Page 9

The sudden silence in the immediate yard was deafening.

Two passing guards stopped dead in their tracks, their leather armguards clattering. A maid scrubbing the stone steps turned her head so fast her cap nearly flew off, and amused, knowing smiles broke across the faces of half the household standing nearby.

Sheona felt a scalding wave of heat rush up her neck, flooding her cheeks with a deep, humiliating red. She wished, with every fiber of her being, that the stone flagstones would split open and swallow her whole.

Beside her, Brodie slowly closed his eyes. He let out a long, silent breath through his nose, reached up with a heavy hand, and rubbed his thumb and forefinger roughly across the bridge of his nose.

“Maria,” Brodie grunted, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that snapped the chuckling servants back to attention. “Take Angus upstairs. Scrub the mud off his knees and see that he rests.”

“Aye, Laird,” Maria said, a small, lingering twinkle in her eyes as she took the boy’s hand. “Come along, little bird. Let’s leave yer father to his business.”

Angus offered Sheona one last brilliant, beaming smile before allowing himself to be led up the stone steps toward the main hall.

Once the boy disappeared into the entryway, Brodie turned to the middle-aged housekeeper who had hurried out to meet them, her ring of iron keys jingling at her waist.

“Prepare the guest chambers in the east wing for Lady Sheona,” Brodie ordered, dismounting his stallion and tossing the reins to a waiting stable hand.

The housekeeper winced, wringing her apron in her hands. “Ah… Me Laird. The east wing roof gave way durin’ Tuesday’s gale. The stonemasons have pulled down the rafters, and the rain has soaked straight through the floorboards. Every room is uninhabitable.”

Brodie’s thick brows pulled down into a sharp frown. “The west gallery, then.”

“Full of stored grain from the lower farm, me Laird,” she offered apologetically.

She glanced briefly at Sheona, then back at Brodie, a soft, practical smile warming her weathered face. “The only chamber swept, aired, and fit for a lady is yer own, me Laird. And… well, since the lass is yer betrothed and soon-to-be mistress here, nay one in the keep would think a thing of it. It’s only appropriate.”

Sheona went deathly pale. Her hands flew to her skirt as her heart hammered wildly against her ribs, and she stared at the housekeeper in sheer horror.

His room? Sleepin’ in the same bed!

Brodie didn’t hesitate. His face hardened into unyielding stone.

“Prepare me chamber for Lady Sheona,” Brodie commanded, his tone leaving zero room for debate or gentle assumptions. “Fresh linens on the bed, fire lit in the hearth, and bring the tray Maria promised. Then gather blankets and heavy bear furs and lay them beside the hearth in me study down the hall.”

The housekeeper’s smile vanished, replaced by a quick, respectful nod. “At once, me Laird.” She curtsied quickly and hurried back through the oak doors.

A suffocating, uncomfortable silence fell over the courtyard. The servants gave them a wide berth, leaving Sheona standing near her mare, her knuckles white as she clutched her wool cloak around her trembling frame.

Brodie turned slowly to face her. The cold, unreadable mask had settled fully over his harsh features. He took two slow steps toward her, towering over her, his dark eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made the breath catch in her throat.

“I have business along the southern border,” Brodie said, his rasp slicing cleanly through the quiet courtyard. “The ambush in the gorge proves someone is watchin’ me roads. I will ride out within the hour with twenty broadswords to sweep the ridge and secure the perimeter. I will be gone for three days.”

Sheona held his stare, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her jaw set tight.

Brodie leaned down slightly, stepping into her space until she could feel the heat radiating from his massive shoulders, his voice dropping to a deep, gravelly whisper meant only for her ears.

“I willnae touch ye, Lady Sheona,” he said, allowing no room for doubt or hesitation in his tone. “Ye have me word. Nae now… nae ever.”

He stared at her for one lingering, unblinking heartbeat, letting the truth of his words sink deep into her mind. Then, without waiting for her reply, he turned sharply on his heel, his dark tartan snapping in the mountain wind as he strode to the captain of his guard to order the horses re-saddled.

Sheona stood alone in the bustling yard, watching his broad back disappear toward the armory, her hand resting against her heart as she tried to catch her breath.

Three Weeks to the Binding

The mud along the southern border had dried into hard, rutted clay by the time Brodie led his twenty broadswords back through the portcullis. Three days of riding in the saddle, tracking cold trails through damp moss, and tightening patrols along the ridge had done little to clear his mind.

When he stepped into the great hall for supper, the heavy timber tables were already laden with steaming pewter platters of roasted venison, stewed turnips, and crusty loaves of rye bread. The room hummed with the steady chatter of off-duty guards and household servants.

Sheona was already seated near the high table. She wore a soft, slate-gray gown, her dark hair brushed clean and tied back with a leather lace. The pale exhaustion that had shadowed her eyes at Hallow Castle was gone, replaced by a quiet, composed grace that made Brodie’s pulse hitch for a fraction of a second as he approached the dais.