“Then perhaps,” Alyson said gently, “ye might thank the laird instead o’ callin’ him insufferable.”
Catherine made a face. “If gratitude could kill, I’d be buried already.”
Sofia giggled. “Still, ye could try. He saved ye. And who kens… the laird may nae be yer masked prince charming, but ye may yet grow tae like him.”
Catherine blinked, startled by the sudden rush of memory—candlelight, music, a hand at her waist, a voice she’d never beenable to forget speaking through a darkened mask. That night at the MacDonald masquerade ball rose before her like a vision, the stranger who had held her as though she were something precious, the heat of the dance, the way her heart had stumbled in her chest. She had never learned his name. She had never seen his face. But something about him had lingered, unwelcome and unforgettable.
She pushed the thought away, flustered. “He’s nae anythin’ like the man in the mask.”
Alyson’s voice softened. “Nay, he probably is nae. Maybe he’s just a man tryin’ tae keep his temper when faced wi’ a woman who reminds him he’s alive.”
Catherine looked sharply at her sister. “Ye’ve been spendin’ too much time wi’ Maither’s books.”
Alyson smiled, serene as always. “Perhaps.”
The words settled in the space between them, light as breath and heavy as truth. Catherine didn’t want to think about what they meant. The idea that Aidan Cameron could feelanythingtoward her was absurd and dangerous. She had seen how he carried himself: precise, disciplined, bound by duty. Whatever warmth he possessed, he kept locked behind stone.
And yet she remembered the way his eyes had darkened when he’d told her to be careful, the faint tremor of control in his voice when he’d stepped too close.
She clenched her jaw. “He’s cold as the loch water,” she said finally. “And I’ve nay wish tae thaw him.”
Alyson stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt. “Then stop thinkin’ about him.”
“I’m nae thinkin’ about him.”
Sofia’s grin widened. “Ye’ve spoken his name six times since ye came in.”
“I’ll speak it a seventh if ye dinnae hush.”
Sofia laughed and ducked behind the pillow Alyson tossed at her.
The sound warmed the room, softening the air between them. Her anger drained out of her all at once, leaving only the ache. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I dinnae mean tae bring all me temper here.”
Alyson crossed the room and pressed a hand to her shoulder. “Ye’ve every right tae feel what ye feel. Just dinnae let it turn tae bitterness. He’s on our side.”
Catherine nodded, though her throat felt tight. “Aye. On our side.”
Sofia stretched and yawned. “Ye should take a bath, Catherine. Maybe it’ll help ye calm down.”
“A bath,” Catherine repeated, the word sounding heavier than it should. She imagined the steam, the quiet, the stillness. Maybe shedidneed to wash that day from her skin, let the heat pull some of the anger loose. “Aye, perhaps ye’re right.”
Alyson smiled, clearly relieved. “That’s the best idea ye’ve had all day.”
Catherine rose, gathering her skirts. “I will. Ye two should rest. It’s been a long journey.”
Alyson nodded, though her eyes followed her with quiet worry. “Dinnae stay up too late.”
“Wouldnae dream o’ it,” Catherine said with a grin that was all teeth and pride.
The moment she stepped into the corridor, the warmth of the chamber seemed to fade behind her. The castle was quiet now, the hour late, the air carrying the faint scent of rain and peat smoke. Her steps echoed softly as she walked. She told herself she was headed for her own room, but her feet carried her elsewhere, drawn by something she could not quite name. The air grew cooler as she descended, the scent of hay and horseflesh drifting closer with each turn.
Maybe it was foolishness. Maybe it was pride refusing to rest while her thoughts still burned. But Catherine could no more stop herself than she could still the pulse in her veins. The quiet of the keep pressed heavy around her, the stone walls holding too much silence, too many words she wished she had not spoken.
So she followed the scent of earth and rain instead, past the stair that would have led her to peace, until the warmth of the stables met her like a heartbeat in the dark.
CHAPTER SIX
The clang of steel rang sharp in the courtyard, echoing off the stone as blades met and broke apart again. Rain slicked the ground, softening the earth beneath his boots. Aidan stepped through the mud with the measured patience of a man who’d fought too many battles to waste energy on haste.
