CHAPTER NINETEEN
N icholas stormed across his study like a bull penned too long. His boots thudded against the stone floor, arms tense at his sides, jaw locked tight. The thought of Alexandra marrying that bampot, Leo Rankin, made his blood boil like a kettle left too long on the fire.
Leo doesnae deserve her—nae her sharp tongue, nor her soft heart.
He growled low, dragging a hand through his hair. The idea of Leo touching her, claiming her in the marriage bed—it made Nicholas see red.
He couldn't stand the thought of that filthy bastard layin’ a hand on her skin. With fire in his veins, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the study.
The castle walls blurred around him as he marched through the halls, fury driving his every step. Servants scattered at the sight of him, none daring to meet his eyes.
When he reached Alexandra’s chamber, he didn’t knock.
He kicked the door open with a thunderous crack and roared, “Ye’re nae marryin’ that Rankin swine! I forbid it!”
Alexandra jumped, parchment in hand, eyes wide. “Nicholas, what in God’s name are ye?—”
“What’re ye writin’?” he snapped, eyes already locked on the letter gripped tight in her hands.
“It’s nothin’,” she said quickly, stepping back.
He lunged forward, but she darted away with the parchment, skirts swishing, her hair falling loose as she tried to stay out of reach.
“Give it here, lass,” he growled.
“Ye’ve nay right!” she snapped, spinning out of his grasp.
He chased her round the bed, caught her wrist, and wrestled the letter from her fingers with one sharp tug. She gasped, struggling, but it was too late—he had it. His eyes flicked over the words, his face twisting with fury.
“What is this foolery?” he barked, his voice low and dangerous. Without another word, he tore the parchment in half, then in half again, and strode to the hearth. He tossed the pieces into the flames, watching them curl and blacken.
“Stop!” she shouted.
He yanked the desk drawer open and pulled out more parchment, crumpling it all and flinging it into the fire.
“Ye’re forbidden from usin’ pen and paper. I’ll nae have ye sendin’ word to anyone.”
Alexandra’s eyes blazed, and she stepped up to him, fists clenched. “Ye’re a cruel, mean-spirited brute, Nicholas!”
“Aye? And ye’re a stubborn, reckless fool!” he snapped back, his chest rising and falling fast. “Ye think I’ll just let ye walk off to that man, let him touch ye like he’s earned the right?”
“It’s nae yer choice!” she argued. “I’m nae yers to keep or cage! I’m doin’ this for me brother!”
“And I’m doin’ this because I cannae stomach the thought of ye in his bed!” he growled. “Even if ye drive me mad with every word ye say!”
Her breath caught, her cheeks flushed deep rose, but her fury didn’t waver. “That’s control! Why do ye want to control me?”
He stepped closer, his voice low and fierce. “Because ye’ve put a fire in me I cannae douse. I want ye, Alexandra, more than I’ve ever wanted breath in me lungs.”
Her heart pounded loud enough to drown out the crackling fire. She didn’t move away as he stood before her, so close she could feel the heat of his skin.
“Then let me go,” she whispered. “If ye truly care about me, ye’d let me do what I must.”
He shook his head slowly. “I’d rather be damned.”
Their breaths mingled, her hand still pressed against his chest. The tension between them coiled tight, thick with rage, longing, and confusion. She hated him—and wanted him—more than she could admit aloud.
She turned away, pacing fast, needing distance. “I’ll find a way out, Nicholas. Ye can lock the doors, burn every letter, but I’ll find a way.”
He watched her, eyes dark, jaw clenched. “Try it, lass, and I’ll tear down every road out of this glen.”
Their eyes met, and the heat between them snapped like a whip. Neither moved, neither surrendered. The storm had only begun.
A sharp knock shattered the air, followed by the sound of a throat being cleared.
Nicholas turned from Alexandra to a guard nervously standing in the open doorway. The man’s face was ashen, his breath ragged, his eyes wide with dread.
“Laird McLaren has been spotted marchin’ toward us. He has a hoard of men and steel behind them.”
Nicholas stepped forward, fists curling, voice hard as flint. "Banners?"
"Wavin’ the white banners of peace," the guard said.
“Sound the bell. Close the gates. Arm every man. I’m on me way," Nicholas said.
He turned to follow as the guard ran away, blood pounding like war drums in his ears, but a soft hand clutched his arm. He stopped mid-step, looking down to see Alexandra’s eyes locked on his.
“It’s time for me to go, Nicholas,” she said, her voice steady despite the panic beyond the walls. “Ye must let me go.”
“Nay,” he said, low and sharp. “I’ve nay intention of lettin’ ye walk into their hands.”
He gestured toward the distant thudding of hooves and armor. “Let Leo come. I’ll show him what mettle I’m made of.”
But her gaze held his, unflinching. “And what mettle will Charlie be made of, if he’s caught in the middle?”
Her words struck like a blade—clean, precise, true. Nicholas stiffened, the fight draining from his face.
The fury dimmed in his eyes, replaced with a shadow of fear. Charles. His son was within these walls, no more than a boy. If Rankin stormed in and the fighting reached the halls—he couldn’t bear the thought.
"I willnae risk harm to yer people. I'm goin' out there to speak with him," Alexandra moved past him, her skirts brushing his boots,
Nicholas turned to follow, steps slowed, thoughts a storm in his mind. Pride battled with reason. Rage warred with his desires to have her.
They walked side by side through the corridor, tension thick between them. The castle buzzed with alarm—guards shouting, boots pounding on stone, weapons being drawn. Outside, the bell began to toll, its cry echoing across the glen.
A laird had come to their doorstep.
He glanced at her as they moved, jaw tight. “Ye’ll nae walk to them alone. If I let ye go, it’s under guard. Do ye hear me?”
She didn’t answer, just kept walking with purpose in her step. She looked like a queen heading into battle, not a woman leaving her captor. But Nicholas knew—he was not just her captor anymore.
They reached the outer corridor leading to the gate towers. Nicholas paused, grabbing her wrist gently. “If Rankin dares lay a hand on ye, I’ll put him in the ground.”
“Then pray he doesnae need to,” she said, voice low. “I’m hopin’ to end this without a blade drawn.”
He swallowed hard, searching her face. “Do ye think he’ll listen to ye?”
“I daenae ken,” she said. “But I’ve nay choice, and neither do ye.”
Another boom echoed from beyond the gate, closer this time. Nicholas could hear the distant cries of men readying for battle. He looked up at the towers, then back at Alexandra.
The wind whipped around Nicholas as he and Alexandra climbed the stone steps to the battlements. From the height, the world opened below them—fields trembling with hooves, steel flashing in the sun, and banners snapping with McLaren’s black stag sigil.
Leo Rankin rode at the head, proud as a rooster, flanked by his guards. Alexandra stayed silent beside Nicholas, her eyes narrowed as she took in the approaching force.
Marcus strode up from the other side, his brows furrowed and hair wind-tossed. “There’s at least forty with him,” he said grimly. “All armed. They’re flyin’ their colors high, like they’ve nay shame.”
Nicholas folded his arms and stared down at the tide of men drawing nearer. “Aye. He wants us to see him comin’. Let him have his parade.” His voice was hard, clipped, every syllable sharp with restraint. “They’ll reach the gate soon enough.”
“What are yer orders?” Marcus asked, eyes never leaving the field.
“We follow the protocols for flyin’ the white banners of peace,” Nicholas said. “They stop outside the gates. Nay entry. If he wants parley, he’ll do it by the book or nae at all.”
Marcus gave a sharp nod and turned on his heel. “I’ll pass it along.” His boots rang on the stone as he hurried back toward the stairwell, already shouting to the men below.
Nicholas stepped forward and gripped the parapet, his eyes never leaving the black specks on the horizon. “Archers, on the towers!” he barked. “Keep bows down unless I give the word! Crossbows ready, but stay hidden!”
Men scrambled into position, lining the upper walls, each moving with swift discipline.
The clang of iron echoed as guards checked weapons, secured arrows, and readied for what might come.
Nicholas scanned the rows of heads, making sure each was where he should be.
The rhythm of preparation steadied him, gave shape to the fury building in his chest.
“Riders, stand by the inner yard!” Nicholas called out. “Shieldmen, take the lower wall. We hold position and wait. Nay man fires without me command.”
Alexandra stayed beside him, her silence heavy. He spared her a glance but said nothing—his mind couldn’t stray now. Leo was almost at the gate. The clash they’d all been waiting for stood just minutes away.
A horn blew once—low and deep—from the fields beyond. Nicholas saw the McLaren riders slow, their horses circling until Leo himself came forward, reining in just within bow range. His banner still flew, white cloth raised, but Nicholas knew he wasn’t there to beg.
Nicholas raised a hand and motioned to the watchman. “Keep the bell ready,” he ordered. “If that lot crosses the line without signal, we raise the alarm.” He turned toward the captain on the other end.
Beneath them, guards moved like clockwork, each order passed from mouth to mouth.
From the edge of his vision, he saw Alexandra grip the stone. “Will ye speak with him?” she asked, voice low. “If he does ask?”
“Aye,” Nicholas muttered. “But I’ll nae grovel.” His eyes burned as he stared at Leo’s form in the distance. “He’ll hear what I’ve got to say. And he’ll hear it on me terms.”
Alexandra exhaled slowly but said no more. Her face was unreadable now, every line locked in composure. Nicholas didn’t know what she hoped would happen—but he knew what he would not allow. Leo Rankin would not take her from him.
A rider from Leo’s side moved forward, lifting a long white cloth on a wooden staff. It waved in the breeze, stark against the darker banners. Nicholas felt the shift in the air, tension crackling like lightning. It had begun.