Page 21 of The Ruthless Highlander's Hellion
Alexandra sank, her heart a knot of longing and fear. She wanted Nicholas more than she dared admit, but duty weighed heavilyon her shoulders. Erica was right—marriage was forever. And forever was a long time to live in regret.
The morning sun bathed the castle courtyard in pale gold as Alexandra and Erica stepped through to the other side. Their cloaks fluttered with each step, the cobblestones damp from last night’s rain. Alexandra tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her thoughts still clouded by the conversation. But her stride faltered when she caught sight of a small figure sitting alone on the low stone wall by the herb garden.
“Isn’t that the wee lad?” she asked in a hush, nodding toward the boy.
"Is it?" Erica said.
“Aye,” Alexandra murmured, heart tugging. Charles sat with his knees drawn up, a single pebble rolling between his palms, eyes fixed on the ground. He looked far too small for the weight he carried.
Without thinking, Alexandra walked toward him, her voice gentle. “Charles, are ye out here by yerself, lad?”
The boy looked up, blinking at her with those same eyes as his father. “Aye. Da’s busy.”
Alexandra knelt before him, her smile soft. “Well then, would ye like to join us for a wee stroll in the gardens?”
He hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Can I run, too?”
She chuckled, already loosening her cloak. “Run? We’ll make a game of it.”
Within moments, the three of them were in the garden, the hedges alive with laughter. Charles darted ahead, little legs pumping, giggles spilling as Alexandra chased after him. “I’ll tag ye, lad!” she cried, dodging past a rosebush.
“Nay, ye willnae!” he shrieked with joy, weaving between trimmed shrubs and skipping over stones.
Erica clapped her hands and joined in the chase. “He’s as fast as a hare, this one!”
Alexandra feigned exhaustion, hands on her knees. “Mercy! I cannae catch him.”
Charles spun, grinning widely, and tapped her arm. “Tag! Ye’re it!”
“Oh, now ye’ve done it,” Alexandra said, laughing as she lunged at him. He squealed, running for cover behind Erica, who threw her arms out in mock defense.
“Nay usin’ me as a shield, cheeky thing!” Erica cried, spinning to dodge.
The laughter echoed off the stone walls, and for a time, Alexandra forgot everything—her fears, the betrothal, even Nicholas. All that remained was the brightness in Charles’ eyes, the sound of his mirth, the lightness blooming in her chest. She caught him at last, scooping him up and twirling him in the air. He laughed so hard, he hiccuped.
She set him down gently, smoothing his dark hair. “Ye’ve a sweet laugh, Charles. It does me heart good to hear it.”
He looked up at her, breathless and red-cheeked. “I like it when ye smile.”
Alexandra swallowed, touched in a way she hadn’t expected. “And I like when ye smile, too.”
They walked slowly after that, the game spent, Charles holding Alexandra’s hand with quiet trust. As they passed beneath the budding trees, her heart ached—not with sorrow, but with the stirring of something warmer. Something closer to hope.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Nicholas stood near the hearth, the fire casting flickering shadows across his grim expression in his study. Marcus leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, his brow furrowed deep with unease.
The mood between them was heavy, thick with unspoken fury and disbelief. Outside, the sun was bright and cheerful in contrast to Nicholas' black mood.
“I dinnae think the old bastard capable of takin’ Charlie,” Nicholas muttered, his voice low and edged with steel. “It’s one thing to run his mouth, but to steal a bairn—me son? I should’ve snapped his neck when I had the chance.” He turned away from the fire, jaw tight, fists clenched.
Marcus exhaled slowly, his eyes following Nicholas. “Have ye questioned him yet? Asked him why he did it?”
Nicholas shook his head, slow and deliberate. “Nay. Let the bastard rot for a few days in the dark. Let him think on what he’s done.” His tone was cold, unforgiving. "I'll question him soon enough. For now, he is to have nay visitors and nay food or water. He must suffer for what he's done."
Marcus scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Aye, but what if he’s got more planned? What if this was only the start?”
“He’s got naught left to plan. Nay allies, nay power. He’s nothin’ but a bitter old man with madness in his eyes.” His voice was hard, but something in it betrayed sorrow.
