Catherine let herself be dragged, though her mind was still inside that stable, replaying every word, every look, every breath.
She told herself she wouldn’t think of him again. That she’d let it go, bury it deep where it belonged. But even as she smiled at the villagers and bent to help gather the children, she felt it like a heartbeat that wasn’t her own, pulsing faintly beneath everything else.
Ye whisper tae me too.
She hated how the memory of it made her stomach turn to warmth. Hated more that part of her didn’t want it to stop.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The sun had long since dropped behind the hills, but the sky still burned faintly, the last of the light caught in the low-hanging clouds over the glen. The village had quieted. Smoke curled thin and tired from the chimneys that were left standing, and the sound of the stream carried through the wreckage like a reminder of what they’d lost.
Aidan stood near the edge of the road, the mud thick beneath his boots, the air heavy with damp and exhaustion. Around him, his men worked in low voices, finishing what could be done before night took full hold. The scent of wet timber and earth clung to everything; even the air he breathed seemed soaked in it.
Gordon came up behind him, his voice cutting through the hum of the evening. “That’ll dae fer the night, me laird. We’ve done what we can. The rest’ll have tae wait till mornin’.”
Aidan didn’t answer right away. His gaze had caught on movement near the far end of the green—the flicker of a lantern’s glow where Catherine stood among the villagers. Shewas speaking to a young mother, her hands moving as she gestured toward the makeshift shelter they’d built from the remains of the cottages. Her hair had come loose again, curling at her temples in the damp air, and her skirts were streaked with mud from hours of work.
She looked exhausted. But she was still there. Still giving.
Gordon followed his gaze and made a sound that was far too knowing. “If ye’re waitin’ fer her tae turn in, ye’ll be here all night.”
“I’m nae waitin’ fer anyone,” Aidan said, his tone flat, his eyes still on her.
Gordon’s grin widened. “Aye. Course ye’re nae.” He crossed his arms, shifting his weight onto one leg. “Ye could at least go tell them it’s time tae head back. They’ll listen tae ye.”
“They’ll argue,” Aidan muttered. “They always dae.”
“Then argue back,” Gordon said easily. “Or stand here starin’ till sunrise. Either way, the men need tae ken if we’re stayin’ or goin’. I’ll tell Bruce tae start roundin’ up the wagons.”
Aidan gave a low sigh, the sound rough with fatigue. “We’ll leave within the hour.”
But even as he said it, his eyes didn’t leave her. Catherine had crouched to speak to a child, her expression soft, voice barelyaudible from where he stood. The child smiled shyly and took her hand, pressing something small and wooden into her palm—a charm, maybe, or a broken toy. She laughed quietly and ruffled the bairn’s hair before standing again.
That laugh. It did something to him every time.
“Ye ken,” Gordon said, half laughing, “fer a man who claims nay interest, ye’ve a strange way o’ provin’ it.”
Aidan shot him a look that could have silenced a storm. “Mind yerself.”
Gordon raised both hands, still grinning. “Aye, laird. Just observin’. Though if ye mean tae leave, ye might want tae let her ken before she starts rebuildin’ the whole damn village.”
Aidan ignored him and started walking.
The mud clung to his boots, the air cold enough now that each breath misted faintly before him. He passed by the half-collapsed cottages, the flicker of torches lighting the faces of his men as they packed what tools they could. When he reached the clearing where Catherine and her sisters worked, the lantern light cast them in gold.
Alyson was kneeling beside a small fire, grinding herbs in a clay bowl. Sofia stood nearby, shaking out wet blankets to dry. Catherine was the first to notice him. She straightened, brushingher hands on her skirts, that familiar guarded look flickering through her eyes before she smoothed it away.
“Me laird,” she greeted, her tone polite but far too steady to be sincere. “Have ye come tae see the damage fer yerself again?”
“I’ve come tae tell ye we’re done fer the night,” Aidan said, keeping his voice even. “We leave fer the castle within the hour.”
Sofia’s head snapped up. “Leave? But we’re stayin’!”
Aidan frowned. “The glen’s still unstable. Ye’ll return wi’ us. The men can finish the rest.”
Catherine exchanged a glance with Alyson, then turned back to him. “That’s precisely the problem,” she said, crossing her arms. “The men will finish what they can, but they’ll need help in the mornin’. The villagers cannae dae it alone. We were talkin’ with the tavern keeper—he’s offered us rooms.”
He stared at her, certain he’d misheard. “Rooms?”
