“While I was bathing?” she demanded.
He cleared his throat. “I… noticed.”
Her glare sharpened. “Ye noticed.”
“I stopped,” he said defensively. “Ye were humming.”
“That daesnae excuse—” She slipped again, just barely, catching herself on the tub’s edge. His hands twitched at his sides before discipline dragged them still. He stayed where he was, everyinstinct urging him forward and every hard-earned rule keeping him rooted.
“Ye are infuriating.”
“And ye,” he replied, far too aware of the curve of her collarbone disappearing beneath the robe, “are remarkably alive for someone who tried tae drown herself this morning.”
“I didnaetry?—”
“I ken,” he said quietly.
The steam shifted, and with it the scent of her, which was soap and warmth and something indefinably hers. It lodged under his skin. He wanted to gather her into his arms again, to feel the proof of her breathing.
He did none of it.
“There is a dinner taenight,” he said instead, forcing his thoughts back into order. “The Council wishes tae meet ye.”
Her expression flickered from fury to disbelief. “Taenight?”
“Aye.”
She stared at him for a moment, with her robe clenched tight, while her damp hair framed her face.
Beautiful, his mind supplied mercilessly.Unfairly so.
“Well,” she said at last, “of course they dae.”
She drew the robe closer around herself. Her chin slightly lifted as she spoke. “If that is all, ye may give me some privacy. We arenae in the woods anymore, last I checked.”
The words were sharp, but beneath them he heard the tremor and the anger braided with the lingering shock of having been seen, of having nearly lost everything twice in a single day.
He could understand that, but at the same time, he wanted exactly what she was denying him: the woods, the open road, a place where he could remain close without explanation, where watching over her was instinct rather than impropriety, where no walls or witnesses demanded restraint.
He banished the thought as swiftly as it came.
“Aye,” he nodded. “Ye’ll have it.”
He turned toward the door, then paused, duty asserting itself one last time. “I’ll be waiting in the Great Hall fer dinner.”
With that, he opened the door and stepped out, closing it firmly behind him. On the other side, the corridor felt colder, narrower. He drew in a steadying breath and moved away without looking back.
CHAPTER NINE
Margaret stood before the looking glass and scarcely knew the woman looking back at her.
The gown Annabel had brought was nothing like the borrowed garments she had shed only hours before. It was deep green fabric, rich without ostentation, which fell in clean, elegant lines that spoke of quiet authority rather than ornament. The bodice fit her as though it had been made with her in mind.
Her hair had been coaxed into order at last, drawn back in a style both refined and practical. Now, her soft curls were framing her face instead of hiding it. The last traces of damp had vanished, replaced by a faint sheen that caught the candlelight when she moved.
She barely recognized herself.
This woman looked composed. Powerful, even. She was not the daughter pulled aside in a corridor, not the rider flung into ariver, not the girl who had been bargained over by men who believed they knew her worth.
