She felt him glance at her cheek briefly and precisely before turning back to William. “Ye gave up Esther. Ye have no claim on her or right to be on this land.”
“She’s me blood.”
“She’s me ward. And she’s me daughter in every way that matters, which is more than ye can say.” His voice didn’t rise. Didn’t need to. “I was there when she arrived. I was there for the bruises and the nightmares and the two years she wouldnae speak above a whisper. Where were ye?”
He glared at his brother.
“Ye put yer hands on a woman under me protection. On me land.” A pause. “Leave now, William. If I find ye within a mile of either of them again, I will stop being yer brother and start being yer Laird. And ye’ll find those are very different things.”
William looked at him for a long moment.
The pleasantness came back, practiced, polished, worse than the anger.
“She’s changed ye,” he said. “I want ye to hear that. Ye can be reached through her now. A laird who can be reached is a laird who can be brought down.” He glanced at Ava one final time, not contempt, just the cold filing away of a man noting a resource for later. “I’ll go. For now.”
He walked out.
His footsteps faded across the courtyard. The stable grew quiet—just Bess shifting in her stall, the wind through the high windows, and Ava’s heartbeat, which was louder than she’d like.
Noah turned to her.
“Let me see,” he said.
“I’m fine.”
“Ava.”
She turned her face toward him. He lifted one hand and touched her jaw, tilting her face toward the light from the high window, his thumb brushing once across her cheekbone just below where the slap had landed.
His touch was careful and contained, and it was also his hands, and she was aware of both simultaneously in a way that was entirely inconvenient given the circumstances.
“It’ll bruise,” he said.
“I’ve had worse.”
“That isnae the reassurance ye think it is.” His thumb didn’t move from her cheek.
His eyes were still on the mark, not her face, with the focused attention of someone who was using the examination to keep himself from doing something else. “Are ye all right?”
“Esther,” she said. “We need to find Esther.”
He dropped his hand. “Elliot has her. She ran the whole way and spoke to him, stammerin’ and shakin’ and cryin’. Told him exactly what happened.” Something moved through his expression. “She did well.”
“She always does.” Ava let out a slow breath. “She’s braver than she kens.”
“There’s something I need to tell ye,” Noah said. “William has been asking questions about ye for over a week. Who ye are, where ye came from, whether ye have family.” He held her gaze. “I had scouts watchin’ him. I kent, and I didnae tell ye. I was waitin’ until I had more information before tellin’ ye. I cannae say how they were careless enough to let him slip by them. But they will be answerin’ to me for their actions. ”
“A week,” she said.
“Aye.”
She looked at him.
The warmth of his hand still lingered on her face, or maybe just the memory of it, which was close enough. She kept that alongside what he’d just said and felt the two things sit uncomfortably together, which was probably the right reaction.
“Ye should have told me,” she said.
“Aye.” He didn’t deflect it. “I should have. But I didnae want ye scared.”
