“Nay.”
“Aye,” he said, as if considering the matter fairly. “This seems the natural posture of a woman entirely at ease.”
She glared at him, which would have carried more force if she had not been trapped on the fence like a badly caught goose.
He did not mock her further. That was somehow worse. He merely stepped closer and opened his arms.
He didn’t even ask her to come down or anything. He just remained quiet. Almost like he knew she would either accept his help or remain there, making a greater fool of herself.
Ava hated that he had made himself the only sensible answer in the moment.
For one wild second, she considered attempting the jump anyway, but the fence was slick, the ground on the other side invisible in the dark, and the memory of his calm face somehowmade her recklessness look even more childish than it already was.
“I daenae need…” she began, swallowing.
His expression did not change.
The words died on her tongue. She muttered something ungracious under her breath and let herself shift toward him.
He took hold of her carefully, one hand steady on her waist, the other braced to guide her down. The movement was simple and ought not to have unsettled her the way it did. Yet the instant her weight settled into his arms, her whole body became aware of things she would rather not have noticed.
Things shewishedshe hadn’t noticed.
The heat of his body in the cold air, the firmness of his hands. The quiet, controlled ease with which he managed her, as though lifting flustered women down from fences at midnight was part of his ordinary skill set.
It was practicallyintolerable.
More intolerable still was the fact that her own body registered him.
He set her on the ground with maddening steadiness, and only then did he let go.
“Ye should be more careful,” he said. “Ye could have hurt yerself.”
Ava stared at him.
That was it. No demand to know whether she meant to disgrace him. No fury at finding his chosen bride attempting escape. Only concern, as if the chief problem with the evening lay in the risk of her breaking an ankle.
For some reason, that unsettled her even more than his anger would have.
She drew herself up, though the closeness of his body still lingered annoyingly on her skin. “Are ye sure ye daenae want another bride?”
The question came out before she could make it sound cooler and less hopeful.
One of his eyebrows lifted. “Ah, of course,” he said. “I should take the one who almost fainted at the mere sight of me.”
The absurdity of it broke through the tension before she could stop it. A startled giggle escaped her. It was small and mortifying and real.
“Well,” she drawled, “maybe naethatone.”
For the space of one breath, the night changed.
The loch remained black behind them. The air still bit at her cheeks. Yet something in the space between them loosened just enough to feel dangerous.
At that moment, they were no longer the Laird and his unwilling bride. They were a man and a woman in the dark, speaking with ease neither of them had expected in the first place.
Then, almost like they were both made aware of that fact at the same time, the tenderness vanished.
His mouth set again. “Ye’re mistaken, me Lady.”
