Stop being foolish, she’d told herself sternly. It was just desire. Physical need. It didn’t mean anything beyond what their bodies wanted.
But her reflection in the mirror had called her a liar, too.
Now she stood in the courtyard, the morning air crisp and cool against her flushed cheeks, giving Rufus last-minute instructions while trying very hard not to think about the man she’d be spending the entire day with.
“And ye’ll listen to Hamish?” she asked for the third time, smoothing down her brother’s collar with fussy hands. “Nay arguments, nay complaints?”
“Aye, Leona,” Rufus said, his tone caught between exasperation and affection. “I’m nae a bairn. I ken how to behave.”
“I ken ye do. I just…” she trailed off, uncertain how to explain the nervous energy thrumming through her. “I want ye to be safe.”
“I’ll be safer here than I’ve been in months.” Rufus squeezed her hand. “Stop worryin' about me and try to enjoy yerself. Ye deserve a day without lookin' over yer shoulder.”
If only it were that simple.
Nyx chose that moment to materialize from wherever she’d been lurking, winding between Leona’s ankles with a rumbling purr. The cat had taken to life at the new castle with surprising ease, claiming Rufus’s bed as her own and terrorizing the kitchen staff into providing extra scraps.
“And ye’ll keep yer beast close?” Leona asked, crouching down to scratch behind the cat’s ears.
Nyx’s response was to hiss, a warning sound that made Rufus laugh.
“She doesnae like being called a beast,” he said. “Ye ken that.”
“She is a beast,” Leona countered, but there was affection in her voice. As if to prove her wrong, Nyx headbutted her hand, demanding more attention. “A contrary, difficult beast who only shows affection when it suits her.”
The cat purred louder, pressing into Leona’s touch with shameless pleasure.
“See? She likes ye fine when ye’re nae callin' her names.” Rufus gathered Nyx into his arms, and the cat settled against his chest without protest. “We’ll be fine, Leona. Both of us. Go.”
Leona straightened, smoothing her skirts with nervous hands. “I should wait for the Laird. It would be rude to…”
“To what? Stand in his courtyard, waitin' for him like a good little bride-to-be?”
The word ‘bride’ made her stomach flip. “Rufus!”
“I’m just sayin', ye daenae have to pretend with me.” Her brother’s expression softened. “I saw how ye looked at dinner last night. How ye both left lookin' like… well, like somethin' had happened.”
Heat flooded Leona’s cheeks. “Nothin' happened.”
“Leona.”
“Nothin' that matters,” she amended, which was somehow worse because it was the truth.
It had been just physical. Just need. It didn’t mean anything.
Liar,her traitorous heart whispered.
Before Rufus could press further, the sound of boots on stone made her turn. Murdock emerged from the keep, Skye trailing behind him like a small shadow. The sight of him made Leona’s breath catch.
He’d dressed for riding in dark trews and a tunic that stretched across his broad shoulders, his sword belted at his waist. His dark hair was damp, as if he’d just bathed, and the morning light caught the strong planes of his face, the scars she’d tended that first night.
Their eyes met across the courtyard, and she felt that now-familiar jolt of awareness. Heat and hunger and something deeper that terrified her.
He looked away first.
Murdock had seen her the moment he’d stepped into the courtyard.
How could he not? She stood in a shaft of early morning sunlight like something out of a painting, all dark hair and pale skin and curves outlined by a burgundy dress that made his mouth go dry. The memory of those curves pressed against him, soft and yielding, made his jaw clench.
