His fingers twitched, wanting to reach out and touch her, soothe her. He clenched his hand so as not to do it.
“Ye daenae understand anything,” he spat out.
“What do you mean by that?” she asked, her brow furrowed.
He dragged a hand down his face and turned away from her, pacing towards the hearth before stopping.
“I cannae do this again,” he said, voice rougher than before.
She stilled. “Again?”
He turned back sharply. “Ye speak of riding into danger as though it were nothing. As though I have not seen what that costs.” His gaze burned now, dark and unguarded. “Ye are very much like her.”
“Like… your sister?”
“Aye, Sorcha.” The word came out almost as a growl. “Always stepping where she shouldnae. Always believing she could mend what war had already broken.”
He closed the distance between them in two strides before she realized he had moved. His hand closed around her wrist. It was not painful, but firm enough that she felt the tremor beneath his skin.
“I willnae watch it happen twice,” he said low.
Her breath caught at his touch. “You cannot hold me responsible for your sister’s fate.”
“I hold meself responsible,” he snapped. “That is the difference.”
His thumb brushed against her pulse as though he could feel the truth of her through it. The room suddenly felt too warm, the air thick with the scent of steel and smoke that clung to him.
“She ran towards the crossfire,” he continued, quieter now. “I saw her disappear. I was too far. Too slow to react. A laird who cannae protect his own blood is nay laird at all.”
Lilliana’s free hand lifted hesitantly, brushing the scarred side of his chest where his palm had pressed moments ago. He sucked in a breath at the contact, the sound sharp between them.
“I am not Sorcha,” she whispered.
His grip tightened reflexively, pulling her a half step closer.
“Nay,” he said, voice dropping. “But ye would do the same. Throw yerself into the fire and expect me to stand idle.”
“And what would you have me do?” she challenged softly. “Sit behind these walls while people suffer?”
His jaw flexed. “I would have ye live.”
The words landed heavier than either of them had expected.
She did not pull away from his hold. Instead, she stepped closer, close enough that her warmth wrapped around him.
“You cannot cage me to soothe your grief,” she said, though her voice softened. “I will not be punished for loving our people enough to help them.”
Anger, then fear, flickered in his eyes, then something far more dangerous. His free hand came up, bracing against the wall beside her shoulder, trapping her between his body and the stone without quite touching her.
“It isnae punishment,” he murmured. “It is survival.”
Her breath tickled his throat. “Yours?” she said. “Or mine?”
He did not answer.
For a long moment, they simply stood there, his hand still wrapped around her wrist, her fingers still resting over the steady beat beneath his ribs. The tension between them stretched thin, humming.
She tilted her chin up, defiant even now. “You cannot command every breath I take, Kayden.”
