Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Wait.”
She stopped but didn’t turn around.
Noah looked at her shoulders, noticing how she held herself very still, and said nothing for a moment because he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say next.
He only knew that she was three steps from the door and that the thought of sitting alone in this library after she left was, for reasons he refused to examine, completely intolerable.
She’s yer employee, let her go.
“There’s two hours until dinner,” he said instead. “Esther’s asleep. Ye’ve nowhere to be.”
“I could find somethin’ to do.”
“Ava.” Her name came out lower than he intended. “Stay.”
She then turned slowly, as if giving herself time to find an argument, and he watched the conflict cross her face. The flush remained high in her cheeks. Her hands were clasped in front of her, with the careful deliberateness of someone who needed something to hold onto.
Good, some dark, possessive part of him noted. She feels it too.
“Just for a wee bit,” she said finally, coming back to the table.
“Aye.” Noah moved to the cabinet by the bookshelves before she could change her mind, pulling out the dram and two glasses.
Something had shifted in the room. The air between them grew tense, neither of them acknowledging it, both of them sharply aware of it. He kept his back to her a moment longer than necessary.
Get yerself together.
He turned around, set the glasses down, and poured.
Ava’s eyebrows rose. “Ye want to drink with me? Yer employee?”
“I want to drink with a woman who stood up to a laird on behalf of a frightened child. Who tore strips off me niece’s former nanny in front of the entire castle.” Noah poured two generous measures and brought them back to the table. “That woman deserves a drink, I think.”
He pushed one glass toward her. Ava stared at it for a moment, then picked it up.
“To Esther,” she said, raising the glass slightly. “May she never doubt again that she’s wanted.”
“To Esther,” Noah echoed, and they both drank.
The dram burned as it went down—good Highland dram aged in oak barrels, worth more than most people earn in a month. Ava coughed slightly, her eyes watering, but she didn’t push the glass away.
“That’s... strong,” she managed.
“Aye. But effective.” Noah settled back in his chair, cradling his own glass. “Tell me about yerself. I ken ye worked at a tavern and volunteered at an orphanage, but what else? Where did ye come from before the village?”
Ava’s expression immediately shuttered. “Does it matter?”
“I’d like to ken. If ye’re willin’ to share.”
She took another sip of dram, this one larger. “There’s nae much to tell. I ran away when I was sixteen. Made me way to the village, found work, survived. That’s all.”
But that wasn’t all. Noah could see the pain flickering behind her carefully neutral expression and hear the things she wasn’t saying in the flatness of her voice.
“Why did ye run?” he asked gently.
“Because stayin’ meant...” She cut herself off, took another drink. “It meant continuin’ to be someone I didnae want to be. Continuin’ to accept things I shouldnae have to accept.”
Noah’s hands tightened on his glass. “Yer father.”
It wasn’t a question. He’d seen how she rubbed her arm that night at the cottage and noticed her flinch sometimes when voices were raised. The pieces had been adding up for days.
Ava didn’t confirm or deny it, just stared into her dram. “I havenae seen him in seven years. I daenae even ken if he’s still alive.”
“And ye daenae want to ken.”
“Nay.” Her voice was hard now, brittle. “Some people daenae deserve to be remembered. Daenae deserve to have their children wonderin’ about them or carin’ if they’re well.”
Noah wanted to push, wanted to demand the full story so he could ride out and find the bastard who’d hurt her. But he forced himself to stay seated, to keep his voice level.
“If ye ever change yer mind,” he said carefully. “If ye ever tell me his name, I’ll make sure he’s punished for what he did to ye.”
Ava’s head snapped up, her green eyes wide. “What? Nay. There’s nay need for that.”
“There’s every need.” Noah leaned forward, intensity burning in his chest. “Ye’re under me protection now, Ava. That means anyone who’s hurt ye answers to me.”
“That was years ago! It doesnae matter anymore!”
“It matters to me.”
The words hung in the air between them, carrying more weight than Noah had intended. Ava looked at him, her breath quickening, her cheeks flushing not just because of the dram.
“Why?” she whispered. “Why would ye care what happened to some village lass seven years ago?”
She was looking at him across the table, her lips parted and waiting, and Noah realized he couldn’t look away from her mouth. Her cheeks were still flushed, a deep rose that had spread down her throat. Her breath came in a careful, measured way, as if she was trying to keep herself very still.
He watched her chest rise. Fall. Rise again.
Why do I care?
He reached across the table and tucked the loose strand of hair from her cheek, the same one that had been distracting him for the past ten minutes.
His fingers felt steadier than he realized. He lowered his hand.
“Because ye’re mine to protect now,” he said. The words came out darker than he intended, possessive in a way that had nothing to do with duty and everything to do with the fact that the thought of someone putting their hands on her made something savage rise in his chest. “That’s all.”
It wasn’t all, but he wasn’t going to examine what else it was.
“I daenae like the thought of anyone hurtin’ ye and gettin’ away with it.”
“Well. Thank ye. But I daenae need ye to fight me battles for me. I’ve been doin’ just fine on me own.”
“Aye, ye have.” Noah poured more dram into both their glasses. “Tell me about the orphanage. How long have ye been volunteerin’ there?”
The change of subject was deliberate, and Ava seemed grateful for it. She took a breath, composing herself.
“Since I first arrived in the village. Mrs. Crawford, the woman who runs it, gave me a place to stay when I had nothin’.
Let me sleep in the back room in exchange for help with the children.
” Ava’s expression softened. “I fell in love with them immediately. All these wee ones who’d lost their families, who had no one to care for them.
I wanted to give them what I’d never had. ”
“Love,” Noah said quietly.
“Aye. Love and safety and the feelin’ that someone actually wanted them around.
” She took another sip. “When I got the job at the tavern and could afford me own cottage, I kept volunteerin’.
And I started givin’ part of me wages to help keep the place runnin’.
It was never enough, but it was somethin’. ”
“That’s why ye asked for those wages. Ye were thinkin’ about the orphanage.”
“I was thinkin’ about survivin’ and havin’ enough left over to help them survive too.” Ava laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Pathetic, really. All those years scrapin’ by, never havin’ enough for meself because I kept givin’ it away.”
“It’s nae pathetic.” Noah’s voice was firm. “It’s one of the most selfless things I’ve ever heard. Ye went without so that the children could have a bit more. That’s nae pathetic, Ava. That’s extraordinary.”
She looked at him with such surprise, as if no one had ever told her that before. “I just... I couldnae let them suffer if I could help it. I ken what it’s like to be a child no one wants. I couldnae...” Her voice cracked. “I couldnae let them feel that way if I had any power to stop it.”
Noah’s chest felt tight.
He wanted to reach across the table, take her hand, and tell her that she was wanted now—that he wanted her in ways that went far beyond employer and employee.
Instead, he poured more dram.
They drank in comfortable silence for a while, the initial tension fading as the alcohol warmed them both. Ava’s posture relaxed, her walls coming down bit by bit as the dram did its work.
“Can I ask ye somethin’?” she said eventually, her words slightly slurred. She was on her third glass now, and the flush in her cheeks had spread down her neck.
“Anythin’.”
“Why did ye really hire me?” Ava’s eyes were unfocused but curious. “And daenae say it was just because Esther wanted me to come. Ye could have convinced her to leave without me if ye’d really wanted to.”
Noah considered his answer carefully. “Because when I walked into that orphanage and saw ye standin’ between Esther and me, refusin’ to back down even though ye were terrified, I saw somethin’ I’d been searchin’ for for two years.”
“What’s that?”
“Someone who’d protect her the way she deserves to be protected.
Nae because it’s their job or because they’re bein’ paid, but because they genuinely want to.
” Noah met her gaze steadily. “And because in that moment, I realized that if I left without ye, I’d be lettin’ somethin’ precious slip through me fingers. ”
Ava blinked slowly, processing his words through the dram fog. A strand of hair had come loose from her braid, falling across her cheek. She didn’t seem to notice it, but he did.
“Somethin’ precious?” she said. “Ye mean... me ability to care for Esther?”
She looked up at him as she asked it, and he watched her chest rise with the breath she took, the slight parting of her lips as she waited for his answer.
“Aye,” Noah said. “That.”
He reached across the table before thinking and gently tucked the loose strand of hair back from her face. His fingers barely grazed her cheek, and he quickly pulled his hand away.
Ava went very still. Silence stretched between them. Her eyes stayed on his face while his looked elsewhere. Then she swallowed, and he noticed the movement at her throat, and Christ, he really needed to look somewhere else.
He refilled her glass instead.
“Ye’re a good man, Noah MacGregor,” Ava said softly, her words definitely slurred now. “Better than ye give yerself credit for. Better than most men I’ve met.”
“Ye’re drunk, lass.”
“Maybe a wee bit.” She giggled, actually giggled, and Noah found the sound devastatingly charming. “But I’m nae so drunk I daenae mean it. Ye’re good. And kind. And ye care so much about yer people, about Esther, about...” She waved her hand vaguely. “About everythin’.”
“Ava.”
“And ye’re handsome too,” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken.
“Very handsome. Too handsome, really. It’s quite distractin’ when I’m tryin’ to eat dinner and ye’re sittin’ there lookin’ like some kind of warrior god, all broad shoulders and dark eyes and.
..” She stopped suddenly, her eyes going wide. “Oh nay. Did I say that out loud?”
Noah fought to keep his expression neutral even as heat flooded through him. “Aye, lass. Ye did.”
“Shite.” She put her head down on the table with a soft thunk. “Ye must think I’m completely, completely…” She struggled for the word. “Ridiculous.”
“I think ye’re drunk,” Noah said. “And I think ye should stop talkin’ before ye say somethin’ ye cannae take back.”
“I willnae want to take it back.” Her words were muffled against the table. “It’s all true. Ye are handsome. And kind. And I think about that kiss constantly, and it’s makin’ me absolutely mad.”
Noah’s breath stopped. “Ava.”
“I shouldnae have kissed ye back,” she continued, still talking to the table. “I should have been angry, should have pushed ye away. But I didnae. I wanted it. Wanted ye. And that’s... that’s...” She lifted her head slightly, her eyes glassy with tears and dram. “That’s terrifying.”
Noah stood, his heart pounding. He couldn’t have this conversation with her, not while she was drunk, not when she might not even remember it in the morning.
“Come on,” he said, moving around the table. “Let’s get ye to bed.”
“Nay.” Ava tried to stand and nearly fell. Noah caught her easily, pulling her against his chest. “I can walk meself. I’m perfectly, perfectly...” She swayed dangerously.
“Perfectly drunk,” Noah finished. “Hold still.”
He swept her up into his arms; she weighed almost nothing, and he headed for the door. Ava made a halfhearted protest, then gave up and rested her head against his shoulder.
“This is nice,” she mumbled. “Ye smell good.”
“Ye’re definitely drunk.”
“Aye. But ye still smell good.” She yawned.
By the time Noah reached her chambers, Ava had dozed off completely, her breathing deep and even against his chest.
He managed to open her door without dropping her and carried her inside. Esther’s door was closed; the child was still sleeping in her bed for once. Noah was grateful for that as he gently laid Ava on her bed.
She looked so peaceful like this.
Her face relaxed, free of the worry and fear that usually shadowed her eyes. Her hair had come loose from its braid, spreading across the pillow in waves of dark gold.
She was beautiful, and she said she kept thinking about their kiss.
Noah stood there, staring down at her, consumed by want.
He wanted to kiss her again, to take her face in his hands and see if she’d make that sound again—the one she’d made at dinner when his thumb moved across her knuckles.
Wanted to lift her from the pillow and feel her hands in his shirt the way they had been in the cottage, her mouth open against his, her whole body saying yes before her head could protest. He longed for things that had no right to be thought of in a woman’s bedchamber while she slept.
His hand moved before he’d decided to let it, brushing the loose strand of hair from her cheek.
Ava sighed in her sleep and turned toward his touch, unconscious, unguarded, completely defenseless. Something in Noah’s chest tightened.
It would be so easy.
Lean down. Close the distance she’d been so carefully maintaining for two weeks. She’d said herself she thought about the kiss constantly. She’d said she wanted him.
Nay.
He straightened and stepped back, because she was drunk and asleep, and the only version of this he would accept was one where she was fully present—fully choosing, looking at him with clear eyes and no dram in her blood, knowing exactly what she was saying yes to.
Anything less wasn’t worth having.
He pulled a blanket over her, forced himself to step back, and headed for the door. But before he left, he allowed himself one last look.
She’d turned onto her side, her cheek resting on her hand, with her hair spread dark gold across the pillow. Peaceful. Unguarded in a way she never allowed herself to be when she was awake.
When I kiss her again, she’ll be sober. She’ll be willin’.
He held onto that thought like a handhold on a cliff face.
“Ye’re makin’ this very difficult, lass,” he said quietly.
Then he left, gently shutting the door with a deliberate click. He paused in the dark corridor, his hand lingering on the handle, before forcing himself to walk away.