Alyson knelt nearby, a little pile of bluebells and daisies gathering in her lap, while Sofia twirled through the damp grass with all the grace of a startled lamb. Catherine laughed, shaking her head as Sofia tripped over her own hem.
“Careful,” she said, stooping to catch her by the arm. “Ye’ll break yer neck before ye finish a single turn.”
“I’m practicin’!” Sofia announced. “If there’s a dance at the next gathering, I mean tae outshine every lass there.”
Alyson snorted. “If ye spin that fast, ye’ll outshine them by fallin’ intae their laps.”
Catherine rolled her eyes, though the laughter that followed felt easy, warm. It was the first morning since their arrival that the three of them could simplybe, without fear, without rain, without Aidan Cameron’s unreadable eyes following her through every shadow of her thoughts.
And yet even as she smiled, she couldn’t quite banish him. Every time she blinked, she saw the flicker of his expression when she’d walked into his council chamber—the disbelief, the fury, the faint glint of something else he’d tried too hard to hide. Every time she breathed, she remembered how close he’d stood in her chamber, how his voice had dropped to a whisper she could still feel against her skin. She hated that she remembered. Hated more that she didn’t want to forget.
Sofia had just placed a half-finished crown on her head when Alyson straightened suddenly, her gaze darting over Catherine’s shoulder.
Catherine turned. Aidan was crossing the courtyard toward them, tall and steady as ever, his stride purposeful. Sunlight struck the dark weave of his plaid, glinting off the buckle at his shoulder. He looked too composed for her liking.
Catherine’s heart gave one traitorous flutter before she forced it still.
“Me laird,” she greeted coolly when he stopped before them. “We were takin’ advantage o’ the fine weather.”
“I can see that.” His voice was calm, but there was a weight in it that made her stomach tighten. “Might I have a word wi’ ye, Lady Catherine?”
Alyson’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “Oh saints, what’s she done this time?”
“I’ve done naethin’,” Catherine said quickly, heat rising to her cheeks.
“That’s what ye said the last time,” Sofia chimed, smirking behind her flowers.
Catherine shot her a glare sharp enough to cut through stone.
Aidan’s mouth twitched, though his tone stayed steady. “It’s naethin’ concernin’. But I’ll need a moment o’ yer sister’s time.”
Catherine hesitated, half tempted to refuse out of pride alone. She didn’t like the look in his eyes, dangerous in its calm. “Very well,” she said finally, handing Alyson the half-finished flower crown. “Try nae tae make a fool o’ yerselves while I’m gone.”
Sofia called after her as she followed Aidan down the garden path, “If ye start arguin’, shout loud enough so we can hear!”
Catherine didn’t grace that with a response. The ground was still damp beneath her shoes, the scent of rain heavy in the air. Aidan didn’t speak, only led her toward the covered walk along the wall, where the noise of the courtyard faded into quiet. The air there was cooler, shaded, heavy with the memory of storms.
“What’s this about?” she asked, trying for nonchalance. “Surely ye didnae come tae scold me in front o’ me sisters.”
He stopped so abruptly she stumbled into him. Before she could catch her balance, his hand found her waist, hot through the thin fabric of her gown. In one smooth motion, he drew her back, her spine meeting the cold stone wall as his body closed the space between them. The contrast of heat and chill sent a shiver racing up her skin.
Her breath hitched. “Aidan?—”
His name left her lips more like a gasp than a protest, a sound that trembled in the air between them. His grip tightened just enough to make her pulse falter, the roughness of his palm anchoring her where she stood. She could feel the warmth of him, the solid line of his chest barely an inch from hers, the scent of rain and steel and something distinctlyhim.
“What in God’s name were ye thinkin’?” His voice was low, but it carried the weight of command. “Marchin’ intae me council chamber like that? Dae ye ken the uproar ye caused?”
Catherine blinked, momentarily too startled to speak. “I—what? I was deliverin’ the letter ye asked fer.”
“In the middle o’ a meetin’?” His tone sharpened. “With half me Council starin’ as though they’d never seen a woman before?”
Her shock melted into indignation. “Then perhaps they should look more often. It might dae them some good.”
“Catherine.” The rough, strained way he said her name sent a shiver down her spine. “Ye kent exactly what ye were daein’.”
Catherine’s heart thudded against her ribs, though she kept her expression still. The air between them felt charged, as though the world had shrunk to the narrow space where his breath brushed hers. He was close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, could see the muscle shift in his jaw as he fought to hold himself together.
“I did,” she said again, voice steady though her pulse was anything but. “I was providin’ ye with the answer ye required.”
