CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
T he following day, the garden was quiet, save for the breeze rustling through the ivy and the soft crunch of Alexandra’s slippers against the path. She moved without thought, her fingers grazing the edges of the lavender bushes, her mind far from the castle walls.
Guilt twisted inside her, sharp and unwelcome. She should have hated Nicholas—should have clung to her anger—but her heart had started to betray her.
The memory of his lips still lingered, heat curling in her belly even as she tried to push it away.
She wasn’t meant to feel anything for him—not tenderness, not longing.
And yet, when she thought of Leo Rankin’s cold eyes and cruel grip, her chest tightened with dread.
Her duty to her clan had never felt so heavy.
"Me lady!" a voice called from behind, cutting through her thoughts.
Alexandra turned as Erica came hurrying down the path, cheeks flushed, skirts gathered in her hands. "There ye are. I've been lookin’ all over.”
“I needed some air,” Alexandra said quietly, lowering her gaze. “Me mind’s been... like a heavy fog.”
Erica stepped closer, peering at her. “Foggy, is it? What’s wrong, then? Ye look like ye’ve seen a ghost.”
Alexandra let out a breath, unsure whether to speak the words aloud. But the weight in her chest begged release. “I’m havin’ doubts... about marryin’ Leo Rankin.”
Erica’s brows shot up. “Well, thank the saints! I’ve been hopin’ ye’d say that for days now.”
Alexandra blinked, taken aback. “Erica, ye ken why I must though?”
“Och, aye,” Erica said with a firm nod. “But he’s a brute, and he’s nae a fit match for ye. I daenae care what threats he’s made—there must be another way.”
“I’m scared,” Alexandra admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “If I go back on the agreement, he’ll take it out on me brother. He said as much, and I believe him.”
Erica crossed her arms, determined. “Then we go home. Back to Sinclair Castle. Yer brother’s nay weaklin’, and neither are ye.”
“I want to,” Alexandra said softly. “More than anythin’. But I daenae ken if it’s fear keepin’ me or... somethin’ else.”
Erica’s eyes narrowed. “Somethin’ else? What sort of somethin’, hmm?”
Alexandra looked away, heat crawling up her neck. “It’s nothin’. Forget I said anythin’.”
The maid stepped closer with a sly grin. “Does this... ‘nothin’ happen to look like a broody Highland laird with a temper and a face that makes ye daft?”
Alexandra gave a sharp huff of breath. “Ye’re impossible.”
“So it is him, then?” Erica said, eyes gleaming.
There was no use pretending now, not with her cheeks burning and her silence giving her away. Alexandra looked down at her hands. “I’ve started... feelin’ things I shouldnae feel. It’s dangerous, Erica.”
Erica softened, her grin fading into concern. “Dangerous, aye—but nae wrong. He’s nae Leo Rankin at the very least.”
“Nay,” Alexandra murmured. “He’s worse in some ways. He took us captive, threatened us—yet... when he looks at me, it’s like he sees me. And part of me wants to be seen the way he looks at me.”
Erica rested a hand on her arm. “That’s nae a crime, me lady. Sometimes the heart finds its way where we least expect. But why leave?”
“I think I should,” Alexandra said, her voice tight. “Before I forget who I am. Before I let him make me into somethin’ I cannae be.”
Erica nodded. “Then speak with him about it.”
Alexandra looked up at the towering stone walls around the garden, the scent of rosemary clinging to the breeze.
She’d never felt more torn—part of her still clung to duty, to loyalty, to the life she was meant to lead.
But another part, bold and treacherous, longed to stay just a little longer.
And that part frightened her most of all.
Alexandra left the garden with quick steps, skirts brushing the stone path, her heart set. The sooner she left, the better—for her, for Nicholas, and for the safety of her clan. Each moment she lingered only deepened the tangle in her chest. She could not risk losing herself in this place.
She turned the corner near the courtyard and stopped short at the sight before her.
Nicholas stood with his son hoisted on his shoulders, the boy’s laughter echoing off the walls.
Nicholas looked up at Charlie with a rare softness in his eyes, one that made Alexandra’s chest ache.
For a fleeting second, she let herself imagine belonging in that warmth.
She stepped forward, smoothing her skirts. “Laird… Nicholas,” she called, voice steady despite the tremble in her fingers.
He looked over, brows raised, and she managed a tight smile.
“May I have a word? In private.”
Nicholas lowered Charlie gently and gave the lad a small pat on the back. “Go on with the nursemaid, lad,” he said, ruffling his son’s hair.
Charlie nodded and ran off, waving. Without another word, Nicholas turned and motioned for Alexandra to follow.
They walked in silence through the hall, boots thudding lightly against stone.
Nicholas opened the door to his study and stepped aside, letting her pass first. The room smelled of smoke and leather, and papers were scattered across the desk like restless thoughts.
He closed the door behind them and crossed his arms, waiting.
Alexandra took a breath, her fingers curling into the folds of her gown. She had to say it—before she lost her resolve.
“I’ll be leavin’,” she said, quiet but sure. “And I’d like to ask ye nae to stop me.”
Alexandra stood stiff in the center of the study, her hands clenched at her sides.
The fire crackled behind Nicholas, but there was no warmth in his eyes. "What?"
“I said I'm leavin’, Nicholas,” she lifted her chin. “It's time I go.”
His arms crossed over his broad chest, unmoving as a stone wall. “Ye’re nae leavin’. Nae now, nae ever.” His voice was low and cold, like steel drawn from its sheath. “I told ye before—I’ll nae let ye go.”
Her nostrils flared as her temper rose like a storm tide. “Ye’ve nay right to keep me here! If I daenae go to Rankin’s castle, he’ll strike against me brother. Caelan will suffer, and it’ll be yer fault.” Her voice cracked, and her throat tightened with emotion.
Nicholas stepped forward, his boots heavy against the rug. “I daenae care what threats that mad dog makes. I’ll nae send ye into his hands.” His jaw clenched, and a muscle ticked in his cheek. “Ye’ll stay here, where I can keep ye safe.”
“Safe?” she spat the word like venom. “I’m a prisoner in yer halls! This isnae safety, Nicholas—it’s control. Ye cannae chain me here like a beast!”
He moved closer, and his voice lowered. “Aye, I can. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep ye from Rankin.” His gaze burned into hers, firm and unyielding. “Ye’ll thank me one day.”
She stepped back, breath short and shallow. “Ye brute,” she hissed. “Ye think ye can command everythin’ around ye like yer guards and walls. But I’m nae yers to command.”
“Aren’t ye?” he snapped, stepping toward her again. “Ye’re mine, Alexandra. Ye’ve been mine since the moment I laid eyes on ye.” His voice was sharp, his words biting.
Alexandra’s cheeks burned with fury and shame. “I’m nae a thing to be owned!” Her hands trembled as she pointed toward the door. “And I’d rather take me chances with Rankin than stay another day under yer roof!”
Nicholas’s face darkened, but he said nothing. His silence pressed heavy between them, thick with rage and something else she dared not name. She turned sharply, skirts whipping against her legs. Her boots struck the stone as she stormed out.
The door slammed behind her with a crack that echoed down the hall. Her breath came fast, her chest rising and falling in sharp rhythm. She didn’t stop walking until the corridor twisted and the study was far behind. Her heart pounded with fury—but also confusion.
I hate him. I have to. So why do me eyes sting?
Alexandra made it to her bedchamber and slammed her door.
She pressed her back to it, her chest still heaving.
Her room felt too small, the walls pressing in close, thick with the heat of her rage and confusion.
She walked to the window, then back again, pacing like a caged hawk.
Her thoughts spun round and round, tangled like thread in a storm wind.
How could Nicholas speak to her like that—hold her like property, as if she were a thing to be guarded, not a woman with her own will? And yet, when his eyes met hers, when his voice lowered to that rough whisper, part of her wanted nothing more than to stay.
She cursed herself under her breath, knowing it made no sense. She had a duty—to her brother, to her clan—but her heart beat for a man she couldn’t have.
She paused at her dressing table and looked at herself in the glass.
Her cheeks were flushed, lips parted, and her necklace gleamed against her collarbone.
Fingers drifting to the gold chain, she clutched it, thinking.
It had been a gift from her brother—precious, yes—but perhaps the key to sending word home.
Turning to the desk in the corner, she opened the top drawer and found a bit of parchment and a bottle of ink. The quill shook slightly in her hand as she sat down. Her heart pounded as she dipped it and pressed the tip to the page. She began to write, her brow furrowed with purpose.
Dear Caelan,
I pray this reaches you swiftly and safely.
I know well that my silence has troubled you, and I’m sorry for the worry.
The truth is difficult to write, but it must be said plainly: I have been taken.
It was a mistake, not some treachery from our own kin—I was seized before I ever reached Rankin’s lands.
I’m not with Leo, nor anywhere near the border where he expected me to cross.
I’m in the Highlands, far from where ye’d think to look, and I fear Leo will be sorely insulted that I never arrived.
I don’t wish to see him angered against us, and worse, I fear what he might do in retaliation.
This letter is a warning, Caelan—guard Sinclair lands well, and be wary.
I’ve not been harmed. I am well cared for, even if held against me will. I will not say who has me, for I know your temper, brother, and if ye knew, you’d bring steel to their gates before the sun rose again. There’s been too much blood between clans already—I will not be the cause of more.
Trust that I’m doing what I can to return to ye, and if it becomes safe to name those responsible, I will.
Until then, protect our people, and be wise.
You always told me my mind was too quick for my own good—now I hope it’s quick enough to find my way home.
I love you, and I’m sorry. I will send word soon.
Alexandra sat back, her breath catching as she reread the letter.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the page, knuckles white.
It was dangerous, what she’d written—dangerous even more for what she’d left unsaid.
But she’d chosen her words carefully, shielding Nicholas while still warning her brother.
She folded the parchment neatly and sealed it with a bit of wax she found in a drawer.
Her gold necklace gleamed in the candlelight, and she unclasped it, weighing it in her palm.
It might be enough to buy a servant’s silence—or at least their loyalty for a task such as this.
She would need them to get the letter out of the castle and into the right hands to get to Sinclair Castle and to her brother.