“Oh?” Tavish tried to keep his voice light despite the jealousy gathering beneath his ribs. “So ye would wait until I absented myself? Or ye have yet to kiss another man besides me?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Such cruel words are unbecoming of you, Tavish Balfour. I will not remain here and be slandered thus. Good day.”
With a toss of her head, Isla stomped down the path, away from him.
Shame washed Tavish from head to toe.
He hurried after her.
“Isla, please stop.”
She took one more step. Then two, before whirling to face him, arms crossed over her chest.
“I’m sorry,” Tavish said. “I didn’t . . .”Deep breath.“Ye be right. That was cruel and unbecoming of me. This situation is . . . difficult. And seeing ye, it . . . it has stirred up the sediment of everything . . .”
She looked at him for a long moment before jerking her gaze to the landscape—the trees rustling and the clouds scudding overhead, growing thicker at the horizon.
Finally, she spoke. “Thank you for apologizing.”
“It’s the least a gentleman can do—acknowledge his mistakes and take ownership of them.”
She continued to study the sky . . . then swallowed. “You wouldn’t have been so quick to apologize.Then. . . I mean.”
Her words caught him off guard.
“I was a bit arse-headed . . .then.” He smiled, a faint thing. “That is the problem with youth—ye don’t think through the consequences of actions as carefully as ye should.”
She snorted. “That shall be the title of the memoir we eventually pen—On Things Unpondered and Misunderstood. I will begin with chapter one—‘A Calamitous Marriage.’”
Tavish winced, letting out a harsh breath.
“Sorry. That was uncalled for, too.” She waved a hand. “I was just as rash and impulsive as yourself.Then.”
“And here I assumed it was my charming manner and handsome face that made ye throw caution to the wind and marry me.”
She shook her head, a grin now teasing her own lips. “Pigheadedness and a desire for adventure, I should think.”
But not love.
She didn’t add that, but Tavish sensed the words anyway.
He mimed a dagger to his heart.
They stared at each other until he sensed that something had eased within her. Or perhaps within himself.
He gave an exaggerated survey of the path. “Well, ye now have another rash decision before ye, my lady. Would ye like to return to the house the way we came, which will see ye arrived shortly? Or . . .” Here, he lifted an eyebrow. A wee challenge. “. . . would ye like to continue your stroll around the lake with those menacing clouds lurking on the horizon there and my dubious person for company? I do come highly recommended, as Fletch stated. The most honorable of men.”
He laced that last with a bit of irony, as they both knew there was nothing honorable in their current deception.
Isla followed his gaze, searching up and then down the path. As ever, Tavish could practically see the gears whirring in her brain, weighing the curiosity of speaking with him against her dread of Grayburn discovering her with a Balfour.
Past Tavish would have added something more. A “go on” or “trust me.” Pushing her to be more unconventional, less fearful.
But the Tavish of now knew better.
This needed to be her decision alone.
Finally, she nodded and met his eyes with a faint smile.
