Page 50 of The Ruthless Highlander's Hellion
“Then why won’t yedosomethin’?!” she shouted, voice echoing through the wooden beams of the stable. “Why won’t ye try?”
“Because if we make one wrong move, Erica’s life is forfeit!” he thundered back, stepping closer.
They stood close again, faces flushed with fury, breath fast and shallow. The tension between them was no longer soft, no longer unspoken—it burned, fierce and unrelenting. Alexandra’s chest heaved, and she gritted her teeth.
“We mustdosomethin’!” she cried, turning from him with a sob she swallowed back.
Without waiting for his answer, she stomped out of the stable, skirts swishing around her legs, her boots pounding against the stone floor. She didn’t know where she was going—only that she had to move before the tears spilled free. Behind her, Nicholas didn’t call after her.
Alexandra stormed through the stone corridors. Her chest still burned with the fire of her argument with Nicholas, her thoughts a tangled knot of fury and helplessness. She knew he cared—of course he did—but why couldn’t he see sense? Why must he always let his pride and pain keep him from doing what needed to be done?
The scent of warm bread and roasting meat drifted up the stairwell, grounding her in the moment. Her stomach clenched in protest, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since early the day before. The castle’s kitchens were bustling as always, the cook scolding a young scullery lad while pots clanged and flour dust hung in the air. Alexandra paused at the threshold, breathing it in like comfort.
Then she spotted Charlie, carrying a bread basket before he took a seat on a low stool near the hearth, his small legs swinging as he munched on a honeyed oatcake. His nursemaid sat nearby, darning a stocking and humming under her breath, but the boy’s sharp eyes lifted the moment he saw Alexandra.
“Miss Alexandra!” he chirped, leaping off the stool and rushing toward her.
Alexandra dropped to her knees just in time to catch him as he threw himself into her arms. His hug was tight for one so small, and she felt his cheek pressed against her neck. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close, a lump rising in her throat.
“Och, wee lad,” she whispered, blinking back the tears that burned behind her eyes.
“Did ye see how I helped cook carry the bread basket?” Charlie asked, pulling back to beam at her. “I’m strong as a bull now!”
“Aye, stronger even,” she said with a soft laugh, brushing a crumb from his cheek. “They’ll be askin’ ye to chop firewood next.”
He giggled at that and took her hand, tugging her toward the stool. “Come sit! Are ye hungry?”
She sat beside him, her skirt pooling at her feet, and accepted a piece of the oatcake he offered her. “Thank ye, Charlie.”
Charlie leaned into her side, his head against her arm as they chewed in silence. She glanced down at the crown of his tousled hair and felt something twist in her chest—an ache so deep and strange she could scarcely name it. He was not her son, yet at that moment, she felt a fierce, protective love for him as if he were.
“Will Erica be comin’ back soon?” he asked suddenly, his voice small.
Alexandra’s breath caught, and she looked away. “I hope so, laddie. I truly do.”
“She is funny and kind,” Charlie said with a nod. “Where did she go?”
Alexandra kissed the top of his head. “Aye… she had to go away, but she will return. She has to.”
Charlie reached up and took her hand again. “If ye’re sad, I can share me blanket with ye like ye did when I had a bad dream.”
Tears pricked her eyes, and she smiled through them. “Ye’ve the kindest heart, Charlie. I daenae ken what I’d do without ye.”
The nursemaid gave her a fond glance, then rose and quietly stepped out, leaving them be. Charlie clambered into her lap and curled against her like a kitten, warm and trusting. Alexandra wrapped her arms around him and rocked gently, finding peace in the simple weight of the child.
“I wish I were bigger,” he mumbled against her shoulder. “Then I could fight the bad men and bring Erica home.”
She closed her eyes and held him tighter. “One day. But for now, ye’ve done enough just by being here.”
Minutes passed, slow and tender, as the kitchen bustle faded into a distant hum. For the first time since Erica had left, Alexandra’s heart steadied its frantic rhythm. In the soft light of the hearth, with Charlie safe in her arms, she found strength again. She would not give up—not on her friend, not on her hope, and not on the family she’d found in this stone fortress.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Nicholas descended the stone steps of the dungeon, each footfall echoing with weight and memory. The air grew colder as he went, damp with the scent of mildew and the distant drip of water.
He hadn’t come down here since the day he threw Oscar Irvine behind bars. And even now, he wasn’t sure if he came for answers or vengeance, but Alexandra's plea had him thinking about the matter.
The flickering torchlight cast long shadows along the corridor as he passed the empty cells. At the end, behind thick iron bars, sat the man who once claimed to be family. Oscar Irvine lifted his head, his gray hair unkempt, his eyes sunken with age and guilt. When he saw Nicholas, his mouth parted in shock.
