Page 49 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

His mouth was a grim line. "Ye dinnae understand."

"Then explain it. Gods Tav, just say somethin’ real."

"Ye dinnae understand duty," he growled. "Ye think this is hard fer ye? Ridin' through the woods, sleepin' under stars like some faerie story? I've been watchin' the trees fer knives every step o’ the way. Because if I fail, ye dinnae get tae marry yer laird."

She recoiled like he’d slapped her. "Ye think this is easy fer me? Throwin' away me life, me freedom, tae be sold off like cattle because o’ me faither's deals?"

Tav’s jaw flexed. "That’s what this is. It’s a bargain. Ye get yer title. Yer future. I just get ye there."

Agnes didn’t move at first. She just stared at him, her eyes hard and unblinking, like the wind had carved her from stone. But inside, she felt like she was shattering. Cracks ran through her ribs, splintering beneath the surface, even as her face stayed maddeningly calm. That’s all he thought this was? A transaction? A simple delivery from one man’s hand to another?

Her throat tightened. A hot, invisible rope wound its way around her windpipe, and she swallowed hard against it, teeth clenched. There was a burn rising behind her eyes that she refused to let spill.

That’s what this is. A bargain.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides. Not to strike him, though the urge was there, white-hot and pulsing, but to keep herself grounded, to stop herself from shaking. Because she could feel it creeping up her spine now, the fury braided with something heartbreakingly close to grief. She didn’t know which was worse.

How dare he? How dare he think that of her?

After all the nights they’d spent beside the fire together, the glances that lingered too long, the unspoken things crackling like lightning between them… how could he stand there and pretend none of it mattered?

She blinked, once, slow and searing. The sun caught the wetness in her lashes and made it look like light. She hoped he mistook it for that.

“Is that what ye think o’ me?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. “That I’m just some burden tae be handed off? Like I’m a letter ye’ve been ordered tae deliver, nae a person standin’ here in front o’ ye?”

Her voice didn’t tremble. That was something. A small victory in the battlefield of her chest, where her heart was beating hard enough to bruise her ribs.

He didn’t answer right away. Of course he didn’t. He just sat there, looking at her like she was something dangerous he didn’t know how to disarm. Like her words had lodged somewhere deep, but he hadn’t yet decided whether to pull them out or let them fester.

Agnes took a step toward him. Her voice, when it came again, was sharper. Steadier. “After everythin’. After the way ye looked at me last night by the fire—like ye’d tear the world apart tae keep me safe—ye’d still stand there and say this is naethin’ but duty?” Her mouth twisted. “Liar,” she said, low and bitter.

And she knew it to be true.

Because whatever it was—whatever strange, impossible, beautiful thing had grown between them—it had never just been duty. She’d felt it in every glance, every silent gesture. She’d seen it in the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t watching. And she’d felt it in every heartbeat.

She stepped toward him, slow and deliberate. "I have nay interest in bein’ the wife o’ a laird. None."

Tav blinked. The flicker of surprise crossed his face so quickly she might’ve missed it if she hadn’t been watching for it.

"I’m only daein’ this because it’s what me faither asked o’ me," she said, voice shaking with restraint. "Because I was told since I could walk, that duty mattered more than happiness. That bein’ a good daughter meant sacrificin’ what I want so that others could get what they need."

She took another step, her chin lifting, the fire in her eyes unyielding. "So dinnae tell me I dinnae ken what duty is. I’ve lived it. Every. Bloody. Day."

Tav’s mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out. His brows drew together, and for the first time since their argument began, something broke in his expression. Something raw.

He shook his head once. "Agnes, that’s nae⁠—"

"Dinnae," she snapped, cutting the air between them. "Dinnae try tae take it back now. Ye think I’m selfish, or foolish, or blind tae the world ye live in. But, once again, I ken what this is. I ken what we are. And ye can try tae convince yerself it’s just a job, just another duty—but I see the way ye look at me."

She was shaking now, but not from fear. From fury. From the weight of everything she hadn’t said. Everything she couldn’t keep locked inside any longer.

"I see it when ye think I’m nae lookin’. When ye touch me like ye’re afraid tae let go. When ye hold me like ye wish ye could keep me. Dinnae stand there and lie. Nae after all this. Nae after last night."

Tav's stricken expression hardened like cooling iron. Before Agnes could continue, his hand shot out, capturing her wrist and yanking her forward until their chests nearly collided. "Enough," he growled, the word rough as gravel. "Ye want honesty? Then listen when I⁠—"

She twisted in his grip, fire undimmed. "Oh aye, now ye find yer voice⁠—"

"Damn it, woman!" His free hand cradled the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her damp hair as he forced her to meet his gaze. The fury in his eyes burned hotter than any hearth. "Dae ye ken what ye've done?" His thumb brushed her jaw, a fleeting tenderness at odds with his grip. "Ye carved yerself into me bones when I wasnae lookin'. Now ye stand there in yer sodden shift, mockin' me position, when every ragged breath I take in yer presence is proof against this 'duty' ye hate so much."