She turned back toward the flames. “Maybe I dae.”
The firelight flickered, the air thick with heat and smoke and something he couldn’t name. Around them, the villagers kept singing, laughter spilling into the night. But for him, the world had narrowed to the space between her shoulder and his breath.
He could have reached out then, could have brushed away the strand of hair that had fallen against her cheek, could have traced the warmth of her skin where the firelight touched it. But he didn’t.
Instead, he said quietly, “Ye’ve done good here.”
She looked at him sidelong, eyes glinting. “Is that a compliment?”
“A rare one,” he admitted.
Her smile flickered, small and quick. “Then I’ll treasure it.”
The villagers’ song rose louder, voices twining into a ballad of loss and homecoming. Someone threw another log onto the fire, and sparks leapt high, raining briefly before fading into the night. Catherine tilted her head back to watch them. The reflection of the flames danced in her eyes, and something about the sight made his pulse falter.
He should leave. He knew it. He had men to manage, walls to rebuild, a hundred things that didn’t involve standing there wanting what he shouldn’t. But his feet refused to move.
When she spoke again, her voice was soft, meant for him alone. “It feels strange, daesnae it? Laughin’ after so much ruin.”
“Aye,” he said. “But laughter keeps folk alive. Same as fightin’.”
She studied him, her brow furrowing. “And what keepsyealive, me laird? Duty?”
He hesitated. Then, quietly, “Aye. Duty.”
She looked back to the fire, her expression unreadable. “A lonely thing, that.”
Before he could answer, one of the older women stood, clapping her hands to signal the end of the night. The crowd began to thin, laughter trailing away into tired goodbyes. The embers glowed low, painting everything in red and gold. Catherine turned to fetch her cloak, but Aidan’s voice stopped her.
“Catherine.”
She froze, her back to him. “Aye?”
“I meant what I said,” he said quietly. “Ye should keep yer distance from the fire.”
She glanced over her shoulder, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Ye worry too much, me laird.”
“I’ve reason tae.”
Her smile deepened, half amusement, half challenge. “Then maybe ye should stop givin’ yerself so many reasons.”
He didn’t answer. The last of the villagers drifted away, leaving only a few soldiers to stamp out the edges of the fire. Catherine lingered, watching the smoke rise into the starless sky.
Aidan found himself walking beside her, silent for a few moments before asking, “Ye and Bruce. There somethin’ there?”
The question left him before he could think better of it.
She turned to him, brows lifting in surprise. “Bruce?”
He kept his tone casual, though his jaw tightened. “Ye seemed friendly earlier.”
Catherine blinked, realization dawning. Then, to his irritation, she laughed—a soft, startled sound. “Is that what this is about? Bruce?”
He said nothing.
Her laughter faded into something gentler. “There’s naethin’ between us, Aidan. He’s nice. That’s all. I like nice people.”
He looked at her then, his gaze steady. “Nice,” he repeated.
