“Come on, lass.” He turned back towards the path. “It’s gettin’ late.”
They walked the rest of the way out of the forest in silence.
His horse stomped its hooves when it saw Finlay and Thalia step off the path. Finlay held out his hand to help her mount the horse, and she took it. He then put the burning log on the ground and quickly stomped out the flame.
“Ye daenae need the light back?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Nay, I didnae want ye holdin’ the log all the way. There’s a greater risk of ye gettin’ burned. Besides, me horse kens the way home.”
Once he was satisfied that the flame was properly out and would not ignite again, he untied his horse and mounted it right behind Thalia.
Her hair brushed against his nose, and the scent of lavender assaulted him again. It brought him right back to the cabin, right back to the feel of her squirming beneath him. He adjusted himself, making sure that her body would press against his as little as possible, for the sake of his sanity.
He snapped the reins of his horse, and they rode back to the castle in a steady gallop.
The journey back took far less time than the trek to the cabin, and when they finally arrived back at the castle, it was dark and quiet as if the chaos of the evening had not transpired.
Peter stood with a few guards near the front entrance, and Finlay raised his hand in greeting as he drew his horse to a stop.
He dismounted effortlessly and reached out a hand to help Thalia down. She took it after a moment of hesitation. She slid off the horse, her skirts riding up to her thighs for just a moment, but it was enough that Finlay was thinking about nothing but touching her there again.
“Welcome back, me Laird, me Lady,” Peter greeted with a smile as he approached them. “Ye took so long that we thought we might have to send another search party.”
Finlay knew his man-at-arms was only jesting, but Thalia’s face turned the color of a tomato, and her eyes widened in horror.
“Nay! We were simply… That is…” she stuttered.
Finlay would have found the whole situation amusing if he weren’t so drained from the night’s events.
“Daisy is back in bed where she belongs?” he interrupted almost harshly.
“Aye.” Peter nodded, turning his attention back to him. “Went right to sleep, and I added a few more men to the shift tonight just in case.”
“Thank ye,” Finlay said. He glanced back at Thalia, who had taken to staring at the ground in an attempt to save face from her earlier embarrassment. “We should be gettin’ to bed ourselves. ‘Tis been a long night. Peter, we shall meet tomorrow to continue discussin’ our plans for the upcomin’ cèilidh.”
At the reminder of the celebration of their fake betrothal, Thalia’s head snapped up. “We were to go to Inverness in the mornin’ for a dress.”
Finlay shook his head. “Nay, we shall go the day after.”
Thalia nodded, and a flicker of what looked like disappointment crossed her face. “Of course. Then I’ll be biddin’ ye both good night. Me Laird, Peter.”
“Good night, me Lady.” Peter bowed his head.
She trudged back towards the entrance.
Finlay couldn’t help but watch her leave. A part of him hoped she would look back at him, but she kept looking ahead until she disappeared inside. Frustration ate at his insides. He was frustrated with himself, with her, with the entire world for putting him into this impossible situation.
Peter crossed his arms, and Finlay returned his attention to the man. He wore a knowing smirk, and it was obvious that he had drawn the correct conclusion as to why Finlay and Thalia had returned so late.
Finlay straightened and narrowed his eyes, daring his man-at-arms to question him.
Peter chuckled, unimpressed by the display. “If I may say one thing, me Laird?”
“Tread carefully, Peter,” Finlay warned in a gravelly voice.
“I like her,” Peter admitted. “And I think she’d be good around here.”
“Her family is trouble,” Finlay grumbled.
