Page 46 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

Agnes clucked her tongue. "That’s no stream. That’s a waterfall."

"Agnes," he warned, already nudging his horse forward.

But she stayed where she was. "Tav. Stop. I want tae stop."

He stopped and turned, frowning. "What is it now?"

"I need tae wash up."

He blinked at her. "Here?"

"Aye."

"We’re nearly inside the bloody castle. Cannae stop now."

Tav's voice came like gravel under iron-shod boots, his gloved hands clenching the reins with white-knuckled tension. Somewhere beyond the mist-choked trees, the fortress loomed in Agnes's imagination as clearly as if its shadow already fell across them. She could feel its presence like a weight between her shoulder blades. She couldn't do it. Couldn't ride those last few miles and let this—whatever fragile, unspoken thing had grown between them in the wild spaces of their journey—end with stiff formalities and averted glances.

Tav's profile was all harsh angles in the fading light, his beard-shadowed jaw set like he was already bracing for a blow. The distance between them yawned suddenly wider than the glen stretching before them, though their horses stood close enough that her stirrup brushed his boot.

"Exactly," she said and immediately swung one leg over and slid from the saddle before he could protest further. Her boots hit the earth with a jolt that traveled up her spine, drawing a sharp little wince she refused to acknowledge. Straightening, she brushed road dust from her skirts with quick, impatient swipes.

"Ye want me tae show up tae meet me betrothed lookin’ like I’ve been dragged backwards through the woods?"

A strand of hair had escaped her braid, clinging to her sweat-damp temple. Her sleeves were streaked with mud from the river crossing the day before, and the laces at her bodice had frayed from days of travel. She looked almost frightening.

Tav’s mouth tightened, his gaze flicking toward the distant clearing as if measuring the threat in every wasted minute. "It’s just water. It’ll be cold."

"Good." She yanked her saddlebag free with more force than necessary. "Maybe it’ll knock some o’ the sourness out o’ ye."

A muscle jumped in his jaw. "We’re wasting time."

Agnes tossed him a glance over her shoulder, as she hoisted the bag. It was half challenge, half something warmer she’d never admit to. "Then dinnae waste more standin’ there glowerin’."

She didn’t wait for a reply. Skirts gathered in one fist, she ducked into the brush, moving light and quick as a fox toward the river’s song. Branches snagged at her sleeves; last autumn’s leaves crackled underfoot, releasing the scent of damp earth and rotting wood. Behind her, Tav’s muttered curse carried clearly through the stillness, followed, of course, by the inevitable crunch of boots on undergrowth as he gave chase.

The waterfall wasn’t grand. It was barely more than a tumble of silver spilling down a shelf of dark stone, but the pool it fed was clear and deep enough to wade in. The light caught the surface in flashes, birds wheeled overhead, and the air was fresh with the scent of pine and moss.

Agnes dropped her pack onto a boulder near the edge. She glanced back once to make sure he was still behind her, then sat to unlace her boots.

"What are ye daein’ now?" Tav asked.

"I said I’d be bathing, didn’t I?"

He folded his arms. "Just here? In the open?"

"Dae ye see anyone else around?"

He frowned, then glanced away.

Agnes grinned. "Relax. I’ll keep me shift on. Ye can even stand guard, if it’ll soothe yer soldier’s nerves."

"We should be moving," he said again, but softer this time. Less certain.

She stood, barefoot now, and lifted her hem. "Then move along without me. I’m nae showin’ up tae a castle I’m getting married in smellin’ like horse."

She stepped into the water with a hiss and a small laugh, the cold curling around her calves. It was bracing, sharp as glass at first, but she kept going until the water reached her thighs.

Tav stayed where he was, arms crossed, mouth in a thin line. Watching.