Gordon chuckled. “Aye, well. I’d say she’d gotten under yer skin if I didnae ken any better.”
The words hung in the air like the echo of a struck bell.
Aidan turned fully toward the fire, resting one hand on the edge of the mantle. His reflection shimmered faintly in the polished metal of a nearby shield, his eyes tired but steady. The face of a man who’d seen too much war to be undone by one sharp-tongued lass. Or so he told himself.
Aidan’s fingers stilled against the stone. He didn’t answer. He could have said no, but the word stuck fast behind his teeth. Because every time he thought of her and the wild, furious way she’d looked at him in the glen, the sound of her voice when she’d called his name, his chest tightened in a way he didn’t like.
He forced a breath through his teeth, the words rising before he could stop them. “Edwin MacLeod brought his men against us in the glen,” he said, his tone low, controlled only by habit. “Cameriding like a fool, claiming the MacDonald lass was promised tae him. If I hadnae been there, he’d have dragged her off.”
Gordon’s expression shifted, the faint grin slipping. “Christ above,” he muttered. “Is she unharmed?”
“Aye,” Aidan said, though the word felt heavy on his tongue. “Nae a scratch on her, but three o’ our men were near cut down by her temper.” His jaw tightened, the muscle flickering as he stared into the fire. “Her sharp tongue and his wounded pride made a battlefield o’ the glen.”
Gordon crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. “Then it’s worse than gossip made it. The men said ye rode in like a storm, but I thought it was Campbell’s doing. What dae ye plan tae dae?”
“Double the watch. Strengthen the outer patrols. Make sure the MacDonald sisters remain in the keep where they belong.” Aidan’s voice hardened. “And pray that woman stays out o’ me path before her recklessness bleeds me men again.”
Gordon’s mouth quirked, though not quite a smile. “Aye. Reckless, proud, and sharp o’ tongue. Sounds just the sort ye never could abide.”
Aidan shot him a look that would have silenced a lesser man. “She’s a MacDonald. Me charge and the sister o’ a friend that has become a brother tae me. That’s all that matters.”
The other man laughed under his breath, unbothered. “Aye, me laird. Though if I were tae wager, I’d say the lass has already made herself a thorn in yer thoughts. Ye’ve nae glared this hard since the last time a horse bit ye.”
Aidan exhaled slowly through his nose, tamping down the heat that flared behind his ribs. “Enough.”
Gordon held up his hands, though the spark in his eyes lingered. “Aye. Enough. I’ll see tae the patrols.” He turned toward the door, but paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “And laird—mind ye, thorns draw blood because men cannae keep from touchin’ them.”
Aidan didn’t answer. He only watched Gordon as he left, the echo of his footsteps fading into the corridor. Silence fell heavy once more, broken only by the crackle of fire and the distant murmur of voices upstairs.
He should have been proud. His people were safe. His men had followed him without question. Another threat had been beaten back.
He’d felt something raw and violent, something that no amount of discipline could name. A need to protect her, to silence her trembling, to prove to himself that she was safe because he had made it so. And beneath it all, something darker, hungrier.
He’d sworn once that nothing would shake him again. That no woman, no memory, no wound of the past would find its way beneath his armor. The world had taken too much already. Andyet one slip of a MacDonald lass had managed to tear through him like a blade through silk.
He exhaled slowly, forcing the thought down, sealing it tight. She was his friend’s sister. His responsibility. That was all. Duty first. Always.
He straightened, the decision solidifying like iron in his chest. Tomorrow, he would ride the perimeter himself, speak with the captains, remind the men what was expected. The MacDonalds would be treated as guests, nothing more. He would see to their safety, ensure their comfort, and keep his distance.
CHAPTER FIVE
The fire had burned low by the time Catherine stopped pacing in her room. Shadows stretched long across the walls of her chamber, flickering with each restless turn she made across the rug. She could still hear him. His calm, infuriating voice, heavy with the weight of a man who knew too much of command and too little of grace.
Too bold, perhaps, fer a woman who near cost the lives o’ me men.
Her fingers curled into her palms until her nails bit deep. The words wouldn’t leave her. They pressed against her ribs like splinters, each repetition drawing blood. He had no right. None.
She’d fought to hold herself steady before him, and still he had looked at her as if she were some child who had wandered into the path of battle and survived only by accident.
Catherine pressed her lips together and stared into the fire, but all she could see was the gleam of his eyes in the hall light, the faint curve of his mouth that had not been a smile at all but something crueler that knew exactly how to wound.
The heat rose behind her eyes before she realized it. Not tears of sadness, but the ache that lived beneath her anger was harder to silence. It was the ache of being seen and dismissed all in one glance.
She turned away from the fire and began to pace again. She’d told herself he’d never see her break when she fled his sight. Yet there she was, every nerve on edge, her heart hammering as though she’d run a mile uphill.
It wasn’t enough. She couldn’t stay in that room, with its walls pressing in, with his words echoing through the silence like distant thunder. If she stayed, she would lose her mind.
Catherine grabbed her shawl from the chair and threw it around her shoulders. The chill of the corridor hit her as soon as she opened the door, but she moved quickly, her skirts brushing the walls, her pulse rising with every step.
