He had only come back for tools—iron wedges and a coil of rope needed for work being done in the lower fields, a quick task that should have taken no more than a few minutes, that should not have put him anywhere near trouble.
The fault was his, and his alone—he’d failed to walk away. He had risked her reputation, her future, the advantageous alliance her father had negotiated—all for what? A single moment of weakness.
That was the lie he told himself as he strode across the field to the west of Strathfinnan, and it did not hold. What he'd felt wasn't the momentary surrender of a man caught off guard, but the inevitable collapse of a dam that had held back years of longing—a dam finally breaking under the pressure of a single touch, her palm against his heart.
And God help him, the kiss had been perfect.
Not imagined-perfect, not the soft courtesy he had once assumed her first kiss ought to be. It had been fire and certainty and the unmistakable rightness of something finally claimed. He could still feel the weight of her against him, the way she had clutched his tunic as though she meant to never leave.
He shut his eyes briefly, jaw tightening.
That was what made it unforgivable. More so than the heat and the hunger, but rather the fact that even now with word about to spread from Kinnard’s loose lips, he would do it again.
And yet, damn! Suddenly today felt like a narrowing corridor, funneling him toward a reckoning he could not avoid.
Liam MacTavish had trusted him. Aye, nothing had been spoken, only assumed, but Jacob had broken something all the same. He marched on, knowing he couldn’t allow the news to reach Liam from another mouth. He would say what had happened, admit that he had failed in restraint. He would vow that he had not dishonored Elena, but acknowledge that he had endangered her standing all the same. And he would accept whatever judgment followed.
He kept his stride long and purposeful, boots striking stone and packed earth as the castle receded behind him.
The lower fields were as busy as he’d left them twenty minutes ago. A shallow trench cut its way across the slope, newly opened and still raw, its sides shored in places with rough timbers while water seeped stubbornly through the clay. Iron wedges lay scattered nearby, half-driven where rock had refused to yield—more were needed, that’s what had sent Jacob back to the keep in the first place. The drainage work was slow and sometimes frustrating.
His father stood near the center of the work, sleeves rolled past his elbows, dark hair damp with sweat as he leaned his weight into a bar set against a stubborn stone. Liam MacTavishwas nearby, directing two Strathfinnan retainers as they shifted soil away from the trench.
Jacob slowed as he approached, faltering briefly in motion and resolve.
Liam turned at that moment, and frowned at his approach, at his empty hands.
“Were they nae more wedges?”
“I dinna check—dinna get that far,” Jacob answered truthfully, without hesitation.
At Liam’s harsh, perplexed frown, Jacob waved him out of the gully. “I need to speak with ye.”
Liam MacTavish froze, his eyes narrowing as they swept across Jacob's face. The muscles in his shoulders tensed, though his hand remained steady on the spade's wooden handle. Gabriel, close enough to hear the exchange, glanced between the two men, his attention caught by the weight in Jacob’s voice and the rigid set of his shoulders.
Liam handed his spade off to the nearest man and stepped aside, Gabriel moving with him without hesitation. Jacob turned and strode away from the trench and curious ears.
He stopped at length and turned to face Liam MacTavish and his father, feeling particularly small despite the fact that he was as tall as either. Confusion and caution warred across both men's faces as they met Jacob and waited.
Jacob drew in a breath that felt sharp in his chest, and ground his teeth together once, hard, hating every word he was about to speak but refusing himself the mercy of delay.
“I kissed Elena,” Jacob said, the words plain and unsoftened, locking his gaze on her father’s.
He stopped there, letting the words register. Liam MacTavish did not speak at once, but something hardened in his expression, the faint narrowing of his eyes a far sharper thing than anyshouted anger. He sighed but said nothing, lifting his hands onto his hips.
At Liam’s side, Gabriel let out a low breath. “Christ,” he muttered, barely audible.
Jacob clenched his jaw before forcing himself to continue. “I did nae dishonor her—but I failed in restraint, and in doing so I put her at risk all the same.” He swallowed once, the words turning rough in his throat. “And Kinnard saw us.”
That, at least, drew a reaction. Liam’s head came up fully, his gaze sharpening to a blade’s edge as it locked onto Jacob’s face. Jacob held it, refusing the instinct to look away.
“I’ll nae have ye hear it from another mouth,” he went on, steady despite the tension coiling tight in his chest. “I take full responsibility—for the act, and for the consequences of it.”
The truth lay bare between them now, and Jacob stood braced for what would follow, feet planted shoulder-width apart while his hands were clasped behind his back.
“Bluidy hell, Jacob,” Gabriel muttered at his side, while Liam continued to stare, unreadable.
“Did she do this?” Liam asked, his tone harsh.
