Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
The fire had burned low by the time Catherine stopped pacing in her room.
Shadows stretched long across the walls of her chamber, flickering with each restless turn she made across the rug.
She could still hear him. His calm, infuriating voice, heavy with the weight of a man who knew too much of command and too little of grace.
Too bold, perhaps, fer a woman who near cost the lives o’ me men.
Her fingers curled into her palms until her nails bit deep. The words wouldn’t leave her. They pressed against her ribs like splinters, each repetition drawing blood. He had no right. None.
She’d fought to hold herself steady before him, and still he had looked at her as if she were some child who had wandered into the path of battle and survived only by accident.
Catherine pressed her lips together and stared into the fire, but all she could see was the gleam of his eyes in the hall light, the faint curve of his mouth that had not been a smile at all but something crueler that knew exactly how to wound.
The heat rose behind her eyes before she realized it. Not tears of sadness, but the ache that lived beneath her anger was harder to silence. It was the ache of being seen and dismissed all in one glance.
She turned away from the fire and began to pace again. She’d told herself he’d never see her break when she fled his sight. Yet there she was, every nerve on edge, her heart hammering as though she’d run a mile uphill.
It wasn’t enough. She couldn’t stay in that room, with its walls pressing in, with his words echoing through the silence like distant thunder. If she stayed, she would lose her mind.
Catherine grabbed her shawl from the chair and threw it around her shoulders. The chill of the corridor hit her as soon as she opened the door, but she moved quickly, her skirts brushing the walls, her pulse rising with every step.
By the time she reached Alyson’s chamber, her composure was gone entirely. She didn’t bother to knock. The latch gave under her hand, and she pushed the door open with more force than intended.
Alyson sat by the hearth, her hair unbound and shining in the glow, while Sofia was perched cross-legged atop the bed, a comb poised midair. Both turned at once, eyes wide, startled by the sudden intrusion.
Catherine stood in the doorway for a heartbeat, breathing hard, the cold from the corridor still clinging to her shawl. The words she’d meant to swallow tumbled forward instead, sharp and hot.
“He is impossible,” she declared, her voice already high with indignation as she slammed the door behind her. “Truly, the most arrogant, insufferable man that ever drew breath.”
Alyson looked up from the chair beside the fire where she’d been unbraiding her hair, a long sigh already forming before Catherine reached the end of the sentence. Sofia, curled cross-legged on the bed with a comb in her lap, glanced between them like a bird caught between thunderclouds.
Catherine pressed on, hands flying as she spoke.
“He stands there with that look on his face, half judgment, half disdain, as if the very air I breathe offends him. Then he dares throw me own pride in me face, as though he was the injured party. And his words—God’s wounds, Alyson—his words are infuriating. ”
Sofia blinked. “What did he say?”
Catherine stopped pacing, turned sharply, and stabbed a finger in the air. “He implied,” she said, each syllable clipped, “that I almost got his men killed.”
Alyson choked on her breath. “He did nae!”
“Oh, he did. With a straight face, too!” Catherine threw up her hands and began pacing again, the hem of her gown whispering against the floorboards. “And he was so calm while saying it, I tell ye, the man’s a plague upon reason.”
Sofia bit her lip, trying—and failing—not to smile. “Maybe he meant tae jest ye?”
Catherine spun toward her. “A jest? A jest, Sofia? He as much as called me a fool and a distraction, and ye think he was jesting?” Her eyes flashed, but beneath the heat there was the smallest tremor of embarrassment, one she hid by tossing her hair back with unnecessary flourish.
“I should have let him choke on his own pride out there instead o’ sparing him a word. ”
Alyson’s laugh slipped out despite herself. “Catherine, ye couldnae leave a thing unsaid if the king himself demanded it.”
Catherine scowled, but the edges of her mouth twitched. “Someone has tae speak sense in this godforsaken castle.”
The fire cracked softly in the grate, throwing a warm glow across her sisters’ faces. The anger ebbed, leaving her with the hollow exhaustion that always followed it. The weight of the past days settled heavy in her chest.
She sank into the chair opposite Alyson and exhaled hard. “He thinks me reckless,” she said at last, quieter now. “As if it were me sword that drew blood.”
Alyson set aside her comb. “He didnae mean it that way.”
“He did,” Catherine said stubbornly, but her voice lacked conviction. She traced a finger along the carved armrest, the wood smooth under her touch. “He’ll always think me a burden. Our braithers sent us here tae keep us safe, and he sees me as the weight that drags him down.”
Sofia tilted her head. “Ye’re too hard on him.”
“Too hard? He barely speaks a word unless it’s an order. If silence were a virtue, he’d be a saint.”
Alyson smiled faintly. “And yet ye talk o’ him more than any other man ye ken.”
Catherine’s head snapped up. “That is nae true.”
“It is,” Sofia said helpfully. “Ye even curse prettily when ye speak o’ him.”
Heat flared across Catherine’s cheeks. “Because he infuriates me. There’s a difference.”
Alyson chuckled softly, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Catherine, I ken ye dislike our braither’s friend, but ye should at least admit he’s done right by us. He’s proved himself more than once. He got us here alive when any other might have left us tae fate.”
Catherine’s mouth opened, then shut again.
The image of the glen flashed in her mind—the clash of steel, the mud under her knees, the moment Aidan’s horse had thundered into view.
The sound of his voice when he shouted her name still echoed somewhere deep inside her, steady and fierce and terrifyingly sure.
She swallowed. “Aye,” she said reluctantly. “He did.”
Alyson gave her a knowing look. “Ye’d have rather gone wi’ Edwin, then?”
Catherine froze. The very sound of the name was enough to sour her stomach.
“Nae,” she said finally. “I’d have rather thrown meself in the loch than go wi’ Edwin.”
“Then perhaps,” Alyson said gently, “ye might thank the laird instead o’ callin’ him insufferable.”
Catherine made a face. “If gratitude could kill, I’d be buried already.”
Sofia giggled. “Still, ye could try. He saved ye. And who kens… the laird may nae be yer masked prince charming, but ye may yet grow tae like him.”
Catherine blinked, startled by the sudden rush of memory—candlelight, music, a hand at her waist, a voice she’d never been able to forget speaking through a darkened mask.
That night at the MacDonald masquerade ball rose before her like a vision, the stranger who had held her as though she were something precious, the heat of the dance, the way her heart had stumbled in her chest. She had never learned his name.
She had never seen his face. But something about him had lingered, unwelcome and unforgettable.
She pushed the thought away, flustered. “He’s nae anythin’ like the man in the mask.”
Alyson’s voice softened. “Nay, he probably is nae. Maybe he’s just a man tryin’ tae keep his temper when faced wi’ a woman who reminds him he’s alive.”
Catherine looked sharply at her sister. “Ye’ve been spendin’ too much time wi’ Maither’s books.”
Alyson smiled, serene as always. “Perhaps.”
The words settled in the space between them, light as breath and heavy as truth.
Catherine didn’t want to think about what they meant.
The idea that Aidan Cameron could feel anything toward her was absurd and dangerous.
She had seen how he carried himself: precise, disciplined, bound by duty.
Whatever warmth he possessed, he kept locked behind stone.
And yet she remembered the way his eyes had darkened when he’d told her to be careful, the faint tremor of control in his voice when he’d stepped too close.
She clenched her jaw. “He’s cold as the loch water,” she said finally. “And I’ve nay wish tae thaw him.”
Alyson stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt. “Then stop thinkin’ about him.”
“I’m nae thinkin’ about him.”
Sofia’s grin widened. “Ye’ve spoken his name six times since ye came in.”
“I’ll speak it a seventh if ye dinnae hush.”
Sofia laughed and ducked behind the pillow Alyson tossed at her.
The sound warmed the room, softening the air between them. Her anger drained out of her all at once, leaving only the ache. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I dinnae mean tae bring all me temper here.”
Alyson crossed the room and pressed a hand to her shoulder. “Ye’ve every right tae feel what ye feel. Just dinnae let it turn tae bitterness. He’s on our side.”
Catherine nodded, though her throat felt tight. “Aye. On our side.”
Sofia stretched and yawned. “Ye should take a bath, Catherine. Maybe it’ll help ye calm down.”
“A bath,” Catherine repeated, the word sounding heavier than it should. She imagined the steam, the quiet, the stillness. Maybe she did need to wash that day from her skin, let the heat pull some of the anger loose. “Aye, perhaps ye’re right.”
Alyson smiled, clearly relieved. “That’s the best idea ye’ve had all day.”
Catherine rose, gathering her skirts. “I will. Ye two should rest. It’s been a long journey.”
Alyson nodded, though her eyes followed her with quiet worry. “Dinnae stay up too late.”
“Wouldnae dream o’ it,” Catherine said with a grin that was all teeth and pride.
The moment she stepped into the corridor, the warmth of the chamber seemed to fade behind her.
The castle was quiet now, the hour late, the air carrying the faint scent of rain and peat smoke.
Her steps echoed softly as she walked. She told herself she was headed for her own room, but her feet carried her elsewhere, drawn by something she could not quite name.
The air grew cooler as she descended, the scent of hay and horseflesh drifting closer with each turn.
Maybe it was foolishness. Maybe it was pride refusing to rest while her thoughts still burned.
But Catherine could no more stop herself than she could still the pulse in her veins.
The quiet of the keep pressed heavy around her, the stone walls holding too much silence, too many words she wished she had not spoken.
So she followed the scent of earth and rain instead, past the stair that would have led her to peace, until the warmth of the stables met her like a heartbeat in the dark.