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Chapter 10: Highland Retreat
Sunlight slipped through the heavy curtains of Edward Windsor's four-poster bed, casting soft beams across Tsunade's face. Her head throbbed from last night's red wine—two cups, deceptively potent, that had unraveled her shinobi discipline into a drunken haze. Her amber eyes fluttered open, confusion clouding them as she registered the silk sheets, the carved oak canopy, the faint scent of cedar. This wasn't her sparse guest room. This was Edward's bedroom.
Tsunade sat up, her heart lurching, and glanced down. Instead of her maroon banquet gown, she wore a soft cotton robe, its loose fit unfamiliar. Panic surged, her reserved nature clashing with a flush of embarrassment. Who changed her? Her mind raced—wine, laughter, Edward's arms carrying her. Her diamond forehead mark seemed to pulse as she clutched the robe, her pragmatic mind reeling. No man had ever seen her body, not in Konoha, not in her decades as a shinobi. The thought was mortifying.
The door creaked, and Edward entered, his chestnut hair tousled, his blue-gray eyes warm but cautious. He carried a tray with tea and toast, his casual sweater a contrast to last night's maroon suit.
"Morning, Tsu," he said, his voice light. "Sober now? You were quite the performer last night."
Tsunade froze, her gaze dropping to the floor, her cheeks burning. "Prince," she said, her voice low, hesitant, "who… changed my clothes?" Her usual dry confidence was gone, replaced by a rare vulnerability, her shinobi poise strained.
Edward set the tray on a side table, his smile softening, sensing her discomfort. "Who else? Me, Tsu. Your gown was… a casualty of the wine. I couldn't leave you like that." His tone was gentle, no trace of jest, but her embarrassment deepened, her eyes avoiding his.
"You… saw me," she murmured, her voice barely audible, her hands tightening on the robe. "No man's ever…" She trailed off, her reserved nature wrestling with the intimacy of the revelation. In Konoha, her strength and title had kept suitors at bay; here, Edward had crossed a line she'd never anticipated, even unintentionally.
Edward's face softened, guilt flickering. "I'm sorry, Tsu. I kept it respectful, I swear. Just got you into that robe and into bed. Nothing more." He paused, his voice earnest. "You're safe with me, always."
Tsunade nodded, her embarrassment lingering but eased by his sincerity. She couldn't meet his gaze, her heart a tangle of shame and trust. Edward, sensing she needed space, stepped toward the door.
"Take your time," he said. "I've got an idea—let's get out of London. My family's got an estate, Balmoral Castle, up in Scotland. Cold, quiet, perfect to clear your head. I need to check its books anyway, and… well, the palace is buzzing after last night. A break'll do us good."
She glanced up, her voice steadying, though still soft. "Scotland? Cold sounds… grounding, prince. I'll come." Her pragmatic side resurfaced, welcoming the escape, though her cheeks still burned.
"Meet me in an hour," Edward said, leaving her to gather herself, his heart heavy but hopeful.
An hour later, Tsunade emerged, dressed in a borrowed sweater and jeans, her blonde ponytail neat, her composure mostly restored. Edward waited by the Aston Martin, a duffel packed for the trip.
"Ready, Tsu?" he asked, his teasing light. "No more wine, promise."
She gave a dry smirk, her embarrassment fading. "Keep your sneaky drinks, prince. I'll stick to water." Her subtle humor, calling him "prince," warmed the air, their bond intact despite the morning's awkwardness.
They drove to London City Airport, where Edward's private jet—a sleek Gulfstream, its royal crest gleaming—stood ready. Tsunade froze at the sight, her amber eyes narrowing, her shinobi instincts flaring.
"Prince," she said, her voice tight, "what's that? A… metal bird?" Her unfamiliarity with Earth's machines, like her confusion over cars, surfaced, her reserved calm cracking into unease.
Edward chuckled, guiding her toward the jet. "It's a plane, Tsu. Flies us to Scotland, fast and safe. Like… a giant hawk, but comfier." His analogy faltered, and her skepticism deepened.
As they boarded, the cabin's leather seats and polished wood did little to ease her. The door sealed with a hiss, and Tsunade's breath hitched, her hands gripping the armrests, her face paling.
"This… cage," she whispered, her voice low, a flicker of panic surfacing. "It traps us, prince. If it falls…" Her shinobi discipline, honed for open battlefields, clashed with the confined, alien machine, her heart racing.
Edward knelt beside her, his hand covering hers, his touch warm and steady.
"Hey, Tsu, look at me," he said, his voice soft, their faces inches apart. "I've flown a hundred times. It's safe, I promise. Just breathe with me." He inhaled slowly, guiding her, his blue-gray eyes locked on hers, a quiet intensity mirroring her own. Her panic eased, her fingers curling around his, their closeness a spark in the jet's hum.
"You're too calm, prince," she muttered, her dry tone returning, though her hand stayed in his. "If this bird crashes, I'm blaming you." Her faint smirk, vulnerable yet trusting, drew a smile from him, their bond tightening in the intimate moment.
The jet took off, and Tsunade relaxed, her gaze softening as Edward kept her hand, a silent promise.
The flight to Aberdeen was swift, and a Range Rover carried them into the Scottish Highlands. Balmoral Castle loomed amidst rugged hills, its gray stone turrets dusted with frost, the November chill biting. The estate, a private retreat under Queen Elizabeth's governance, was a far cry from Kensington's bustle—a place of solitude, pine forests, and icy streams, perfect for escape.
Edward's official reason was financial: as Duke of York, he managed royal estate portfolios, and Balmoral's accounts needed review after a tenant dispute. But privately, he wanted distance from the palace's gossip—his parents' questions, his brother's teases, the Queen's knowing smiles about Tsunade. The banquet had sparked too much attention, and Tsunade's embarrassment needed a quiet space to heal. Plus, Viktor Malin's Mayfair tail lingered in his mind, and Balmoral's isolation felt safer.
They settled into a cozy wing, its tartan rugs and roaring fireplace a warm contrast to the Highland cold. Tsunade, bundled in a borrowed scarf, stood by a window, her breath fogging the glass.
"This place… like the Land of Snow," she said, her voice calm, her shinobi senses drinking in the stark beauty. "Cold, but alive."
Edward joined her, his voice soft. "Gran loves it here. Says it clears the soul. Hope it does the same for you, Tsu." Their eyes met, a spark of understanding, her embarrassment easing in the castle's quiet.
That evening, as Edward pored over ledgers in Balmoral's study, Tsunade explored the castle, her curiosity piqued by its history. A groundskeeper, a gruff Scot named Angus, eyed her warily, muttering about "Sassenach security." Tsunade, unfazed, quipped, "I've guarded worse than castles, friend. Your deer are safe." Her dry humor won a grudging chuckle, her charm disarming even Highland skepticism.
But intrigue crept in. Among Edward's papers, Tsunade spotted a letter, its seal broken, addressed to the estate manager. The sender's name—V.M.—caught her shinobi eye.
"Prince," she called, her voice low, "this letter. Who's V.M.?"
Edward's jaw tightened, recognizing Malin's initials, the financier's reach extending even here.
"Could be nothing," he said, but his tone was cautious. "A business query, maybe. But Malin's got fingers everywhere." He pocketed the letter, his trust in Tsunade absolute. "Keep those senses sharp, Tsu."
As night fell, they sat by the fireplace, the crackling logs casting shadows. Tsunade, warmed by tea, spoke softly.
"Back there… I overreacted, prince. You didn't mean harm." Her reserved admission, rare and raw, hit him.
"You had every right," Edward said, his voice gentle. "I'd never hurt you, Tsu." Their hands brushed, the Highland chill forgotten, their bond deepening in Balmoral's embrace.
But the letter's shadow lingered, a hint of trouble in their secluded retreat.
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