Still no movement. Only his voice—low, raw. “The Prince shouldnae have said that.”
“What? That we make a convincing couple?” she teased lightly, though her voice wavered.
Now he turned.
“No,” he said, eyes catching hers with startling honesty. “That I need you.”
Fiona’s breath hitched.
He went on, voice barely above the rain:
“I’ve needed plenty of things in my life. A blade. A roof. A horse that wouldnae kill me. But needin’ a person…” He shook his head. “That’s how men die.”
“So you don’t need me?” she asked, chin lifting.
He closed the gap between them in a single, quiet step. Not fierce, not rough—just present. Real. The kind of closeness thatundid her more than the wall or the table or the bed downstairs ever had.
“Fiona.” Her name left his lips like an oath. “I needed you long before I ever admitted it. That’s the problem.”
Her heart fluttered. “You think it’s weakness.”
“Aye,” he whispered. “And I dinnae have much left to spare.”
She touched his hand and something in him flinched, not from fear, but from recognition.
“You carriedtreasonousgold under your arse for months,” Fiona murmured. “But somehow I’m the dangerous thing?”
His laugh came out hoarse. “Dangerous doesn’t begin tae cover it.”
They stood in the soft lantern glow, a hair’s breadth apart.
She reached up, her hand grazing his cheek. “Are you regrettin’ last night?”
His eyes closed—just briefly. “No. God help me, no.”
“Regrettin’ the Prince’s order?”
“Aye,” he said. “Only because now, I dinnae think I could bear the sacrifice yer makin’ takin’ me as yer husband.”
She smiled slowly. “You weren’t doin’ a great job o’ that before.”
He huffed a breath—half laugh, half surrender.
Fiona slid her fingertips along his jaw, lifting his face enough that he had to look at her, really look.
“You’re not alone anymore, Harris Mackenzie,” she said. “So stop pretendin’ you were ever good at it.”
His throat bobbed.
Then, quietly—
“I’m afraid.”
The words hit her like a blow.
Not because she hadn’t known.
But because Harris Mackenzie was not a man who admitted fear.
