Page 67 of So Close To Heaven
Ivy lifted her head, brows knitting. “Move?”
“To Braalach.”
She blinked. “To...what?” The word—the name—struck a nebulous memory. Braalach?
“Home,” Alaric said simply. “The MacKinlay keep. Further north, tucked against the hills by the loch. Strong walls, guid people. A place built to withstand winter and war both.”
While the idea thrilled her—he’d saidwe—Ivy’s gaze dropped to Lily, tiny mouth parted in sleep, and her heart squeezed. Images crowded in: the endless days in the saddle, the bone-deep fatigue of their marches, the cold and rain seeping through every seam. She could still feel the ache in her body from that journey, and she had only carried herself. What would it be like with a baby in her arms?
And then came the darker memories—the clash of steel, the cries of dying men, the battles she and they had stumbled into. She shivered. She wasn’t afraid for herself, not truly, but for Lily. A babe so small had no defense in such a world.
She looked up at him, torn between the thrill of going where he went and the fear of what the road might hold. “But Alaric, she’s so little still. Couldn’t we wait until she’s a few months older, a little stronger for the journey?”
Alaric shook his head. “Nae. We must ride before the snows. Once the passes close, we’ll nae be able to get through. I’ll nae have us trapped, either here or in the open.”
Her stomach turned. She had seen enough of his determination to know he would not be swayed—but still she tried. The words tasted bitter even as she spoke them. “Then...perhaps Lily and I should remain. At Caeravorn. Until after the winter—just until Lily’s older, stronger.”
His scowl was sharp, his voice harsher than she’d expected. “Remain? While I—” He broke off, heat flashing in his eyes. “I’m nae going to leave my wife and daughter behind while I move on.”
Ivy’s heart lurched. “Your...wife?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.
He paused, staring at her, his expression unfathomable. His words, however, were not. “Aye. Ye are. And it’ll be made official once we reach Braalach.”
At some point—possibly only recently—she’d told herself it was enough that he protected her, that he accepted Lily without question, and that he stood between he and a world she barely understood. But now...now he had named her something else, something she had never dared let herself imagine.
They hadn’t spoken of love, or anything even close to it. Yet she knew, with a certainty that made her chest ache, that what she felt for him ran deep. It was in the way her pulse leapt when he entered a room, the way she leaned unconsciously toward his voice, the way she measured her days by his presence, how she ached for his touch.
Her throat tightened, and she blinked hard, afraid the tears would spill. She searched his face, that steady, unflinching gaze, the one that said the matter was already decided.
A laugh threatened to break loose, unsteady with joy. She bit it back, her lips trembling instead into a smile. She nodded. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”
Alaric grinned at her. “Aye, verra nice.”
***
The column stretched long and slow along the rutted track, a ribbon of steel and horseflesh winding northward. The air was colder now, the hills bristling with autumn color, the sky lowwith gray that promised harsher weather to come. Hooves struck hollow on the frosty ground, wagons creaked and jolted, and the breath of men and beasts smoked white in the crisp air.
Ivy sat on the bench of one of the wagons, bundled in cloak and plaid, Lily swaddled in her arms. The baby slept warm against her chest, her small breaths soft as feathers beneath Ivy’s chin. Beside her, Ewan kept the reins loose in his hands, the sway of the wagon as familiar as the saddle it seemed.
Gone a day, they’d been, and she missed Claire so much already.
She’d wanted Claire to come with them, had already gotten Alaric’s permission, but Claire had shocked Ivy by declining.
“Come with us,” Ivy had begged days ago, after Alaric had announced his intention to depart Caeravorn. Ivy had expected to see instant relief and a thrill at the invite on Claire’s face.
Instead, Claire had looked down, twisting her hands together in front of her.
“I think I’ll stay right here,” she said evasively. “Caeravorn suits me.” Then, with an awkwardness unusual for Claire—and a comical little wince—she added quickly, “Of course, I’ll have to ask Ciaran.”
Ivy had been stunned. She hadn’t doubted for a moment that Claire would want to go wherever she and Lily were bound. But then, despite her own days being consumed with Lily and Alaric, Ivyhadnoticed the looks that passed between Claire and Ciaran. Smoldering, intent—too reminiscent of the way Alaric had first looked at Ivy. And Claire, for all her composure, was hardly subtle in return. More than once Ivy had caught her friend’s covert, lingering glances, a flicker of longing in them that spoke plainly enough.
It hadn’t been lost on Ivy that Claire had left a husband behind in another century. And she appreciated that now, that life felt impossibly far away, like a book closed and set back on ashelf. Ivy could hardly blame her for responding to what was in front of her, tangible and immediate. Still, she’d been compelled to remind Claire of the man’s existence. “Claire...what about your husband?”
Claire had drawn in a deep breath and exhaled. “I know. I know! But,” she’d said, and her shoulders had sagged. “He doesn’t love me, hasn’t for a long time. That doesn’t excuse or condone anything, I know, but....” She’d shrugged again, helplessly.
Ivy had nodded. “But you might never see him again, might be here... for the rest of your life.”
“Funny, isn’t it?” Claire had mused. “My response to such a suggestionshouldbe an emphatic,Hell no. And yet, it’s not,” she explained simply.
