Neil’s hand stilled on his cup. “I can see why the dog thinks ye are hers.”
“Maggie has fine taste,” Kristen quipped.
“She does,” Neil agreed. The warmth of his voice suddenly made the spoon in her hand feel heavy.
They ate but did not speak much. It felt like walking on a rope that had grown wider in the night.
By late morning, Neil stood in the courtyard with an axe in his hands and a log at his feet. He set the wedge and hit it clean. Wood split with a sharp, grounding crack. Sweat ran down his spine as he swung the axe in fruitful repetition. The air was sharp after the rain, and the work kept his mind where it should be—the present.
He could feel a pair of eyes land on the back of his neck, but he did not turn around. He set another log and swung his axe. It rose and fell in a rhythm that his body remembered.
Eventually, the sound of approaching footsteps made him look up.
Kristen crossed the courtyard with the children. Her gown moved with the breeze, and her hair fluttered around her shoulders. She looked at him, and he looked back.
Her gaze flitted to the breadth of his shoulders and the cords of muscle along his arms, quick as a bird. He could see the color rise in her cheeks. She turned at once to point out a puddle for Anna to jump, as if it had been the puddle and not the man that caught her eye.
Anna got distracted and ran to a bush instead.
Heat flared low in his belly. Her words from the night before echoed in his mind.
“Ye nay longer have to worry.”
Anna toddled toward Kristen with a crushed flower in her fist, before changing her mind and heading toward Neil instead, drawn by something she did not have words for. She lifted the flower with both hands.
Neil set his axe aside and bent. “Careful there, lass.”
Anna stopped just short of his boots. Her eyes widened at his height, and her lower lip trembled. Neil scooped her up into his arms, mindful of her small legs and soft knees, and turned to face Kristen.
“This belongs to yer maither,” he crooned. “Give it to her.”
Anna laughed, brave again, and reached for Kristen with both arms. Kristen caught her and saw Neil’s hands retreat slowly.
“Ye’re a good man,” Finn said, very serious.
Neil almost laughed. “Perhaps. sometimes.”
A short breath escaped Kristen’s lips as she walked down the corridor an hour later. Neil was no longer chopping wood outside. He must have returned to his study.
She knew because she could no longer see him. She knew because she had been peering every minute through her window. She had watched his hands move, his arms flex, and his body tighten under the sun.
She had watched him chop wood for minutes, unable to take her eyes off him. Now, as she made her way to the healer’s chambers, unease coiled in her chest. The corridor looked wrong for some reason.
She drew to a halt. The tapestry that should have softened the stone beside the stairwell was gone. The wall stood bare as a rebuke.
“Where is the stag?” she asked a passing maid.
“The Laird moved it this morning,” the maid answered, her eyes skittering away.
“He did,” Kristen murmured. Her calm tone did not match the quick flare under her ribs.
Assured that the children were in Davina’s care, she made for the study, her steps quick, her breath sharp. She did not knock; she just pushed the door open and stepped inside.
“Did ye move the tapestry from the stairwell?” she asked.
Neil looked up from the map table, annoyance flashing across his face. “I did. It was blocking the light.”
“It has hung there since I set the storerooms in order,” she protested. “Ye have been home for one day, and ye are already disrupting me castle’s peace.”
