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For a moment she says nothing, as if she is deciding whether I deserve honesty at all. Then the words come out like something she’s held too long.
“Ye dinnae ken me, Not truly. Ye might ken what I do—what I am to yer family. You might even appreciate what I look like, but ye’ve no idea what it costs to keep things from fallin’ apart when no one else will. What it takes to be the one everyone leans on and still remain standin’.” Her gaze holds mine, steady as iron.
“I’m tryin’—”
“Nae.” The word is quiet, but it cuts. “Ye’re fascinated with me, James. There’s a difference.” She draws a breath, and when she speaks again, there’s a hard-earned pride in it.
“Men like you always are. Passin’ through a woman’s life, feelin’ something keen and bright, and then ye leave once novelty wears off. Stayin’ long enough to grow bored, not payin’ the price of the after.”
“That’s not—”
“I’m not interested in bein’ a passin’ fancy someone’ll remember fondly. If a man finds himself wantin’ anything from me, he earns it. He earns the right to stay.”
Her mouth tightens. “I’ve paid too much to be treated like a passin’ indulgence. I ken what men do when they’re away. I ken what charm excuses. I’ll never be a story some man tells later about his youth, or regret, or a woman who almost made him decent.”
The words strike deep because they mistake me entirely. For a moment, I can’t speak. When I do, my voice is low, held tight with hurt that I refuse to let turn into anger.
“You think this is about takin’ ye to my bed?” I say. “You think that’s the measure of it?”
“I think you want what’s easy,” she fires back. “And I’m not.”
“Nae,” I say. “Ye’re not, and I’d string someone up for suggestin’ otherwise.”
That seems to catch her more than denial would have.
“Where has this come from?” she asks, quieter now. “This sudden certainty. This wantin’?”
A breath leaves me, almost a laugh, though there’s little humour in it.
“Who says it’s sudden?” I ask. “Who says I havenae been a wee bit soft for you longer than was wise?” I continue. “I’ve only been better at hidin’ it than I mean to be from now on.”
I move closer, then still myself, careful not to crowd her.
“I’ve never looked at you and thought only of my bed.” I pause. “Not once. Not now. Not ever.”
I go on. “My father has loved one woman since he was a lad,” I say firmly, my words rooted in a truth I’ve never questioned. “Obsessed with her, truth be told. Fiercely devoted in a way that leaves no room for anything smaller.” I swallow. “That’s the only kind of wantin’ I understand.”
The rise and fall of her chest comes quicker now, and though she tries to fight the reaction, I don’t miss it.
“So, yer caution doesnae frighten me off. It tells me you ken the worth of what ye’re asking for.” My gaze doesn’t waver. “I want to give someone everything I am, and I want to be the man who gives that to you.”
The silence stretches, taut as wire.
“And if you think I’ve spent my years away collectin’ women like trophies,” I add, “ye dinnae ken me well enough to judge me. I’ve taken no one to my bed, because I’ve never wanted something I wasnae prepared to honour with my whole life.
“So dinnae mistake my patience for some hunger I’m waitin’ to satisfy, or my restraint for lack of feeling,” I finish. “I’m serious about you because I dinnae ken how to be anythin’ less.”
I let that sit between us.
Her expression goes carefully blank, and I recognise it for what it is: not the absence of feeling, but stubborn restraint.
“I willnae soften for pretty words,” she says flatly. “I’ve learned better.”
I nod because I respect she’s right to feel this way. I can see how life has taught her the value of caution.
“Alright,” I say. “Then ignore all my promises.” I hold her gaze. “Take my time. Let me prove it.”
She studies me as if she expects the trick of it to show—some small flicker of impatience, some hidden demand.
