She checked the solar, the gallery, even the training yard, but there was no sign of him. Her frustration grew with each turn of the corridor. It was ridiculous. She wasn’tsearchingfor him. She was delivering a letter. A simple, routine task.
And yet when she asked one of the maids where the laird was, she couldn’t ignore the quickened beat of her pulse when the girl said, “He’s in Council, me lady.”
Council. Perfect. Of course, he’d be surrounded by men discussing crops and borders and other things she had no business interrupting. Still, she turned toward the council chamber before her better judgment could argue.
The great door stood open a crack. Catherine could hear voices from within. She hesitated for only a second. Then she lifted her chin and pushed the door open.
The effect was immediate. Every head turned. Half a dozen men sat around the long oak table, maps spread before them, tankards in reach. The sudden intrusion of a woman struck them silent. The noise of conversation stopped so abruptly she could hear the creak of the door echo against the walls. Aidan was at the far end of the table, seated in the laird’s chair. He looked up slowly.
Catherine felt the weight of his gaze like heat across her skin. His expression didn’t change, but she saw the faintest tightening around his mouth, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.
She gave a short, polite curtsy, her voice clear. “Forgive the interruption, me laird. I come only tae deliver somethin’ o’ importance.”
There was a murmur among the councilmen—confusion, surprise, a few whispers that carried her name like a question.
Aidan rose slightly, his chair scraping the floor. “Lady Catherine,” he said, his tone even but his eyes sharp. “This is hardly the place?—”
“It will take but a moment.”
She crossed the room, the hem of her gown brushing the stone, her pulse steady though her hands weren’t. She could feel their eyes following her in shock, disapproval or curiosity, but she kept her chin high.
Aidan stood as she approached. The space around him felt heavier than the rest of the room, as though the air itself shifted when she came near.
She stopped before him and held out the folded parchment. “This,” she said, her tone perfectly measured, “is the communication ye asked me tae write tae me braither. I thought it best tae deliver it directly.”
The letter was still unsealed. A deliberate choice. She wanted him to read it if he wished, to see that she’d answered him, that she’d meant what she’d said.
Aidan reached for it, his fingers brushing hers for a moment longer than necessary. The brief contact sent a tremor up her arm, but she masked it with a steady smile.
“Thank ye,” he said quietly, his voice too low for the others to hear.
She nodded once. “O’ course.”
The silence stretched. One of the older councilmen cleared his throat. “Laird, shall we?—”
But Aidan didn’t look away from her. He leaned closer, speaking so only she could hear. “And what is yer answer, then?”
Catherine held his gaze, refusing to let him see the flutter in her chest. “It’s written plain enough,” she said, though her voice softened despite herself. “If ye read.”
He smiled faintly, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Aye, but I’d rather hear it from ye.”
Catherine’s heart stumbled. She knew that tone, the one that hid warmth behind command, teasing behind formality. The one that had nearly undone her yesterday. He was studying her the way a soldier studies an approaching storm.
She stepped back, breaking the tension. “If there’s naught else, I’ll leave ye tae yer important matters. I’d hate tae delay the business o’ men.”
One of the younger councilmen shifted uncomfortably, muttering something about propriety. Another frowned. But Catherine only smiled, unbothered. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she curtsied again and turned toward the door.
The door closed softly behind her, but her presence lingered like the warmth left after a fire. For a long moment, no one in the room moved. Aidan’s gaze remained fixed on the door, jaw tight, hand still half-curled around the parchment she’d placed in it.
Then Gordon broke the silence. “Well, that was… unexpected.”
A low murmur rippled through the men, some amused, others confused.
Bruce leaned back in his chair, brows raised. “Ye mind explainin’ what just happened, laird? I’ve never seen a woman walk intae a council meetin’ like she owns the place.”
“She nearly daes,” Gordon muttered. “At least, she walks like it.”
Aidan shot him a warning look sharp enough to still the grin forming on his lips. “Enough.”
