Suddenly, a crack of thunder split the bright sky, heralding rain.
Neil’s body tensed as if a hook had hit him. His hand jerked toward his hip instinctively, even though no weapon hung there. His breath hitched.
“Neil?” Kristen called, her voice edged with warning and concern.
His eyes grew distant, pulled back to a cabin with a bolted door.
Kristen’s heart lurched. She stood up and smoothed her skirts with quick hands. “I will see ye later, me Laird.”
Neil did not answer. The storm seized him for a moment and held hard.
Kristen stepped back, then turned around and left, the willow leaves brushing her shoulder like a curtain she had chosen to close. She kept her back straight and her steps even, so he would not see the tremors racking her body.
14
Kristen paced the length of her chamber with her cheeks still burning. Sunlight streamed through the window and left a pale line across the floor that she stepped over again and again.
“Fool.Utterfool,” she muttered. “Twice in two days.” She pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Curiosity; that is all. I willnae be one of those foolish girls begging for scraps of affection.”
She turned. She paced. The image of him stepping out of the lake flashed through her mind anyway, water running over scars and muscle, heat rising in her throat like a fever.
“Nay,” she hissed. “Absolutely nae. I refuse.”
A knock suddenly sounded at the door.
She jumped. “Come in.”
Isla, a young maid, poked her head into the room. “Me Lady, shall I help ye choose a gown for dinner?”
“I daenae care,” Kristen said, flapping a hand. “Just lay out… something.”
“Aye.” Isla moved to the wardrobe and took out several gowns, before laying them across the bed in neat lines.
Kristen looked anywhere but at the bed, then drew nearer without meaning to. “Nae that one, Isla. The blue one is too bright. The green one is too plain. Nay, nae the grey one either. I look half dead in grey. Isla, stop smiling like that.”
“I am nae smiling.” The maid bit her lip to prove it.
“I am only trying to be presentable,” Kristen insisted, lifting her chin. “That is all.”
“Aye, me Lady.” Isla laid out a wine-red gown and smoothed the sleeves with care. “Shall I bring a shawl?”
“Bring it,” Kristen said, as if the choice meant nothing, and watched the maid go.
Silence returned. Six gowns lay across her bed like six judgments.
“Ridiculous,” she muttered.
She touched the hem of one, lifted another. She arranged them by color, then by trim, then by neckline, and hated herself for knowing which one flattered her figure most.
“This one’s for dinner,” she told the gowns. “Nothing more. The Laird has returned; it is important to dress properly.”
Her heart beat too fast. She tried a shawl, then a ribbon, then tossed both on the chair. Every choice felt obvious, and for some reason, every dress looked like the worst thing she had ever worn.
“Dear Lord,” she muttered to the window. “I am losing me mind here.”
Footsteps sounded in the corridor, before Isla burst into the room, panting. “Me Lady, some villagers at the gate are asking for yer help.”
Kristen straightened, grateful for anything that made sense. “Good. I am coming.”
