The hearth at one end still held warmth from earlier coals. Nicholas stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter.
He watched Alexandra’s face lit up with something close to joy as she stepped across the threshold.
She tilted her head and began to hum a tune, soft and sweet.
With a smile, she gathered her skirts in both hands and twirled.
Her feet moved lightly on the floor as she spun and dipped, graceful and unhurried.
Nicholas leaned against the stone wall, arms folded, watching her.
The sight of her—hair loose and tumbling down her back, waist curving just so, her ankles delicate as glass—made his blood run hot.
She looked like a dream, something wild and untouchable, laughing softly to herself as she danced.
He swallowed hard, jaw tightening, willing himself to remain still.
She danced across the floor. His eyes devoured her. When she spun toward him again, she paused.
“Ye’re starin’,” she teased. “Do ye always watch, but never join?”
He grunted. “I daenae dance.”
She grinned and reached for his hand before he could protest. “Ye do now.” Her fingers laced with his, warm and sure, and she pulled him toward her.
He resisted at first, stiff and uncertain. But her laughter wrapped around him like a spell, loosening the tight grip of control he always kept. Her other hand found his shoulder, and before he knew it, they were moving. It was no formal step, just a slow, teasing sway, bodies close, breath shared.
She tilted her head back, smiling up at him. “See? Ye’re nae half bad.” Her chest brushed his, sending a jolt down his spine. “Dancin’ is good for the soul.”
Nicholas’s hands moved to her waist, strong and possessive, holding her just a little too close.
Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t pull away.
Her body moved against his, hips brushing, skirts rustling, and he felt his restraint snap taut like a frayed rope.
Every shift of her form was fire, and he was a man caught in the blaze.
She laughed again, breathless, cheeks flushed. “Ye’re starin’ again.”
“Aye,” he growled. “Can ye blame me?”
Her smile faltered, just for a second, as something heavier slid between them—heat and want, thick and real.
Nicholas brushed a dark curl behind her ear, fingers grazing her cheek. “Ye shouldnae tempt a man like that, lass.”
Her voice was just above a whisper. “And what would a man like ye do?”
His eyes burned into hers, his answer caught somewhere between warning and promise.
“Things I shouldnae,” he said.
And yet still, he didn’t let go.