His mother suddenly linked one of her arms with his, and instinctively, Violet came to his other side, each woman vying for his attention. While the two women engaged in a lively conversation about the upcoming cèilidh, the dance, and the various guests who had assured them they would attend, Raphael’s thoughts were anything but present.
Keira’s expression upon seeing him with Violet still weighed heavily on his mind, casting a shadow over all of his plans. He struggled to focus on the conversation at hand, his gaze wandering, and his responses becoming increasingly more absentminded.
He could see that Violet was doing her best to include him in their conversation, but his distant demeanor was unmistakable. He tried to be polite and engaged in the conversation as much as possible, but his heart and mind were consumed by thoughts of Keira and the uncharted territory their relationship had entered.
As for the cèilidh itself, he had no idea what to expect of it. It was meant to be a joyous occasion, as always, but now, it seemed to be a night that held the promise of both happiness and heartache, and he was unsure of how it would ultimately unfold for everyone involved.
15
In his dimly lit chamber, Raphael paced restlessly, the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows over the room. He couldn’t shake the anxiety that had settled in his chest.
Would Keira wait for him? She hadn’t said anything.
He paused by the window, peering out into the starlit night. The conversation with his mother and Violet had done little to distract him. Soon, he had excused himself from them.
Thoughts of the encounter earlier with Keira still swirled in his mind, a complex blend of frustration, confusion, and desire. He had pushed her away, unable to control his reaction to her revelation about a gentleman waiting for her back home.
“Perhaps I was too harsh,” he mumbled to himself, wrestling with his emotions. He wanted to believe that he could put asidehis personal feelings, but there was something about Keira that defied reason.
The deep, rich aroma of whiskey filled the air as Raphael swirled the amber liquid in his glass, lost in thought. Each sip seemed to burn away a layer of tension, but it couldn’t extinguish the conflicting emotions raging within him. He leaned against the ornate wooden desk, the smooth surface cool against his palm. He couldn’t remain seated. His entire body felt as if it were on fire, for a million reasons, all including Keira.
Why had he reacted so strongly earlier? The news of Keira’s betrothal had struck him like a thunderbolt. He knew he had no right to feel the way he did, yet there it was—a mixture of jealousy, frustration, and an inexplicable sense of loss.
As the whiskey slowly worked its magic, his thoughts drifted to Keira. He pictured her fiery eyes, her determined spirit, and the way she held herself—so fierce yet vulnerable. And that kiss, an electrifying connection that had sent shockwaves through him.
An entire hour passed by. He was certain of this passage of time for the simple fact that he glanced at the old clock on the wall every single minute of that entire hour, and yet, she had not come. He shook his head, downing the drink in one thirsty, desperate gulp. He needed to get away from the confines of his castle.
As always, a midnight ride might clear his thoughts a little.
He pushed the door, and it creaked open. Before he could even realize what happened, there she was, standing in the dimly lit corridor, almost as if waiting for him.
Keira’s eyes met Raphael’s, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. The air was thick with unspoken words, a palpable tension between them.
“Keira…” he whispered, his voice laden with surprise. “How long have ye been standin’ here?”
She hesitated, biting her lower lip. The act tore something out of his chest. It was so innocent, yet the underlying tone of passion this simple act exuded drove him insane.
“Long enough to know it is very late,” she replied.
Before he could say anything to that, a distant sound was heard. Their eyes widened, and without thinking, he grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her inside his chamber, and then locked the door behind them. He could see her chest rising and falling quickly as her breathing intensified.
The footsteps drew nearer, echoing in the corridor. He pressed his finger to his lips, signaling for her to be quiet. She obeyed, her eyes still wide and alert.
“It is probably just one of the maids,” he reassured her. It wouldn’t be the first time one of the servants was wanderingthrough the darkened corridors of the castle for whatever reason. “A drink?” he offered.
“No, thank you.” She shook her head. “I would rather have this conversation with a clear head.”
He lifted an eyebrow at her. “So, ye’ve come to discuss a serious matter, then.”
“Isn’t that why you told me to come?” she retorted.
He inhaled deeply, considering pouring himself another drink, but perhaps she was right. He also wanted to have this conversation level-headed.
“You knew, didn’t you?” she suddenly asked. “You knew all along, and yet, you allowed me to make a fool of myself, to demand a kiss, to come here…”
Raphael paced the chamber, frustration in every step. “I cannae explain why I did what I did. I’m as infuriated with meself as ye are.”
“I really doubt that,” she answered, taking a step closer, her voice raw with emotion.
