CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
M orning light crept through the narrow windowpanes, casting golden slants across the stone walls.
Alexandra stirred beneath the thick woolen blanket, her head heavy, her limbs slow to wake.
For a breath of a moment, she thought she’d dreamt it all—but then it struck her like a bolt through the chest.
"Erica! She's gone."
She sat up abruptly, her breath catching as grief twisted through her again. Her feet swung over onto the floor.
Glancing down, she noticed she wore only her nightshift, and a blush crawled hot to her cheeks. She hadn’t gone to bed on her own—that much she knew.
Nicholas?
Her heart beat a little faster as her mind conjured the image of his strong arms carrying her, the careful hands that must’ve undressed her.
She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed a palm to her cheek, trying to will away the shameful thoughts.
It was indecent—unbecoming of her position—but she couldn’t stop the warmth that bloomed in her chest. He’d treated her like something precious, and that alone confused her more than anything else.
Shaking the thoughts from her head, she stood. The chill of the stone floor bit at her feet as she moved to the washbasin. She scrubbed her face, dressed quickly, and pinned her hair back into a tidy braid. Duty stirred in her bones, though sorrow lay heavy on her shoulders.
She stepped into the hallway and descended the spiral stairwell into the heart of the castle. The morning air was thick with the scent of peat smoke and baking bread. Servants bustled to and fro, their footsteps echoing against the walls as they carried baskets, linens, and platters.
As she walked through, in the great hall, scullery maids polished the long wooden tables, while a cook bellowed orders from the kitchens.
Outside the windows, stable boys hauled fresh water, and a blacksmith's hammer rang in the distance. The hearths roared back to life, and the tapestry-laden corridors grew warmer as the day broke in earnest. Life in Castle O’Donnell moved with a kind of determined rhythm—predictable and unrelenting.
But inside Alexandra, all felt still and shattered as she watched everyone go back to their normal routines.
She wandered the corridor near the great hall, scanning every passing face. Erica should’ve been among them, chiding her for sleeping late, fixing her hair, whispering something cheeky about Nicholas. A knot rose in her throat. She was truly gone—and she'd left to save Alexandra.
Swallowing the lump, Alexandra moved forward, her jaw set. She would find a way to bring Erica back. She had to.
Alexandra climbed the narrow steps to the outer wall, the wind tugging at her skirts and the morning mist curling around the stones.
She spotted Nicholas pacing along the battlements, his arms crossed, gaze fixed on the horizon.
His hair ruffled with each gust, and his cloak billowed behind him like a banner. She cleared her throat and approached.
“Mornin’, Nicholas,” she said softly. “What are ye doin’ up here?”
He didn’t turn right away. “Keepin’ an eye out for Marcus,” he replied, his voice low, edged with quiet tension.
She stepped up beside him and followed his gaze across the moors. “Any news?”
He shook his head. “Nay. Nothin’ yet.”
Alexandra hesitated before speaking again. “May I have a moment with ye… in private?” she said, acknowledging the guards on the walls in earshot.
Nicholas looked at her, eyebrows lifting slightly, then gave a sharp nod. “Come with me.”
He led her down the winding stone steps, past guards and servants, until they reached the stable yard.
The earthy scent of hay and horses filled the air, and inside the stables, the low nicker of a mare greeted them.
Nicholas gave a pointed nod to the stable hands.
Without a word, the men dipped their heads and quietly filed out.
The space fell into a calm hush, broken only by the occasional rustle of hooves and straw. Alexandra turned to him, her heart fluttering like a bird trapped in her chest.
“I… I woke this mornin’ in me chemise,” she said, lifting her chin. “Did ye?—?”
Nicholas smirked, his eyes gleaming. “Couldnae let ye sleep in cold, rigid clothes’, could I?”
A deep blush warmed her cheeks. He leaned casually against the stall post, his arms crossed, watching her with that same infuriating confidence.
“I dinnae do anythin’ to ye,” he said gently, almost teasing now. “Even if it near killed me nae to press me lips to yers. Ye looked so soft and peaceful, I…” He trailed off, clearing his throat.
Alexandra’s heart stumbled in her chest. Her eyes drifted over him, unwillingly at first, but then with a slow ache that surprised her.
His broad shoulders were tense beneath his tunic, his square jaw dusted with the shadow of a beard.
His lips, though drawn in a tight line, seemed far too tempting.
She swallowed hard. “Thank ye… for bein’ a gentleman.”
He stepped closer, close enough that she could smell the faint trace of leather and smoke on him. “Ye neednae thank me. I’d never harm ye, lass. I’m nae Leo Rankin.”
“Nay,” she whispered, staring up into his eyes. “Ye’re nae.”
For a long moment, they stood there in silence, the tension between them thick as mist. Alexandra tried to will her pulse to calm, but it only quickened under the weight of his gaze.
There was something dangerous in the way her body responded to his nearness—something undeniable.
And she feared she didn’t want to fight it anymore.
Alexandra turned her back to Nicholas, the heat still alive in her chest from standing too close to him. Her hands trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the desire she dared not name.
She needed to steady herself, to shift the air between them. “I came to ask ye a question,” she said, her voice low.
“What is it, then?” he asked, his tone softer now, though she could still hear the tension beneath it.
“It’s about Erica… and how we can rescue her.” She clasped her hands tightly before her, forcing herself to focus.
Nicholas stepped around her slowly, eyebrows drawn together. “Aye. And how do ye plan on doin’ that?”
She met his eyes, resolve steeling her. “Yer father-in-law, Oscar… ye have him in the dungeons still, aye?”
His jaw clenched. “That I do. What of it?”
“He stole Charlie away once, did he nae?” she said quickly, before her courage failed. “Maybe ye can ask him how he did it. Maybe there’s a way we can use his knowledge to steal Erica back.”
Nicholas’s expression darkened at once. “Leo’ll never let Erica go. And if she ends up missin’, he’ll ken exactly where to look. He’ll come stormin’ back here with his sword raised.”
“But we cannae just sit here and do nothin’,” she snapped, stepping closer to him. “There’s got to be a way.”
“I willnae crawl into the filth to ask that man for advice,” Nicholas growled. “He’s a traitor. He stole me son—me blood. Put him through hell and nearly destroyed me.”
Alexandra’s voice rose. “But how was it done? Maybe there's somethin’ useful he can tell ye.”
Nicholas shook his head, turning away. “I’d sooner gut meself than speak to him again. I trusted him once and look where that got me.”
“Blast it, Nicholas, this isnae about ye ! It’s about Erica!” Her voice cracked with emotion. “She’s me dearest friend, and Leo’s a black-hearted monster!”
He turned back, his eyes flashing. “And ye think I daenae ken that? Ye think I’d let that devil lay a hand on her if I had a choice?”
“Then why won’t ye do somethin’?!” she shouted, voice echoing through the wooden beams of the stable. “Why won’t ye try?”
“Because if we make one wrong move, Erica’s life is forfeit!” he thundered back, stepping closer.
They stood close again, faces flushed with fury, breath fast and shallow. The tension between them was no longer soft, no longer unspoken—it burned, fierce and unrelenting. Alexandra’s chest heaved, and she gritted her teeth.
“We must do somethin’!” she cried, turning from him with a sob she swallowed back.
Without waiting for his answer, she stomped out of the stable, skirts swishing around her legs, her boots pounding against the stone floor. She didn’t know where she was going—only that she had to move before the tears spilled free. Behind her, Nicholas didn’t call after her.
Alexandra stormed through the stone corridors.
Her chest still burned with the fire of her argument with Nicholas, her thoughts a tangled knot of fury and helplessness.
She knew he cared—of course he did—but why couldn’t he see sense?
Why must he always let his pride and pain keep him from doing what needed to be done?
The scent of warm bread and roasting meat drifted up the stairwell, grounding her in the moment.
Her stomach clenched in protest, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since early the day before.
The castle’s kitchens were bustling as always, the cook scolding a young scullery lad while pots clanged and flour dust hung in the air.
Alexandra paused at the threshold, breathing it in like comfort.
Then she spotted Charlie, carrying a bread basket before he took a seat on a low stool near the hearth, his small legs swinging as he munched on a honeyed oatcake. His nursemaid sat nearby, darning a stocking and humming under her breath, but the boy’s sharp eyes lifted the moment he saw Alexandra.
“Miss Alexandra!” he chirped, leaping off the stool and rushing toward her.
Alexandra dropped to her knees just in time to catch him as he threw himself into her arms. His hug was tight for one so small, and she felt his cheek pressed against her neck. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close, a lump rising in her throat.
“Och, wee lad,” she whispered, blinking back the tears that burned behind her eyes.
“Did ye see how I helped cook carry the bread basket?” Charlie asked, pulling back to beam at her. “I’m strong as a bull now!”
“Aye, stronger even,” she said with a soft laugh, brushing a crumb from his cheek. “They’ll be askin’ ye to chop firewood next.”
He giggled at that and took her hand, tugging her toward the stool. “Come sit! Are ye hungry?”
She sat beside him, her skirt pooling at her feet, and accepted a piece of the oatcake he offered her. “Thank ye, Charlie.”
Charlie leaned into her side, his head against her arm as they chewed in silence.
She glanced down at the crown of his tousled hair and felt something twist in her chest—an ache so deep and strange she could scarcely name it.
He was not her son, yet at that moment, she felt a fierce, protective love for him as if he were.
“Will Erica be comin’ back soon?” he asked suddenly, his voice small.
Alexandra’s breath caught, and she looked away. “I hope so, laddie. I truly do.”
“She is funny and kind,” Charlie said with a nod. “Where did she go?”
Alexandra kissed the top of his head. “Aye… she had to go away, but she will return. She has to.”
Charlie reached up and took her hand again. “If ye’re sad, I can share me blanket with ye like ye did when I had a bad dream.”
Tears pricked her eyes, and she smiled through them. “Ye’ve the kindest heart, Charlie. I daenae ken what I’d do without ye.”
The nursemaid gave her a fond glance, then rose and quietly stepped out, leaving them be. Charlie clambered into her lap and curled against her like a kitten, warm and trusting. Alexandra wrapped her arms around him and rocked gently, finding peace in the simple weight of the child.
“I wish I were bigger,” he mumbled against her shoulder. “Then I could fight the bad men and bring Erica home.”
She closed her eyes and held him tighter. “One day. But for now, ye’ve done enough just by being here.”
Minutes passed, slow and tender, as the kitchen bustle faded into a distant hum.
For the first time since Erica had left, Alexandra’s heart steadied its frantic rhythm.
In the soft light of the hearth, with Charlie safe in her arms, she found strength again.
She would not give up—not on her friend, not on her hope, and not on the family she’d found in this stone fortress.