Page 32 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

CHAPTER TEN

Tav's body shifted with alarming swiftness, his movements sharp and silent as a drawn blade. Agnes barely had time to speak before his hand lifted into a silent command, palm turned toward her, fingers splayed in warning.

Dinnae make a sound.

Her breath caught in her throat.

It was happening again. How? The question clawed at her mind. They couldn't have been found. Her breath came in shallow bursts as memory forced its way in. The feeling of those rough hands grabbing her, the sour stench of ale on their breath as they'd crowded around her filled her senses. If not for Tav... She squeezed her eyes shut. What could one man do against so many now?

Yet even as terror coiled tight around her ribs, some stubborn part of her refused to fully despair. Tav wouldn't let harm come to her. She knew this with the same certainty she knew dawn would break, even if she couldn't begin to imagine how he'd stop the inevitable. Tav was already moving, untying the horses with swift, practiced fingers, guiding them into the dense brush with a care that belied the urgency in his eyes. Agnes remained where she stood, frozen beside the stream, her heart hammering against her ribs like it meant to shatter them from the inside. The forest around her had turned. Only moments ago, it had been soft, dappled light and birdsong. Now it felt sharp, brittle. As if even the trees were holding their breath.

When Tav returned, he didn't speak. He merely reached for her wrist and tugged urgently, leading her into the thick of the woods, past ferns and fallen logs, deeper into shadow. The voices from the road faded behind them, dulled by moss and distance, but still present. Agnes could hear the faint clop of hooves, a laugh too cruel to be anything but predatory.

Tav slowed as they approached the base of a massive oak, its trunk wide enough to shield them both. With a glance over his shoulder, he turned to her, placing a firm hand on her hip. She barely had time to register the heat of it before he was guiding her back, gently but insistently, until her spine pressed against the rough bark. And then he was in front of her.

Tav planted his feet, braced one arm against the tree just above her shoulder, the other hand still resting at her waist. His body curved protectively around hers, blocking her from view, but caging her too. Agnes could see the tension coiled in every line of him, his breath low and controlled, his gaze flicking sharply through the trees beyond.

"Dinnae move," he murmured, voice barely more than breath.

Agnes nodded, but the motion was small. She couldn’t have moved if she tried. He was too close. Her hands were pinned between their bodies, and her chest rose and fell far too fast. She tried to calm it, but the feel of his heat and his scent scrambled her thoughts.

She stood motionless, her back pressed to the bark, Tav’s body a barrier between her and the world beyond. The hush around them was deafening. There was no birdsong, no rustle of leaves. Only the slow, steady thud of her heart echoing in her ears.

She could feel everything. The heat of him. The subtle tremble in his muscles as he held still. His breath came shallow, controlled, ghosting the space between them like a whisper. She could feel the tension in his arms, the firm press of his thigh against hers. Every breath he took brushed the air between them, and her body was suddenly aware of everything: the scratch of bark through her cloak, the press of her back against it, the way his fingers still lingered at her hip, just resting there, holding her.

Her gaze flicked up and met his. His face was inches from hers. The slope of his nose. The hard line of his jaw. That faint scar that cut through his eyebrow, making him look just a bit more dangerous than was entirely fair. He didn’t look at her. His eyes were fixed on something beyond her line of sight, watching. But she wanted him to look at her. In a moment she forgot everything, except his lips in front of her face.

She was not supposed to think of him that way.

Hoping he hadn’t noticed, she forced her gaze to the side, trying to see what he saw—but there was nothing. Only the faint shimmer of light through the branches. Still, his body remained rigid, alert. Agnes swallowed hard, breath catching in her throat. The scouts hadn’t passed. They lingered, circling somewhere near the bend in the road they’d left behind. She could hear them speaking, though the words were blurred by distance and the thicket around them.

Tav didn’t move. He didn’t speak. But she could feel the way his whole body responded and how every muscle honed and listened. And she couldn’t stop the way she responded to him.

A branch snapped somewhere behind them. Agnes jerked in place, but Tav pressed closer without touching her, as if even that slight movement might give them away.

She stopped breathing, counting seconds in her head, her eyes wide and fixed on the knot in the tree bark behind Tav’s shoulder. They must’ve stood like that for an eternity, waiting as the danger crept past them in slow, circling steps.

Eventually, the sound of hooves began to fade. The voices receded, muttered and far now, until they were little more than wind through distant leaves.

Tav didn’t move. Neither did she.

The silence stretched long after the danger had passed, held taut by something neither of them dared name. Agnes blinked once, slowly, her lips parting to take a real breath at last. When she looked up, Tav was already looking at her.

Her breath hitched. The intensity in his eyes hadn’t eased. If anything, it had deepened and now there was something raw and unreadable flickering just beneath the surface. Finally, voice low and hoarse, she said, “We’re nae hiding anymore, are we?”

Tav stared at her for a beat longer. Then the tension in his shoulders gave, fractionally. He stepped back. Just enough that the space between them could breathe again.

“Nay,” he said, running a hand over his jaw. “They’ve moved on.”

Agnes exhaled slowly. The loss of his heat made her feel colder than she wanted to admit.

She stepped out from behind the tree and smoothed her skirts with trembling fingers, trying not to think about the way his breath had felt against her skin, brushing in her face. Or how her body had ached by being so close to him.

Tav cleared his throat and looked away. “I’ll go fetch the horses.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice to speak.

He took a step, then paused. “Ye did well,” he added, glancing at her sidelong. “Ye stayed quiet.”