She crossed her arms, standing her ground. “And ye’ve a stubborn head. A dangerous mix, if ever there was one.”
Aidan turned slightly, not enough for her to see his full face, but enough that the light caught the angle of his jaw. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, without looking at her, he replied, “I can manage.”
She frowned. “Ye call that managing?”
“I’ve done worse.”
“I dinnae doubt it,” she said, her tone rising despite herself. “But ye’ll tear it open again if ye keep at it alone.”
His shoulders tensed, the muscle shifting beneath the wounded skin. “I said dinnae trouble yerself, Catherine. Go back tae yer room.”
There was no bite in the words, no anger—only a quiet authority that left no space for argument. Still, the stubbornness in her flared. “Ye think I’d stand here and watch ye ruin it further? I’ve nay desire tae clean up the mess when ye fall faint in the corridor tomorrow.”
He glanced over his shoulder, the faintest hint of a smile ghosting across his mouth. “Ye’re bold, I’ll grant ye that.”
“I’m right,” she countered.
Aidan exhaled slowly, a sound half sigh, half surrender. “Perhaps. But still—I’ll see tae it.”
The finality in his tone silenced her. The air between them felt heavier with every breath, thick with all the words she could not say. A tremor of defiance stirred in her chest, but pride held it still. She wanted to speak, to argue, to reclaim the balance he had taken from her. But nothing came.
“As ye wish, me laird,” she said at last, her voice cooler now.
He turned then, fully this time. His gaze found hers in the wavering light, steady and unreadable. For a heartbeat she thought she saw something else in it, something that didn’t belong to command or pride, but it vanished before she could name it.
Catherine pulled her hand back from the wound, from him, from the moment that had almost become something else. The warmth left her fingers at once, replaced by the sting of chill air. She stepped away, gathering her shawl tighter around her shoulders.
“Try nae tae make it worse,” she said, though the words that once again came softer than she intended.
“I’ll manage,” he repeated, his voice low.
“I’m sure ye will.” She forced a faint, sharp smile, the kind that always kept her pride intact, and turned toward the door. The latch felt cold beneath her hand.
But before she could open it, his voice stopped her. “Catherine.”
She turned slightly, her profile caught in the dim light. “Aye?”
His expression had changed again, the hint of warmth replaced by something guarded, something hard. “Ye shouldnae be on this side o’ the castle again.”
Her brow knit. “Is that an order?”
“A warning,” he said. “This wing’s meant fer me men and me. The servants dinnae come here after dark. There’s nay reason fer ye tae wander these halls.”
“I see.” Her tone was measured, even, though the edge of humiliation pressed at her chest. “And if I choose tae ignore that warning?”
He met her gaze without flinching. “Then ye’ll have me tae answer tae.”
The words hung there, quiet and heavy. She drew herself up, her chin tilting in defiance even as her pulse betrayed her. “I dinnae take kindly tae being told where I may or may nae walk, laird. But I’ll spare ye the trouble o’ scolding me again. Goodnight.”
Aidan’s jaw flexed, but he said nothing more, as she turned away. The torches along the walls burned low, their flames bent by the draft that wound through the keep. She didn’t look back, though she could feel his gaze on her like heat against her spine.
Her steps echoed softly as she walked, the sound swallowed by stone. When she reached the turn toward her own chamber, she paused, her hand resting against the wall. The silence of the hall pressed close, as though the castle itself had been listening.
Only then did she allow herself to breathe.
Her hands still trembled faintly. She told herself it was from anger at his arrogance, his refusal to let her help, but the lie did not sit easily. It wasn’t anger alone that lingered. It was the sound of his voice when he’d said her name. It was the memory of his breath catching when she’d touched him. It was something she could neither name nor deny.
She shook her head, trying to chase the thought away. “Fool,” she whispered to herself. “Absolute fool.”
