She was many things. Stubborn, reckless, brave.
But jealous?
Jealous had never been one of them.
Until now.
Harris spread his cloak beside the door, sword within arm’s reach, acting like this was just another night, another danger, another choice he got to make for both of them.
“We leave before dawn,” he said, voice steady.
Fiona didn’t turn.
He continued, “Flora will take me to the Prince. Ye’ll leave by boat. Back to Inverness. Safely.”
Fiona blinked once.
Then laughed—a sharp, disbelieving bark that barely covered the tremor beneath it.
“You’re sending me away?”
“Aye.”
“As if I’m a bairn who wandered too far from home?”
“Fiona—”
She whirled, faster than his breath, faster than his excuses. The air seemed to recoil from her heat.
“No. No, you don’t get to say my name like a man deliverin’ bad news gently. I followed ye across half the Highlands. I bled for this cause. I nearly drowned draggin’ you out of a loch like a sack of potatoes—and ye think ye can dismiss me like one of your bloody tools?”
Harris rose slow and controlled.
Every tendon in his neck stood out like he was holding back the tide with his teeth.
“I’m sendin’ ye home,” he said, “because the closer ye get to this gold, the closer ye are to dyin’ for it. I won’t have your blood on my hands.”
“My blood is MY choice!” she insisted, voice iron-hot.
“Aye,” he growled, “and it’s not enough.”
“Why?” she demanded, advancing. “Why is my safety your concern?”
Harris didn’t answer—not fast enough, not honest enough.
Something in Fiona snapped sideways, sharp as a blade’s turn.
“Oh, I ken why,” she said, words low and trembling with anger she hadn’t let herself name until now. “You trust Flora. You speak plain with Flora. You let her carry pieces of your burden. But me?” Her laugh was vicious and wounded. “I’m only good enough to haul ye out of a drownin’ and take orders like a wee soldier.”
His jaw locked. “This has nothin’ tae do wi—”
“It has everything tae do with it!” she hurled back, stepping up to him so fiercely he had to brace. “I watched ye outside—aye, I saw ye—standin’ there with her, speakin’ soft, trustin’ her with truths you willnae even give me. Laughin’ and smilin’ at each other like bloodycompanions!”
“What you saw,” he growled, “was none of your—”
“And when she touched your arm,” Fiona cut in, voice breaking like a storm surge, “you didn’t pull away. You didn’t flinch. But God forbid I get close, eh? God forbid I matter enough for the truth!”
Harris’s breath hitched, like the accusation cracked through something he’d sworn not to feel.
