Page 52 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

"Ye should be sleeping," he said quietly.

"So should ye."

He moved to his sleeping area and began unrolling his mat, positioning it exactly where it had been the night before. Not closer to the bed, as had become his habit, but in the same spot.

"Ye're nae moving it closer taenight," she observed.

His hands stilled on the blankets. "Nay."

"Why nae?"

"Because I pressed ye enough fer one day." His voice was carefully controlled, but she could hear the self-recrimination underneath. "I willnae make that mistake again."

"Ruaridh—"

"Nay." The word was sharp, final. "We're nae discussing this, Iona. I overstepped, and I'm sorry fer it. That's all there is tae say."

She wanted to argue, wanted to tell him that it wasn't his fault, that her reaction had more to do with her past than with him. But the set of his shoulders, the rigid way he held himself, told her he wouldn't listen.

He settled onto his mat with his back to her, and the message was clear. The conversation was over.

Iona stared at the space between them—wider now than it had been in days, not just physically but emotionally. The progress they'd made, the tentative closeness that had been growing between them, felt like it was slipping away.

"Goodnight, Ruaridh," she said softly.

"Goodnight."

But she knew neither of them would sleep well that night. And the day after, she feared, would bring them back to the polite, distant strangers they'd been after the council meeting.

Only this time, it might be even worse.