By the time she reached her own door, her heartbeat had steadied, though her mind had not. She slipped inside, the warmth of her chamber closing around her like a sigh. The fire burned low, its glow soft against the walls.
She loosened her shawl and sat at the edge of her bed, staring at her hands. They still smelled faintly of the salve, sharp and clean, stubborn as the memory it carried. She rubbed them together, hard enough to burn, but the scent would not fade.
Outside, the wind rose again, sweeping through the eaves of the castle like a warning. Catherine pulled the blanket over her lap and looked toward the fire.
She had gone to his corridor seeking the source of a sound, some restless curiosity that had driven her into the dark. What she had found instead was something she couldn’t explain—a glimpse of the man behind the laird, the quiet ache beneath the steel. It had unsettled her more than any ghost could.
Still, as she sat there, she couldn’t help but hear his voice again, carrying that same impossible command.Ye shouldnae be on this side o’ the castle again.
Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she should keep her distance. But deep down, beneath pride and sense, a quieter thought whispered back. She would go where she pleased. And if the laird thought otherwise, he would have to learn that ghosts were not the only things that wandered Achnacarry after dark.
CHAPTER TEN
Morning crept into the room like a hesitant guest. Pale light slid between the curtains, settling over the embers in the hearth, the folds of Catherine’s gown draped over the chair, the loose strands of hair that clung to her cheek. She had not slept. Her body had rested, perhaps, but her mind had not known peace since she’d left his corridor.
She lay on her side, staring at the faint shimmer of dawn along the window’s edge. Each time she closed her eyes, she saw it again—the glow of the fire against his skin, the slow turn of his head when she’d spoken his name, the weight of his warning. She could still hear his voice, low and rough.
Then ye’ll have me tae answer tae.
Catherine pulled the blanket higher, pressing her face into the pillow, as if she could bury the memory beneath the linen. She was foolish to think of him at all. But something in her had shifted the night before, quiet and deep, like the movement ofwater beneath ice. She could not name it, but she felt it in her chest with every breath.
A knock at the door startled her. She sat up quickly, tugging her shawl around her shoulders.
“Come in,” she called, her voice rasping from disuse.
The door opened to reveal Marian, her maid, carrying a small tray with a steaming basin and folded linen. “Good mornin’, milady,” the girl said, setting the tray down by the washstand. “Ye’re awake early.”
Catherine managed a faint smile. “Aye. Couldnae sleep.”
Marian turned, taking in her pale face, the tired smudge beneath her eyes. “Is somethin’ troublin’ ye?”
Catherine hesitated. She could lie, say she’d slept poorly, that the wind had kept her up, but Marian’s gaze was too steady, too kind. The girl had a way of seeing past pretense, quiet and knowing.
“Only a surprise,” Catherine said finally. “I… met the laird last night.”
Marian froze halfway through wringing out a cloth. “The laird?”
“Aye.” Catherine tried to sound casual, as though it were nothing at all. “I’d wandered further than I meant tae. Heard a noise and thought someone hurt. Turned out it was him.”
Marian’s brows shot up. “In the men’s wing?”
Catherine’s cheeks warmed. “I didnae ken it was forbidden. I got turned around.”
The maid bit back a smile, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Och, it is, me lady. The laird’s temper is well enough kent that most folk keep tae their own halls after dark. What did he say tae ye?”
Catherine’s mouth twisted. “He was… vexed.”
“I can imagine,” Marian said, her tone careful. “He’s a strict man.”
“Strict?” The word tasted strange on her tongue. “Ye think him strict?”
Marian looked at her, puzzled. “Aye. He’s cold as the sea in winter, they say. Distant. Even his men keep a space when he walks by. He rules wi’ a sharp word and a colder stare.”
Catherine blinked, stunned by the certainty in her tone.Cold?The man she’d seen last night had been anything but cold. His eyes had burned when he’d spoken, his breath had trembledagainst her hand, his voice had carried heat even when he’d whispered warnings.
She must have looked too surprised, because Marian tilted her head. “Did he nae seem that way tae ye?”
“I—” Catherine caught herself, straightening her back. “Perhaps I misread him. I’ve scarce kent him long enough tae tell.”
