Page 40 of The Ruthless Highlander's Hellion
How could Nicholas speak to her like that—hold her like property, as if she were a thing to be guarded, not a woman with her own will? And yet, when his eyes met hers, when his voice lowered to that rough whisper, part of her wanted nothing more than to stay.
She cursed herself under her breath, knowing it made no sense. She had a duty—to her brother, to her clan—but her heart beat for a man she couldn’t have.
She paused at her dressing table and looked at herself in the glass. Her cheeks were flushed, lips parted, and her necklace gleamed against her collarbone. Fingers drifting to the gold chain, she clutched it, thinking. It had been a gift from her brother—precious, yes—but perhaps the key to sending word home.
Turning to the desk in the corner, she opened the top drawer and found a bit of parchment and a bottle of ink. The quill shook slightly in her hand as she sat down. Her heart pounded as she dipped it and pressed the tip to the page. She began to write, her brow furrowed with purpose.
Dear Caelan,
I pray this reaches you swiftly and safely. I know well that my silence has troubled you, and I’m sorry for the worry. The truth is difficult to write, but it must be said plainly: I have beentaken. It was a mistake, not some treachery from our own kin—I was seized before I ever reached Rankin’s lands.
I’m not with Leo, nor anywhere near the border where he expected me to cross. I’m in the Highlands, far from where ye’d think to look, and I fear Leo will be sorely insulted that I never arrived. I don’t wish to see him angered against us, and worse, I fear what he might do in retaliation. This letter is a warning, Caelan—guard Sinclair lands well, and be wary.
I’ve not been harmed. I am well cared for, even if held against me will. I will not say who has me, for I know your temper, brother, and if ye knew, you’d bring steel to their gates before the sun rose again. There’s been too much blood between clans already—I will not be the cause of more.
Trust that I’m doing what I can to return to ye, and if it becomes safe to name those responsible, I will. Until then, protect our people, and be wise. You always told me my mind was too quick for my own good—now I hope it’s quick enough to find my way home. I love you, and I’m sorry. I will send word soon.
Alexandra sat back, her breath catching as she reread the letter. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the page, knuckles white. It was dangerous, what she’d written—dangerous even more for what she’d left unsaid. But she’d chosen her words carefully, shielding Nicholas while still warning her brother.
She folded the parchment neatly and sealed it with a bit of wax she found in a drawer. Her gold necklace gleamed in thecandlelight, and she unclasped it, weighing it in her palm. It might be enough to buy a servant’s silence—or at least their loyalty for a task such as this. She would need them to get the letter out of the castle and into the right hands to get to Sinclair Castle and to her brother.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Nicholas stormed across his study like a bull penned too long. His boots thudded against the stone floor, arms tense at his sides, jaw locked tight. The thought of Alexandra marrying that bampot, Leo Rankin, made his blood boil like a kettle left too long on the fire.
Leo doesnae deserve her—nae her sharp tongue, nor her soft heart.
He growled low, dragging a hand through his hair. The idea of Leo touching her, claiming her in the marriage bed—it made Nicholas see red.
He couldn't stand the thought of that filthy bastard layin’ a hand on her skin. With fire in his veins, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the study.
The castle walls blurred around him as he marched through the halls, fury driving his every step. Servants scattered at the sight of him, none daring to meet his eyes.
When he reached Alexandra’s chamber, he didn’t knock.
He kicked the door open with a thunderous crack and roared, “Ye’re nae marryin’ that Rankin swine! I forbid it!”
Alexandra jumped, parchment in hand, eyes wide. “Nicholas, what in God’s name are ye?—”
“What’re ye writin’?” he snapped, eyes already locked on the letter gripped tight in her hands.
“It’s nothin’,” she said quickly, stepping back.
He lunged forward, but she darted away with the parchment, skirts swishing, her hair falling loose as she tried to stay out of reach.
“Give it here, lass,” he growled.
“Ye’ve nay right!” she snapped, spinning out of his grasp.
He chased her round the bed, caught her wrist, and wrestled the letter from her fingers with one sharp tug. She gasped, struggling, but it was too late—he had it. His eyes flicked over the words, his face twisting with fury.
“What is this foolery?” he barked, his voice low and dangerous. Without another word, he tore the parchment in half, then in half again, and strode to the hearth. He tossed the pieces into the flames, watching them curl and blacken.
“Stop!” she shouted.
He yanked the desk drawer open and pulled out more parchment, crumpling it all and flinging it into the fire.
“Ye’re forbidden from usin’ pen and paper. I’ll nae have ye sendin’ word to anyone.”
