She reached for his hand and held it in place, quivering against him.
“Och lass.” Neil groaned into her ear.
Kristen kept her back against the wall, her breathing ragged, her lips swollen from his kisses. The room still smelled of warm wax and smoke. Her gown was rumpled, her hair mussed, and her heart felt too large for her ribs.
Neil’s hands moved to her waist, his thumbs drawing slow circles above the blue fabric as if he meant to learn her by touch alone.
The words slipped out before she could snatch them back. “I… might have missed ye, too.”
Her voice was small and honest. Not the voice that had scolded him in the hall, not the voice that had set rules days ago.
She watched his face as her words sank in. The hard line of his mouth softened, and his brow smoothed.
For the first time since she had met him, his lips curled into a genuine smile. It was not wide. It was warm and a little boyish, and it looked like a secret he had forgotten how to show.
Something fluttered in her chest.
This is really the man I could have loved, had the world been kind.
His breath brushed her cheek, and his fingers tightened on her waist. She wanted to lean into the space he left for her. She wanted to ask him to keep that look. Instead, she swallowed, afraid that any sound would shatter the fragile thing that had bloomed between them.
The banging at the door came like a blow, chasing away all thoughts.
A fist crashed against the door, and she flinched. Neil’s hands squeezed her waist.
“Neil!” Lachlan’s voice roared through the door. “Come out here. It’s urgent!”
The moment broke, and Neil’s mouth flattened. He closed his eyes for a beat and drew in a slow breath, then let it out through his nose.
“Of course,” he said bitterly.
He dropped his hands, and Kristen felt the loss like cold air on wet skin. She pushed off the wall and dragged her hands over her bodice, smoothing what could not be smoothed. The laces sat straight. The fabric still trembled over her ribs. Her cheeks burned, and there was no remedy for the gleam in her eyes.
“Later,” she said, not sure if it was a promise or a plea.
She did not know what she asked for, only that she wanted to hold the soft thing they had found, and she feared the outside world would snatch it from them.
Neil did not answer. The man who had kissed and pleasured her went still. His shoulders stiffened, and his gaze sharpened.
The Laird stood where her husband had been—where thatdelicateman had been—just a few seconds ago.
She stepped to the side and watched as he went to the door and yanked it open. Lachlan filled the threshold, his face pale and tight, his breath coming in quick gasps.
“There’s a man in the courtyard,” he panted. “And he’s nae alone.”
Kristen’s stomach sank as if the floor had opened beneath her. She hurried to the door and stopped beside Neil.
The corridor ran long and narrow toward the night. Torches flickered in iron sconces and spat resin. A draught funneled in from the open doors at the end, carrying the smell of wet earth and smoke. The thread of music had thinned, and in its place, she heard low voices and the restless scrape of boots against stone.
Lachlan’s eyes darted between her face and Neil’s bare chest, and a part of her was grateful the situation was dire enough for him not to ask questions.
“Who is he?” Neil asked.
“I daenae ken yet,” Lachlan replied. “He is making a show of it. Ye really need to speak with him.”
Neil nodded, before turning back and snatching his shirt from the floor.
Kristen pressed a hand to her middle, then forced it down to her side.
