“I—I was just—” She looked at the jar in her hands, her voice stammering out faster than she could think. “I was reachin’— I couldnae find a ladder— it was the only way tae?—”
He didn’t move. His eyes flicked briefly to the jar, then back to her face. She was still in his arms.
Catherine swallowed hard. “Ye can put me down now.”
Aidan’s gaze lingered, as if he were making sure she was unharmed. Then, slowly, he lowered her to her feet. The air between them shifted as soon as he let go, leaving her oddly unsteady.
She tried to step back, but the hem of her skirt caught against his boot. He reached instinctively to steady her again, and his hand brushed her arm. The contact sent heat straight to her chest.
“Thank ye,” she said quickly, her words tumbling out in a rush. “Fer catchin’ me. And fer nae lettin’ the jar fall, because that would’ve been a shame. I was only tryin’ tae?—”
“Catherine.”
Her name, spoken like that, the sound of it sliding through the air, was enough to stop her mid-babble. She realized she was still gripping the jar as if it might save her life.
He looked at it, then at her. “Ye could have asked fer help.”
“I dinnae need help,” she said, too quickly, then winced. “Well, apparently I did, but that’s nae the point. I just—wanted tae keep busy. The horses like oats.”
His brow lifted slightly. “At dawn?”
“I woke early,” she said, clutching the jar tighter. “Couldnae sleep.”
Their eyes met then, and the words she didn’t say hung between them like smoke. He couldn’t have slept either; she could tell by the faint shadows under his eyes, the stiffness in his shoulders, the way his breath seemed to slow when she spoke.
Neither of them moved. The sunlight reached through the small window, catching on the glass of the jar,. It painted light across his jaw, across the scar that traced just below his ear. He had shaved that morning.
“Ye shouldnae be climbin’ things like that,” he said finally. His tone was mild, but there was a note under it, something almost protective.
“I’ll try tae remember that next time,” she said, forcing a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
He took a slow breath, as if deciding whether to say more, then stepped past her toward the storage room at the back of the kitchen. She caught the faint brush of his sleeve as he moved, and it sent her pulse leaping all over again.
The memory of the previous night rose before she could stop it—the warmth of his mouth, the way he’d said her name, the trembling of her own hands as she’d felt him start to lose control. It wasn’t just the kiss that haunted her. It was the look in his eyes when he’d pulled away, the way he’d whisperedCatherinelike a man begging forgiveness.
She swallowed, the sound loud in the quiet kitchen.
He had kissed her as if he couldn’t stop himself. And then he had stopped. That, somehow, had hurt worse than if he hadn’t.
Her cheeks burned. She turned toward the counter, setting the jar down carefully and pretending to focus on it. The glass slipped a little in her fingers, still slick from her nervous grip. “Right,” she muttered to herself. “Back tae work.”
He opened his mouth to answer, but she was already moving. “Thank ye again,” she said quickly, walking toward the door so fast she nearly tripped on the edge of the rug. “Fer the catch. And the lecture.”
He called after her, but she didn’t look back.
Her heart was hammering too hard, her skin too warm. She needed air.
Outside, the morning sun had climbed higher, bright enough to make her squint. She drew in a breath of cold, sharp air and pressed her hand to her chest, half expecting to feel his heartbeat there instead of her own.
It was ridiculous, she told herself. Completely ridiculous.
The horses nickered softly from their stalls as she approached. She set the jar down and began measuring oats into a small bucket, her hands finally finding something steady to do. The rhythm helped. So did the smell of hay and warm earth.
But no matter how hard she tried to think of anything else, her mind kept circling back to the way he had looked at her in that kitchen. The warmth in his eyes. The quiet he carried with him. The restraint that somehow felt more intimate than any touch.
And somewhere inside her, something trembled again.
By evening, every time Catherine blinked, she still felt the moment his arms had closed around her, the quiet strength of them, the sound of his breath steady and close against her ear. The image had followed her through the day like a ghostthrough the stables, through the courtyard, even through the few sentences she’d managed to exchange with her sisters.
