By the time she reached Alyson’s chamber, her composure was gone entirely. She didn’t bother to knock. The latch gave under her hand, and she pushed the door open with more force than intended.
Alyson sat by the hearth, her hair unbound and shining in the glow, while Sofia was perched cross-legged atop the bed, a combpoised midair. Both turned at once, eyes wide, startled by the sudden intrusion.
Catherine stood in the doorway for a heartbeat, breathing hard, the cold from the corridor still clinging to her shawl. The words she’d meant to swallow tumbled forward instead, sharp and hot.
“He is impossible,” she declared, her voice already high with indignation as she slammed the door behind her. “Truly, the most arrogant, insufferable man that ever drew breath.”
Alyson looked up from the chair beside the fire where she’d been unbraiding her hair, a long sigh already forming before Catherine reached the end of the sentence. Sofia, curled cross-legged on the bed with a comb in her lap, glanced between them like a bird caught between thunderclouds.
Catherine pressed on, hands flying as she spoke. “He stands there with that look on his face, half judgment, half disdain, as if the very air I breathe offends him. Then he dares throw me own pride in me face, as thoughhewas the injured party. And his words—God’s wounds, Alyson—his words are infuriating.”
Sofia blinked. “What did he say?”
Catherine stopped pacing, turned sharply, and stabbed a finger in the air. “He implied,” she said, each syllable clipped, “that I almost got his men killed.”
Alyson choked on her breath. “He didnae!”
“Oh, he did. With a straight face, too!” Catherine threw up her hands and began pacing again, the hem of her gown whispering against the floorboards. “And he was so calm while saying it, I tell ye, the man’s a plague upon reason.”
Sofia bit her lip, trying—and failing—not to smile. “Maybe he meant tae jest ye?”
Catherine spun toward her. “A jest? A jest, Sofia? He as much as called me a fool and a distraction, and ye think he was jesting?” Her eyes flashed, but beneath the heat there was the smallest tremor of embarrassment, one she hid by tossing her hair back with unnecessary flourish. “I should have let him choke on his own pride out there instead o’ sparing him a word.”
Alyson’s laugh slipped out despite herself. “Catherine, ye couldnae leave a thing unsaid if the king himself demanded it.”
Catherine scowled, but the edges of her mouth twitched. “Someone has tae speak sense in this godforsaken castle.”
The fire cracked softly in the grate, throwing a warm glow across her sisters’ faces. The anger ebbed, leaving her with the hollow exhaustion that always followed it. The weight of the past days settled heavy in her chest.
She sank into the chair opposite Alyson and exhaled hard. “He thinks me reckless,” she said at last, quieter now. “As if it weremesword that drew blood.”
Alyson set aside her comb. “He didnae mean it that way.”
“He did,” Catherine said stubbornly, but her voice lacked conviction. She traced a finger along the carved armrest, the wood smooth under her touch. “He’ll always think me a burden. Our braithers sent us here tae keep us safe, and he sees me as the weight that drags him down.”
Sofia tilted her head. “Ye’re too hard on him.”
“Too hard? He barely speaks a word unless it’s an order. If silence were a virtue, he’d be a saint.”
Alyson smiled faintly. “And yet ye talk o’ him more than any other man ye ken.”
Catherine’s head snapped up. “That is nae true.”
“It is,” Sofia said helpfully. “Ye even curse prettily when ye speak o’ him.”
Heat flared across Catherine’s cheeks. “Because heinfuriatesme. There’s a difference.”
Alyson chuckled softly, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Catherine, I ken ye dislike our braither’s friend, but ye should at least admit he’s done right by us. He’s proved himself more than once. He got us here alive when any other might have left us tae fate.”
Catherine’s mouth opened, then shut again. The image of the glen flashed in her mind—the clash of steel, the mud under her knees, the moment Aidan’s horse had thundered into view. The sound of his voice when he shouted her name still echoed somewhere deep inside her, steady and fierce and terrifyingly sure.
She swallowed. “Aye,” she said reluctantly. “He did.”
Alyson gave her a knowing look. “Ye’d have rather gone wi’ Edwin, then?”
Catherine froze. The very sound of the name was enough to sour her stomach.
“Nae,” she said finally. “I’d have rather thrown meself in the loch than go wi’ Edwin.”
