Noah watched her look at the stars. The tilt of her head, the moonlight moving across her face, her lips slightly parted, and he felt the wanting settle in his chest like something permanent.
This is a problem.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“How often do ye come up here?”
Ava’s voice was soft, reverent almost, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the beauty of the moment.
Above them, the stars wheeled in their eternal dance, and below, the castle grounds stretched out in moonlit silence.
“Every night, usually.” Noah moved to stand beside her at the tower’s edge, his hands resting on the stone battlements. “After everyone’s abed, when the castle is quiet. I come up here to think. To breathe.”
“It must be lonely,” Ava observed. “Carryin’ all those responsibilities by yerself.”
“Aye, sometimes.” Noah’s profile was sharp in the moonlight, all strong lines and shadows. “But it’s the price of leadership. A laird cannae afford to show weakness, cannae afford to let otherssee when he’s strugglin’. So I come here instead, where nay one can see.”
“I can see,” Ava pointed out gently.
Noah turned to look at her, something unreadable in his dark eyes. “Aye. Ye can.”
The moment stretched between them, heavy with meaning, but Ava wasn’t quite ready to analyze it. She looked away first, focusing on the stars.
“Tell me about a stressful day,” she said. “That would bring ye up here.”
“Council disputes. Border concerns. Trade agreements that fall through.” Noah sighed. “The constant weight of knowin’ that every decision I make affects hundreds of people. That one wrong choice could mean death or hardship for those who depend on me.”
“That’s a heavy burden.”
“It’s the burden I was born to carry,” he said matter-of-factly, without self-pity. “Me father prepared me for it from childhood. Told me that a MacGregor Laird puts his clan before everythin’ else. Before personal desires, before happiness, before—” He cut himself off.
“Before what?”
“Before love,” Noah finished quietly. “He said love makes men weak. It causes them to choose poorly, puttin’ individuals before the good of the many.”
Ava’s chest tightened. “And do ye believe that?”
“I used to.” Noah’s gaze was distant now, focused on something she couldn’t see. “But then Esther came, and I realized that carin’ for one person, protectin’ one person, doesnae make ye weaker. Sometimes it makes ye stronger. Gives ye somethin’ worth fightin’ for.”
Ava took a breath, gathering her courage.
“Then why daenae ye spend more time with her?”
Noah’s head turned sharply. “What?”
“With Esther. Ye care for her; that much is obvious to anyone with eyes. But ye barely speak to her outside of meals. Ye daenae join us for lessons or walks in the garden. Ye keep yer distance.” Ava’s voice was gentle but persistent. “Why?”
Noah’s jaw clenched. “It’s complicated.”
“Is it? Or are ye just afraid?”
“I’m nae afraid of anythin’,” Noah said, but there was no conviction in his voice.
“Everyone’s afraid of somethin’.” Ava moved closer, close enough to see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands gripped the stone. “Talk to me, Noah. Help me understand.”
For a long moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer.
“I daenae ken how to talk to her,” he admitted, his voice rough. “I daenae ken how to communicate with a child who’s been hurt the way she has. Every time I try, I feel like I’m sayin’ the wrong thing, doin’ the wrong thing. Like I’m goin’ to damage her more with me clumsy words and lack of... of gentleness.”
