CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
" P lease, please return to me," Alexandra whispered.
She paced the length of the stone wall, her hands wringing at her sides.
It was sunset, yet sleep hadn’t touched her eyes since Nicholas rode out earlier that morning.
Each breath felt heavy, her heart a constant hammer in her chest. She kept her eyes fixed on the horizon, praying for any sign of movement.
Then—shouts.
“The Laird! The Laird returns!” The guards at the gate cried out, voices echoing across the courtyard.
Alexandra’s breath caught in her throat. She darted to the edge of the parapet and looked beyond to the distant hills.
There they were, cresting over one hill onto the meadow.
A dark line of riders approached, weary but upright, horses moving with purpose. Alexandra gripped the stone ledge, eyes scanning each figure, heart pounding against her ribs.
Is Erica among them? Is Nicholas alive, unhurt?
She didn’t dare exhale until the gates creaked open and the hoard thundered into the courtyard.
Nicholas dismounted swiftly, dirt-smeared and bloodied but standing strong. His eyes found hers instantly, and Alexandra didn’t think—she ran to him. Her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders as he caught her in a firm embrace, and his lips crashed against hers without hesitation.
“I thought—” she gasped against him. “Did ye find her? Is she safe?”
Nicholas nodded, then turned toward the riders behind him. From behind Marcus, a rider removed her cloak, revealing a dirt-smudged face, eyes wide with emotion.
Alexandra’s breath hitched as she screamed, “Erica!”
The young woman slid from her horse and stumbled forward. Alexandra met her halfway, arms flinging around her in a desperate, tearful hug.
“Ye’re alive,” Alexandra sobbed. “Oh, heavens, I thought ye were dead.”
Erica clung to her just as fiercely, trembling with relief. “I thought I’d never see ye again,” she whispered. “I prayed—every night I prayed for ye.”
Alexandra pulled back enough to look at her, brushing tangled hair from her friend’s face. “I'm so blessed to see ye again.”
The courtyard watched in reverent silence as the two women embraced again, their sobs filling the night air.
And for the first time in days, Alexandra felt whole.
But then her heart twisted as she looked at Erica’s bruised face and dirt-streaked skin. Her friend’s dress was torn, her hands scraped, with ligature marks on her wrists, and her eyes hollow from exhaustion.
“Come, love,” Alexandra said softly, looping an arm around her. “Ye need rest and a bath, and I’ll see to both meself.”
She led Erica up the stairs, all but ignoring the curious glances from passing servants. In her own chambers, she gave a flurry of orders—a bath, hot water, clean cloths, lavender oil. When the tub was finally filled, steam rising gently from its surface, she turned to Erica with a smile.
“Soak that tired wee body of yers. I’ll fetch ye some food.”
"Thank ye, Alexandra," Erica said.
Alexandra swept down the corridor and into the kitchen, where she quickly loaded two trays with roasted pheasant, thick slices of bread, jam, cheese, honeyed apples, and a crock of stew.
She added two mugs, a bottle of whiskey, and a pitcher of cider.
One of the servants helped her carry it all back up the stairs.
She opened her chamber door carefully, mindful not to spill the tray.
Inside, Erica lay with her head tilted back in the tub, eyes closed, hair wet and slicked against her shoulders. Alexandra set the tray down and poured a whiskey into a mug before handing it over.
“Here, drink this. It will warm ye up and put numbness to any pain."
Erica opened one eye, took the mug, and let out a tired laugh. “Feels strange, this does. Ye waitin’ on me like I’m the lady and ye the handmaid.”
Alexandra smiled, sitting beside the tub. “Ye were never me maid, nae truly. A daughter of Laird McLaren, hidin’ in plain sight. I wish ye’d told me.”
“I couldnae,” Erica whispered. “It was safer if nay one kent. I’m sorry I lied.”
“Och!” Alexandra sat up straighter. “I was so glad to see ye safe, I forgot to ask Nicholas! Is Leo... is he comin’ for us as we speak?"
A ripple of anxiety passed through her as her fingers curled against her skirts.
“Nay,” Erica said, voice low but steady. “He’s nay longer breathin’. Nicholas saw to that.”
Relief crashed over Alexandra like a wave. But another thought followed swiftly, sour and sharp.
“That might start a war,” she muttered. “His clan willnae stand for it.”
Erica’s lips quirked into a smile. “They will if the new Lady doesnae wish for retaliation.”
Alexandra blinked. “New Lady?”
“Aye.” Erica nodded. “James told me—me parents left written instruction. I was meant to be the Lady all along. Leo murdered them to steal it from me.”
Alexandra gaped, her mouth forming words that didn’t quite come out. “So... ye… ye’re Lady McLaren now?”
“I am as long as I marry soon. It was part of the conditions me parents left that would see me rule alongside me husband.”
"Ah! I am so pleased! This is unbelievably good fortune!" Alexandra could hardly contain her excitement.
Erica laughed. "I'm still mullin’ it over meself."
A grin spread across Alexandra’s face as she stood to pour another round of whiskey. “Well then, this calls for celebratin’.”
She bowed low as she handed Erica the mug and playfully said, "Lady McLaren."
Erica laughed and took the mug.
Later, after Erica stepped from the tub and wrapped herself in one of Alexandra’s robes, they sat side by side and ate heartily.
The table was covered in roasted pheasant glazed with honey, hot rolls with sweet butter, spiced apples, and thick slices of creamy cheese.
They shared laughter between bites and drank until the fire burned low.
For the first time in days, Alexandra felt peace settle in her bones.
After Erica drifted into sleep, her breathing soft and steady beneath the quilt, Alexandra gently slipped from the room. She looked back once, her heart aching with affection for the girl who had always been more sister than servant.
Quietly, she padded down the corridor, the stone floors cool beneath her feet. Her pulse quickened as she reached the door to Nicholas’s study and knocked once before entering.
Nicholas stood at the hearth, his tunic unlaced at the collar, eyes weary from the day’s battle. He looked up, surprised to see her, but his expression softened at the sight of her. She didn’t waste time with pleasantries—her voice was firm, though her hands trembled slightly.
"Thank ye for returnin’ her to me," she said.
"Ye’re welcome. I'd do anythin’ for ye," he said.
"Is it true? Is Leo dead and is Erica to take his place?" she asked.
"Aye. A fortunate turn of events that could nae have come at a better time. This way we avoid war for takin’ Leo's life," he said.
"And we are all safe, Charlie, too," she said.
"Aye, Charlie is safe. I just saw him to bed an hour ago. A strong lad," he said.
“A strong lad that deserves a maither," she said. "Ye once asked me to marry ye… instead of Leo.”
His brow arched, slow and deliberate. “Aye,” he said, stepping toward her, “and I still hold true to that request.”
Alexandra’s breath caught as she nodded, heart pounding. “Then I accept. I’ll marry ye, and I’ll be a maither to yer son, raise him as me own. If ye’ll still have me.”
Nicholas’s eyes darkened with emotion as he closed the distance between them. “Are ye sure, lass? This is what ye want?”
“I’m sure,” she whispered, her voice shaking with joy and nerves. “We’ll need me brother Caelan’s blessin’, but I’ll face him if ye’ll face him beside me.”
He gave a low chuckle, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “That’ll nae be a problem.”
Then, without another word, he kissed her fiercely.
The kiss deepened, urgent and hungry, years of restraint breaking in an instant. She gasped as Nicholas swept an arm across the desk, sending papers and ink pots clattering to the floor.
He lifted her easily, setting her atop the now-cleared desk, their mouths never parting. Her hands clutched at his shoulders as his lips traced along her jaw, sending shivers down her spine.
“Nicholas,” she gasped, her fingers curling in his hair.
“Alexandra,” he murmured, pulling her close, his touch reverent and aching with longing. “I have to taste ye before I go mad.”
“What? I daenae understand…” she said but before she could finish Nicholas pulled the layers from under her skirt.
Peeling away until there was nothing between him and her sacred place.
With slow purpose, he slid off her boots. She watched as he untied the ribbon from her stocking at her thigh. Then he rolled the stocking down her leg. His fingers grazed her skin. Anticipation grew within her as he did the same routine on the other leg.
He leaned down and pressed his lips to the top of her foot, his warm breath making her shiver despite the heat of the hearth radiating around them.
He continued making his way up her ankle, softly kissing and teasing all the way up to her knee. The world narrowed to the feel of him on her leg.
The way he touched her made her feel sensual, desired. Her body responded, each kiss as he made his way to her upper thigh, awakened something deeper within her.
His mouth greedily kissed her between her thighs without much warning, causing her to gasp.
“Nicholas… I…” but her words were overshadowed by desire.
Her voice trembled as much as her limbs with this newfound thrill moving inside her. And in that moment, Alexandra felt not like a Sinclair, not like a sister or a captive – but simply a woman, succumbing to a Laird.
She felt every inch of her come alive. Tingling sparked within her as the blood rushed deep down where he touched her. Soon his kisses turned to licking and she felt wanton.
She knew there was something very debaucherous about what she was doing, but she didn’t care in that moment. She wanted more and more.
She felt his tongue slide up and down her crevice and landed high on her rosebud. Her fingers twisted in his hair unsure of what was to come next. Feeling as though she was about to lose all control.
“Oh Nicholas… I feel… there’s somethin’ happenin’ to me.”
“Aye, lass. Let it happen. Lose control. Lose yerself. Give yerself to me in this moment.”
Alexandra felt nervous. She looked over her shoulder at the door, feeling that someone could walk in at any moment. What if Alan the councilman walked in or Marcus? She would be mortified.
Yet feeling like they might get caught only made it seem naughty, which was all she needed.
Suddenly, a tremor rocked through her body. She moaned so loudly she was shocked that it came from her.
The bliss poured out of her as Nicholas drank of her honey. She struggled to catch her breath as the pulsing moved through every inch of her down to her toes.
“Och it feels so very good,” she said.
“Aye,” Nicholas said between kisses.
Their world shrank to that single moment—the firelight dancing across the room, the storm of emotions long buried now rushing free. Every brush of his hands over her arms, every kiss pressed against her skin, was a silent vow.
He moved up her body and pressed his lips to the hollow of her neck. A low sound escaped her throat, something between a sigh and a plea, as her arms instinctively wrapped around his shoulders.
Her hands slid down the front of his tunic and found the hard ridges of his abdomen beneath. His body was forged like iron- solid, unyielding, honed by years of war and hard labor. Her fingers traced lines of muscle, feeling the flex and shift under her palm as he moved.
There was strength in him, yes, but there was tenderness too – the kind that made her feel safe, cherished, and wanted all at once. Something that gave her the courage to move her hand further and further down his abdomen until his rested on something hard under his kilt.
Nicholas sucked in a breath of air and put his hand on top of hers. “Lass, I am already on the brink of madness, but if ye continue to touch me like that I daenae ken if I can stop.”
“Tell me what to do. I want to please ye as ye have me, but I am nae ready to lay with ye as man and wife,” she said.
Her inexperience made her feel vulnerable but her ecstasy overshadowed her embarrassment for not knowing how to please a man. In this moment she wanted to touch him and know him.
Nicholas gave her a smirk. Instead of stopping her hand, he guided it under his kilt until it rested on his flesh. Her eyes went wide at the girth she felt under her fingertips.
“Daenae be frightened, lass,” his voice was thick with a lusty whisper.
“What do I do?” she asked quietly.
“Like this,” he said.
His hand moved on top of hers. Stroking himself with her hand. He groaned. She bit her lip as she watched the bliss flood his face. Soon she slid her hand on her own without his help. His staff was hard and throbbing under her hand.
With instinct on her side she moved her hand faster and faster. “Like this?” she asked.
“Aye,” he whispered as he placed his hands on the desk on either side of her, bracing himself.
“This feels good?” she asked with an innocence but knew that she meant to draw desire from him with her words.
“Oh, lass, ye ken ye drive me to the edge with yer questions. Yer touch is like heaven on me,” he said.
She felt more confidante in her new skill as she held him just a little firmer in her grip and moved faster.
A loud moan escaped his mouth as he released and she felt the power of having a Laird in the palm of her hand.