Page 45 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

By the time the sun had burned off the morning mist, Agnes knew something was wrong.

Tav hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to her since they’d saddled the horses. No soft teasing, no dry quips, not even the occasional grunt of acknowledgment he usually gave when she pointed out something mildly amusing, like the rabbit tracks crossing the trail, or how her mare seemed to prefer walking in zigzags just to irritate her. Nothing. Not a single word from him. Just silence. And the soft crunch of hooves through damp earth.

Agnes sat straighter in the saddle and narrowed her eyes. He rode just ahead, as always, but now he seemed to be keeping that distance deliberately. His shoulders were set tight, head angled just enough that she couldn’t see his face when she called out to him. Which she had. Twice already.

“Tav,” she said again, louder this time. His name cracked between them like a whip, sharp enough to slice through the damp air.

He didn’t slow, didn’t so much as flick a glance her way. Just kept riding, his shoulders a rigid line beneath his woolen plaid, his horse picking its way through the narrow path with infuriating calm, as if she were nothing more than the wind rattling the bracken.

Agnes’s jaw tightened. The leather of her reins creaked under her grip. Fine. If he wanted to play the stone-faced sentinel, carved from granite and silence, then so be it. But she wasn’t some simpering maiden content to trail after him in brooding obedience.

With a click of her tongue, she urged her mare forward, hooves splashing through a peat-dark puddle as she drew up beside him. Close enough to see the muscle feathering in his temple, or to smell the woodsmoke still clinging to his clothes. She could finally see the stubborn set of his mouth.

“Did ye leave yer tongue back by the fire,” she bit out, “or is this yer new idea o’ charming company?”

The words hung there, sharp as a dirk between them. An invitation for him to look at her, to speak, to prove he was affected by her presence. But Tav? He just stared straight ahead, his silence thicker than the mist coiling over the hills.

Then his eyes flicked to her, briefly and there was a hollowness there she had never seen in his icy eyes before. “We’ve ground tae cover.”

She stared at him. That was all he was going to say? Just that?

“Aye,” she said dryly, “I noticed. I thought mayhap we’d keep each other from goin’ mad while we dae it.”

No answer.

Agnes clenched her fists around the reins. Her heart was thudding too fast for something so small. Why did it feel like he was punishing her for something? She’d done nothing wrong. If anything, he was the one who had held her all night like she was some precious thing worth guarding. Like she was his. And now he wouldn’t even look at her.

She chewed the inside of her cheek, staring straight ahead, trying not to let the sting crawl into her voice. “Did I say something wrong?”

Still nothing.

The silence grew unbearable. The birdsong above them grated on her ears now. Each hoofbeat thudded through her like an accusation. She wanted to scream. Instead, she laughed—a bitter, low sound.

“Well, if yer aim was tae make things uncomfortable, congratulations. Ye’ve outdone yerself.”

He still didn’t respond. Just kept riding. Agnes felt something unravel inside her, like the sound of thread being pulled from a seam.

It wasn’t just that he was ignoring her. It was the way he’d withdrawn so completely. Like the night they’d just shared had never happened at all. Was it guilt? Regret? Did he think she was foolish enough to believe it hadn’t meant something to him?

A hot flush climbed up her neck. No. She wouldn’t cry. Not over this.

The trees began to thin, the path widening slightly as the forest gave way to low hills. Far ahead, she could see the shimmer of the northern coastline. The Castle of Mey was still out of sight, hidden behind the next ridge, but she could feel its presence like a weight pressing against her chest.

The trail cut through a shallow glen that opened into a narrow clearing. It was just wide enough to let sunlight spill through, turning the moss underfoot gold. Agnes shifted in her saddle, tugging her braid forward over her shoulder, her hair still damp with the mist of early morning. She’d been quiet for the last half hour, mostly out of stubbornness, letting Tav sit stiff in his own silence ahead of her.

Then they heard a low, rushing hush of water. It was a sound like whispered secrets spilling over moss-slick stones. The mare's ears twitched forward, nostrils flaring at the mineral scent curling through the trees.

Agnes reined her mount to a sudden halt, her boots pressing instinctively into the stirrups as her gaze snapped toward the thicket crowding the path's edge. Between the tangled fingers of birch and alder, sunlight fractured across moving water in quick, silver flashes, bright as knife blades in the shadows.

"There," she said, gloved hand lifting to point. The leather creaked with the motion. "What's that?"

Tav didn't even turn his head. His stallion continued its steady plod forward, hooves sinking slightly into the rain-softened earth. "Stream, probably." His voice was flat, the words clipped as if each one cost him effort. "We keep moving."

A muscle jumped in Agnes's jaw. The water called to her. It wasn’t just its brightness, but the promise of it. A chance to wash the road's dust from her throat, to press chilled fingers against her windburned cheeks. But more than that, it was the way he refused to look, as if acknowledging even this small beauty might unravel whatever grim purpose drove him forward.

The mare shifted beneath her, sensing her hesitation. Tav was already three lengths ahead, his broad back a wall of wool and weaponry, his silence as impenetrable as the Highland mists.