Page 26 of The Ruthless Highlander's Hellion
“Go on and wait in the parlor. I’ll join ye when I'm good and ready. Now go with ye.”
Alexandra didn’t reply, only spun on her heel and stalked away toward the parlor down the hall. Her heart thundered in her chest, fury giving way to a rising swirl of doubt and anticipation. The man drove her to the brink, always pushing and pulling, always keeping something back. She paced the room, arms crossed tightly.
“He will drive me mad with his stubbornness. I willnae let him get to me.”
But why is me arm still warm from his touch?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“She’s a fiery one, that lass.” Alan chuckled as Nicholas closed the door behind him. He leaned back in the chair, stroking his beard, eyes twinkling. “If I were twenty years younger, I’d be the one stormin’ after her.”
Nicholas folded his arms and leaned against the edge of the desk, his expression stony. “Aye, well, it’s nae a path I plan to walk.” His voice was cool, deliberate. “I’ve had me fill of weddin’ bands.”
Alan snorted, shaking his head. “Ye talk like a man twice yer age, lad. Ye’re still breathin’, still strong. What’s stoppin’ ye from reachin’ for marriage again?” His voice softened just slightly. “It’s been a while since Annabeth passed.”
Nicholas turned away slightly, eyes narrowing at the hearth across the room. “It doesnae matter how long it’s been,” he said. “A curse doesnae follow a calendar.” He swallowed hard. “Some men are nae meant to wed twice.”
The councilman watched him in silence for a beat, then gave a quiet hum. “Is that what ye tell yerself to sleep at night?” His voice wasn’t cruel, but it was firm. “Why is it ye think ye’re cursed?”
Nicholas stiffened, jaw tightening. He didn’t answer right away, but the silence was answer enough. Alan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes steady on Nicholas. “That’s nay way to live, lad.”
Nicholas turned, his face unreadable. “Am I nae cursed? I wed her, and she died.” The words were low, heavy. “If I wed another, she’ll meet the same fate.”
“Ye daenae ken that,” Alan said gently. “But what I do ken is if ye keep hidin’ behind guilt and ghosts, ye’ll wake one day and realize life passed ye by.” He stood, patting Nicholas’s shoulder. “Daenae wait until yer too old to reach.”
Nicholas didn’t respond as Alan walked to the door. The councilman paused at the threshold, looking back with a knowing smile.
“I’d wager she’s already cracked that wall around yer heart. Be a shame if ye turned her away.” Then he left, the door clicking softly behind him.
Nicholas remained where he stood, his breath slow and tight in his chest. The fire crackled in the hearth, but the warmth did nothing for the chill beneath his skin. He pressed a hand to the edge of the desk, grounding himself.
Cursed or nae, it’s better I daenae get involved.
Nicholas stepped into the parlor and closed the door behind him with a heavy thud. Alexandra stood near the fireplace, arms crossed, her eyes already burning with fury. The moment their eyes met, she stepped forward, voice sharp and unrelenting.
“Why are ye avoidin’ yer own son, Nicholas? He’s beggin’ strangers for affection—ye daenae see the pain in his eyes?”
His face hardened like granite, and he strode past her to the decanter, pouring himself a measure of whisky. “That’s nay concern of yers, lass,” he said coolly. “What happens between me and Charles is private. Ye’d do well to keep yer nose out of it.”
She stalked after him, eyes flashing. “He’s a bairn, and he’s sufferin’. And ye—ye pretend like ye care for him ready to start a war for his abduction, but where are ye when he needs ye most?” Her voice cracked slightly. “He asked me how I got close with ye, as if it were a bloody miracle.”
Nicholas turned on her, jaw clenched tight, his glass forgotten in his hand. “Ye’ve nay idea what yer talkin’ about.” His voice dropped to a growl. “Ye ken nothin’ of what it takes to protect a child—ye think affection is enough?”
Alexandra stood her ground, even as he loomed before her. “Nay, but I ken what it means to feel unwanted. That lad thinkshe’s a burden to ye—and ye’re doin’ nothin’ to prove him wrong.” She lifted her chin. “So aye, I’ll meddle if I must.”
“Ye will nae.” He slammed the glass down on the table, stepping closer until she had to tilt her head to look at him. “Ye are in me home, question me choices, and now ye dare to tell me how to raise me own son?” His voice dripped with fury. “This is nae yer place.”
Alexandra’s breath came fast, but she didn’t back away. “Maybe nae,” she snapped, “but someone has to tell ye the truth. And the truth is—ye’re failin’ him.” Her voice trembled now, hot with anger and something deeper. “Ye’re so lost in yer own misery, ye cannae see what’s right before ye.”
Nicholas’s nostrils flared, and he moved in until there was hardly a breath of space between them. “And what would ye ken of misery, lass? Ye think ye see all, but ye daenae ken what I’ve lost.” His voice grew low, rough with restraint. “I’ve buried more than ye can fathom.”
“I daenae care,” she whispered fiercely, her chest brushing his with every breath. “I daenae care what ye’ve buried—he’s still here, and he needs ye.” Her eyes searched his face. “And if ye think pushin’ folk away will keep them safe, ye’ll lose him too.”
His hands flexed at his sides, fury and guilt warring beneath his skin. “Damn it, Alexandra,” he muttered, voice ragged. “Why do ye care?” His breath hitched. “Why do ye keep pressin’ into places that’ll only bring ye pain?”
She stared up at him, chest heaving. “Because someone has to.” Her voice was quiet now, but fierce. “And maybe—maybe because I cannae stand seein’ ye rottin’ in yer own silence.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked, and his hand lifted before he realized it, brushing a stray curl from her cheek. “Ye’re trouble,” he murmured, voice husky. “Ye drive me mad.” His eyes dropped to her mouth, and his breath came shallow.
