Chapter 21

21

T he sun had barely crested the horizon when Erica slipped out of Hunter’s chambers. He had woken up before her and kissed her thoroughly before he whispered, “Stay in bed, lass.”

She pressed her fingers to her lips now. Her body was deliciously sore. But most importantly, her heart was still heavy from the whirlwind of emotions they had shared the night before. The tenderness and passion between them lingered, but so did the questions.

Have we made progress, or is this still a transaction, without a real future?

She wasn’t sure, and the uncertainty gnawed at her even as she smiled faintly, her fingers brushing over the mark he’d left on her chest—a small reminder of how real last night was.

And how incredible .

By the time she reached her room, Erica had resolved to focus on the tasks of the day ahead. Lily was expecting her for a reading lesson, and there were castle matters to attend to.

She pushed open the door, intent on freshening up and changing, but she froze when her gaze landed on the small, folded paper resting on her vanity.

She smiled.

His thoughtfulness kens nay bounds …

Butterflies fluttered madly in her stomach as she reached for the letter.

“That’s strange…” she mused.

The handwriting on the back of the letter was unfamiliar, and the edges of the parchment had been slightly creased as though it had been handled roughly.

Maybe he was in a hurry?

Slowly, Erica unfolded the letter, her eyes quickly scanning the words. The more she read, the colder her blood ran.

Lady MacKinnon,

You think you belong to him, but you don’t. I’ve seen you in that beautiful dress—the one I picked out just for you. The flowers that remind me of you. The necklace that dangles around your traitorous neck, even now. All of my gifts, unacknowledged. He can’t give you those things, can he? No, because he doesn’t know you as I do.

You gave yourself to another in that dress. On the 14 th . Did you think I wouldn’t know? You are mine, Erica Kilmartin. And on the appointed day, I will come for you. Prepare yourself.

Erica’s breath hitched, the letter slipping from her trembling fingers onto the vanity. She stumbled back, one hand clutching the edge of the table as she tried to make sense of the words. Her mind raced, jumping from one thought to the next.

The 14th— the date stood out like a blade. That was yesterday, when she and Hunter had argued, their emotions spilling over as they made love in the moonlit gardens.

Someone was watchin’ us. I kenned it!

The mention of the gifts—the dress, flowers, necklace—it was what twisted the knife in her chest. Those hadn’t come from Hunter, after all. She’d assumed they were from him, a rare and quiet gesture of his affection despite the walls he kept so firmly in place. Now, the possibility that they had come from someone else made her sick to her stomach.

But who?

Her fingers brushed over the necklace adorning her neck, and she let out a strangled sob. All of the progress she thought they’d made suddenly felt hollow, built on mere assumptions.

Erica cringed at how foolishly she had acted, thinking that Hunter actually cared about her. She couldn’t even say for certain if they were beyond the boundaries of convenience.

So, he claimed her, and she had shared his bed, but it was all built on pretense. It was all a lie.

A sob escaped her lips, and she buried her face in her hands, the tears flowing freely now. Her shoulders shook as she sank into a puddle on the floor next to the hearth, the words on the pages glaring up at her mockingly.

“Me Lady?” Kara’s voice was soft, tentative.

Erica looked up, startled, to find her maid standing in the doorway. She hastily wiped her cheeks. But the tears refused to stop, and she sat there in even further defeat.

“Kara,” she said, her voice cracking. “I didnae hear ye come in.”

The maid’s eyes narrowed slightly with concern as she crossed the room. “Ye are cryin’,” she said gently. “What’s happened? What has he done?”

“It’s… nothin’,” Erica tried to say, but her throat was clogged with tears. She gestured weakly toward the letter on the floor. “I found that just now.”

Kara furrowed her brow as she picked up the parchment, her eyes scanning the words. As she read, her face paled, and her lips thinned.

“This is—This is vile,” she scoffed, shaking with anger. “Who would put such a disgustin’ thing to paper? And to say those things about ye, Me Lady. It’s disgraceful.”

Erica swallowed hard, her throat constricting painfully. “I dinnae ken who it’s from,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “But the gifts that were mentioned—the dress, the flowers, the necklace—I thought… I thought they were all from Hunter.”

Something Erica couldn’t quite place crossed Kara’s face, but she was too distraught to dwell on it.

“Ye dinnae think he…?”

“Nay,” Erica said quickly. “He doesnae… Hunter doesnae send gifts like that. He’s nae—” She cut herself off, unsure how to exactly finish the thought.

Kara reached out, her hand resting on her mistress’s shoulder in what should have been a comforting gesture, but it felt oddly stiff. “Ye must tell the Laird,” she urged. “This… whoever wrote this, they’re a danger to ye.”

Erica hesitated, her mind reeling. Part of her wanted to go to Hunter immediately, to lay everything bare and let him deal with it. But another part of her—the part that still stung at the possibility that she’d misread their growing closeness—made her hesitate.

What if he dismisses me? What if this letter only confirms how little I understand him?

“I’ll… I’ll tell him,” Erica mumbled, though her voice lacked conviction.

“Now,” Kara insisted, her grip tightening slightly. “This cannae wait.”

Erica nodded reluctantly, pushing herself to her feet. Her legs felt unsteady beneath her as she made her way to the door, the letter clutched tightly in her hand.

Kara followed closely behind, her presence a shadow that felt both comforting and oppressive.

“Where is he?” Erica asked as they stepped into the drafty corridor.

“He is in his study, with Calvin,” Kara replied quickly, her voice solemn.

Erica pushed through the door to the study moments later.

Hunter was sitting at his desk, pouring over ledgers with his usual intensity. A quick glance around reassured her that Calvin was not in the room.

Hunter finally looked up as he finished reading something, his sharp gray eyes immediately landing on her tear-streaked face.

“Erica,” he said, rising from his chair. “What’s happened?”

She held out the letter, her hand trembling. “I found this in me room earlier.”

Hunter took the parchment from her, his eyes scanning the words. As he read, his expression darkened, a storm brewing in his eyes.

“Who gave this to ye?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

“I dinnae ken,” Erica said softly. “It was just… there, on me vanity.”

Hunter cursed under his breath, crumpling the letter in his hand.

“The gifts,” Erica added hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper. “The flowers, the necklace… Hunter, were they…?”

He looked at her then, his expression shuttered, and the silence that followed was answer enough.

“Nay,” he uttered finally, his voice cold with barely restrained anger.

Erica felt the weight of that single word like a blow, the last thread of her fragile hope snapping. She had wanted so desperately to believe that the gifts were a sign of something deeper between them, a quiet acknowledgment of their growing bond. Now, that illusion was shattered.

“Whoever this is,” Hunter said, his voice tight as if was stopping himself from saying something else. “Whoever this is, they’re nae just a threat to ye—they’re a threat to the entire household.”

Erica nodded, her throat too tight to speak. She wanted to cry again, but she forced herself to hold it together.

This wasn’t the time for tears, and for some reason, she felt silly for crying in front of her husband now.

“I’ll deal with this,” he promised her, his eyes blazing with determination. “But ye must tell me everything. Every detail about the gifts— everything .”

Erica took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

Hunter sat at the desk in his study, his hands clasped together so tightly that his fingers turned white from the pressure. The letter lay in front of him, its contents seared into his memory. He’d read it so many times that the words echoed in his mind.

Nay man would write this unless he believes, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she is his.

The thought roiled in his gut, souring everything inside him. He wanted to be calm, rational, but the emotions stormed through him like a tempest. He hadn’t spoken to Erica since their argument earlier that morning, and her denial rang in his ears as clearly as if she were still standing in front of him.

“I’ve never given whoever this is a reason to think such a thing, Hunter!” she’d cried, her voice filled with desperation.

Has she nae?

He slammed his fists down on the desk with a growl, his chair scraping across the floor as he stood up. The rage boiling within him wasn’t solely aimed at her. No, much of it was directed inward. At himself. For letting her in. For believing, for even a moment, that she could be his. That what they shared was real.

He had demanded that she show him all of the gifts. She’d brought in the dress, the necklace, the flowers. Each one was like a fresh wound. Someone else had given them to her, someone who believed she belonged to him. He remembered her wearing that dress, and the necklace too, and his blood boiled.

And while she swore that she’d thought they were from him, a part of him couldn’t believe it. The man who sent those gifts wasn’t some deluded stranger; he was someone close enough to her to believe he had a claim on her.

“Nay man would act this way if he wasnae sure,” Hunter had argued, his voice low and cutting. “At one point, Erica, he thought ye were his.”

She’d just stared at him, her eyes wide with hurt and disbelief. “How dare ye?” she’d whispered.

“How dare I? I am tryin’ to keep ye alive,” he’d shot back. “And ye are standin’ here, pretendin’ ye dinnae ken why this man thinks ye belong to him.”

“I dinnae!” she’d yelled then. “Ye dinnae ken me , Hunter. Nae at all. If ye did, ye would ken that I would never?—”

“Enough,” he’d interrupted, his voice cold as frost. “I’ve made a grave mistake. I should have never indulged ye. I should have never ignored me duties. I should have never?—”

The words died on his lips, but they both knew what he was going to say.

“I should have never claimed ye fully.”

The argument had ended with Erica storming out of the study, her tears shimmering in the torchlight as she raced down the corridor. Hunter had stayed behind, fists clenched and his mind racing.

The silence that fell over the room after that was tense.

“So, what are yer orders?” Calvin had asked shortly after Erica left.

He had been standing next to Kara in the far corner of the study and witnessed the entire argument.

“Ye dinnae think I should have said any of that?” Hunter asked pointedly, picking up on his man-at-arms’ tone.

“I didnae say any such thing.”

“Aye, but ye insinuated it.”

“Ye were harsh on her, and yer thoughts are nay doubt even worse. It may take some time before ye can see her again.”

That afternoon, Hunter threw himself into his work, organizing patrols, bolstering security, and interrogating anyone who might know something about who delivered the letter.

If I find out who delivered it, I will be closer to eliminatin’ the threat.

Every servant, every guard, every tradesman who had stepped foot in or near the castle was detained. Even the vendors from the village square, the very same ones Erica had visited before their picnic, were questioned.

Hunter gave the order that she was to remain in his chambers—the safest place in the castle. She wasn’t to leave unless she was escorted, and even then, her movements were to be limited.

On the one hand, it was done and said out of anger, and he hoped that she felt the shame of knowing the danger she had put the entire clan in. On the other hand, he knew his chambers were the safest place for her to be.

She hadn’t taken her confinement well, of course. Hunter had heard the staff gossiping about her frustration, how she’d pace the room like a caged bird. But he couldn’t afford to let her out of his sight—not after what he’d promised her brother.

“She’ll be protected and taken care of,” he’d sworn, and he intended to keep that vow, even if it meant sacrificing every last shred of peace between them.

He avoided her as much as he could, retreating to his study and sleeping on the worn leather couch that served as his bed. He told himself it was for the best. That by pulling away, he was doing what needed to be done. But in the quiet hours of the night, the doubts crept back in.

That evening, Kara walked into his study, bearing a dinner tray. “Me Laird,” she said hesitatingly, setting the tray down on the desk almost skittishly.

Hunter barely looked up. “What is it, Kara?”

“She’s strugglin’,” the maid said softly.

Hunter’s jaw tightened. “She’s safe and in a nice place. That’s what matters most.”

“Is it?” Kara pressed, her voice laced with a determination that gave him pause. “She hasnae seen Miss Lily in days. She’s locked away like a prisoner, and ye havenae spoke a single word to her since?—”

“That’s enough,” Hunter snapped, his tone brooking no argument.

Kara flinched but did not back down. “Ye think ye are protectin’ her, but all ye are doin’ is pushin’ her away. She’s yer wife, Me Laird, nae some responsibility… or a burden.”

“It can be locked from the inside,” Hunter said, scowling at the papers on his desk.

“What?”

“Her door can be locked from the inside, Kara. She isnae a prisoner. Ye are dismissed.”

The maid hesitated, then curtsied stiffly and left, her footsteps echoing down the hall.

Hunter stared at the tray she’d brought, his appetite nonexistent. He knew Kara was only there at Erica’s request, but he was furious with her.

What am I supposed to do? Pretend like nothin’ has happened?