Page 29 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

CHAPTER NINE

The first light of morning filtered through the window. Tav was already awake when the birds began to sing. He hadn't slept well on the hard floor, though he had lain still for hours, listening to Agnes’ soft, rhythmic breath, sleeping on the bed. She had curled herself tightly underneath the blanket, her face half-hidden by a curtain of unruly auburn hair.

He had watched her for too long, longer than he should have allowed himself. There was something about her, quiet in her sleep, that both unsettled and calmed him. In that stillness, stripped of all her sharp wit and the haughty little tilt of her chin, she looked heartbreakingly young. Young, and yet not fragile. There was strength in her, a core of something solid. He could feel it every time she challenged him, every time she stared at him, as though daring him to speak the words he bit back.

Tav rose with care, stretching the stiffness from his limbs and rolling his shoulders to work out the ache. He medicated his wound, dressed quickly, careful not to wake her, then knelt beside the fire, stirring the coals. Agnes had to wake up to a room warm enough for her to dress.

As he was watching sparks spiral upward like dying stars, he heard a yawn, soft and sleep-rough, followed by the rustle of the bed sheets as she shifted. His hand stilled mid-motion. A spark popped, loud as a gunshot in the sudden silence. His spine straightened without his permission, muscles locking like a man bracing for impact. It was absurd, this reaction. As if her waking were a storm rolling in.

He turned just as she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Even that small, careless gesture had power over him. The way her lashes fluttered against her cheek, the way her mouth pursed in a drowsy pout made his breath catch.

Gods.

He forced himself to look away, back to the fire, but not before he saw her stretch, the blanket slipping off one shoulder, revealing the pale slope of her collarbone. A spark of a different kind stirred low in his gut.

"Dae ye always look this grim in the morning, or is it a special treat just fer me?" she asked, turning to face him, her voice still thick with sleep.

He gave her a look.

She shrugged, lips quirking. "Dinnae sit there all gloomy. Cheer up. We have adventure ahead of us."

"Hoping this adventure daesnae include death," he muttered.

She grinned, her eyes bright now, alive with something impish. Agnes rose and sat on the edge of the bed, eyes tracking his every movement. He couldn’t bear it any longer.

“I’m goin’ down fer breakfast,” he muttered, turning away. “Get dressed and come down after. Cannae have ye faintin’ off the horse from hunger.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, he just opened the door and walked into the hallway, the echo of his footsteps lost in the stillness. The door shut behind him with a soft thud. The tavern was hushed in the early morning haze, wrapped in the kind of silence that settles just before the day begins to stir.

A pale shaft of sunlight filtered through the narrow window, slicing the dimness and falling in a golden line across the rough wooden table where Tav pulled out a chair and sat, his shoulders slumped forward. A servant walked over and placed a bowl of porridge in front of him, without a word. He didn’t look up. Just hunched over it, eyes locked on the dull gray mass like it might speak first. Like it might say something he didn’t want to hear.

After what felt like half an hour, Agnes slid onto the bench across from him with a yawn and a messy braid that looked only half-finished. "Now," she said, plucking a piece of bread from the plate between them, "what grand path are we takin’ today, Captain? Through thickets and thorns? Or shall we ride straight into some cursed marshland fer the fun o’ it?"

Tav didn’t look up. "We’ll take the west road out past the old stone bridge, then turn south. There’s a pass through the hills that should see us past the woodland before dusk."

Agnes raised a brow, tearing her bread in two. "Ye’re too precise. Sometimes I think ye’ve swallowed a map."

"I like tae be prepared," he muttered, not lifting his gaze. Her presence across from him already made his shoulders too tight.

She leaned in a bit, voice lowering like they were sharing a secret. "Tell me, Tav, dae ye rehearse in the mirror before dawn, or does it come naturally? This endless brooding?"

That made him glance up. Her eyes were bright with mischief, her lips twisted in a grin that made the muscles in his jaw clench. She’d done that on purpose.

"I dinnae brood," he said, reaching for his cup.

"Ye absolutely dae," she said, leaning back like a cat stretching in the sun. "All the time. It’s impressive, really. I’ve kent priests who frown less than ye dae."

Tav tried to focus on sipping his tea. Tried not to look at the curve of her smile or the way her knee brushed against his under the table.

"We’ve a long ride ahead," he said stiffly. "It’s best ye eat proper."

"Aye, aye, Captain." She bit into her bread again, still smiling.

He didn’t answer, just stared down into the steam rising from his cup. His ears were hot, and he cursed himself for it. She was just teasing. It was light, harmless. But damn it, it lit something inside him that had no business sparking, and he didn’t know how to turn off.

Agnes finished her bread and rose, dusting crumbs from her skirts. "Come then, Tav. Let’s ride this precise and perilous route o’ yers."

He stood, grabbing his pack, keeping his expression carefully neutral as her laugh followed him out the door, and despite everything, it curled in his chest like a warm coal.