She’d spent the better part of an hour scrubbing the stalls with more determination than sense, hoping the work would chase away the heat that rose in her chest whenever she remembered how he’d looked at her afterward. It hadn’t worked.
By the time supper came, her hands still smelled faintly of hay and soap, and her stomach churned with a strange mix of dread and anticipation.
The great hall was warm, the fire burning low behind the table, the smell of roasted venison curling through the air. The men were already seated when she entered, Gordon laughing at something someone had said, a few of the guards clapping one another on the shoulder as they shared a jug of ale.
And there, at the head of the table, sat Aidan. Catherine’s breath caught before she could stop it. He looked the same as always, but she couldn’t see him now without feeling that pull somewhere deep inside her.
She told herself to be sensible. To keep her distance. So she did what any sensible woman would do when faced with the man she could not stop thinking about: she found the chair farthest from him and sat in it.
It was only a few seats down from him, but it was as far as she could get. Perfect. Safe.
She was reaching for the bread when his voice carried through the hum of conversation.
“Ye’ve taken a liking tae that seat, I see.”
Catherine froze. Slowly, she looked up.
Aidan was watching her from across the length of polished oak, one eyebrow raised, his mouth curved just enough to make her wish she could throw the bread at it.
“I’ve taken a liking because it is peaceful. here,” she said evenly, tearing a piece of crust with unnecessary precision.
“Peaceful?” he repeated, leaning back in his chair. The firelight carved sharp lines along his jaw. “Or distant?”
Her pulse fluttered, but she forced a calm smile. “Distant from what?”
He didn’t answer right away. His gaze held hers long enough that she felt the heat rise under her collar. When he finally spoke, his tone was quiet. “From me, perhaps.”
The table had grown quieter now.
She met his gaze squarely, refusing to be the one who looked away first. If he thought she would shrink beneath that steady stare, he was mistaken.
After a few moments of silence, the others started speaking again
When he leaned forward slightly, elbows braced on the table, she felt her resolve waver just a little. “Tell me, Catherine,” he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear, “are ye avoidin’ me, or are ye afraid o’ something?”
Her throat went dry.
“I’ve nay reason tae avoid ye,” she said quickly. “Ye’re exaggeratin’.”
“Am I?”
“Ye are.”
He didn’t press further, only watched her with that same steady, knowing look that made her wish she could vanish into the flagstones.
Catherine busied herself with her cup, though she barely tasted what she drank. The conversation at the other end of the table resumed in halting bursts, but all she could hear was her own fast, traitorous heartbeat.
She could still feel the ghost of his arms from that morning, the warmth that had lingered on her skin long after he’d set her down. She wondered if he remembered it too.
When she dared glance up again, he was still watching her.
She scowled. “Dae ye ever tire o’ starin’?”
“Dae ye ever tire o’ pretendin’ ye dinnae notice?”
Her mouth parted, caught off guard. “Ye think highly of yerself.”
“I think truthfully.”
