Chapter 22 #2
“Peaceful?” he repeated, leaning back in his chair. The firelight carved sharp lines along his jaw. “Or distant?”
Her pulse fluttered, but she forced a calm smile. “Distant from what?”
He didn’t answer right away. His gaze held hers long enough that she felt the heat rise under her collar. When he finally spoke, his tone was quiet. “From me, perhaps.”
The table had grown quieter now.
She met his gaze squarely, refusing to be the one who looked away first. If he thought she would shrink beneath that steady stare, he was mistaken.
After a few moments of silence, the others started speaking again
When he leaned forward slightly, elbows braced on the table, she felt her resolve waver just a little. “Tell me, Catherine,” he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear, “are ye avoidin’ me, or are ye afraid o’ something?”
Her throat went dry.
“I’ve nay reason tae avoid ye,” she said quickly. “Ye’re exaggeratin’.”
“Am I?”
“Ye are.”
He didn’t press further, only watched her with that same steady, knowing look that made her wish she could vanish into the flagstones.
Catherine busied herself with her cup, though she barely tasted what she drank. The conversation at the other end of the table resumed in halting bursts, but all she could hear was her own fast, traitorous heartbeat.
She could still feel the ghost of his arms from that morning, the warmth that had lingered on her skin long after he’d set her down. She wondered if he remembered it too.
When she dared glance up again, he was still watching her.
She scowled. “Dae ye ever tire o’ starin’?”
“Dae ye ever tire o’ pretendin’ ye dinnae notice?”
Her mouth parted, caught off guard. “Ye think highly of yerself.”
“I think truthfully.”
The words landed like a challenge, and she felt heat rush to her cheeks. She turned sharply toward Alyson, who was whispering something to Sofia and pretending very hard not to listen. “Pass the salt,” Catherine said stiffly.
Aidan’s quiet chuckle reached her even over the scrape of plates. It wasn’t mocking, just the sound of a man who knew he’d unsettled her and enjoyed it far too much.
Catherine poured herself another cup of wine, though she hardly drank. The hall felt warmer than before, the air thick with the scent of woodsmoke and roasted meat. She could feel his presence like a pulse under her skin, steady and relentless.
When the meal was done and her sisters had gone upstairs, the servants began clearing the dishes, so she thought she might escape without another word. She had half-risen from her chair when his voice found her again.
“Ye hardly ate,” he said.
She froze. “I’m not hungry.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Aye, I’ve noticed. Seems ye lose yer appetite whenever I’m near.”
Her pulse leapt. “Ye think everythin’ revolves around ye, dinnae ye?”
“I ken what I see.”
She folded her arms, her voice rising before she could stop it. “And what exactly dae ye see, me laird?”
He leaned back in his chair, the faintest smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “A woman who’s tryin’ very hard nae tae look at me.”
The room went silent again, save for the crackle of the fire.
Catherine inhaled slowly through her nose. “Perhaps I’m simply enjoyin’ the view elsewhere.”
“Aye,” he said, tone low, amused.
The infuriating man.
She gritted her teeth, but the way his eyes glinted in the firelight stopped her cold. For a heartbeat, the air between them wasn’t tense anymore, it was charged with something else, something that made her stomach tighten and her pulse stumble.
She tore her gaze away, reaching for her cup again though her hand shook slightly. “I’m simply tryin’ tae protect me sanity, me laird,” she hissed.
He smiled then — not the cold, composed smile she’d come to expect, but a softer, knowing curve that reached his eyes. “Goin’ tae quote back everythin’ I say now, are ye?”
“Only the things worth quotin’.”
The smile that curved his mouth at that was small but dangerous. “Careful, Catherine,” he said softly. “Ye’re startin’ tae sound fond.”
Her heart tripped. “Ye’d like that, wouldnae ye?”
“I might.”
She rose quickly before she could say anything foolish, the legs of her chair scraping lightly against the floor. “Goodnight, me laird,” she said, with a curtsy that was more defiant than polite.
He inclined his head slightly, his gaze still fixed on her, steady and unreadable. “Goodnight, Catherine.”
Catherine walked toward the corridor with as much dignity as she could muster. Once she was out of sight of the hall, she pressed her back to the cool stone wall and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
The sound of laughter drifted faintly from the room behind her—his laugh as well, low and rough, the kind that made her chest ache for reasons she refused to name.
She shook her head, half smiling despite herself. “Dangerous,” she murmured. “That’s one word fer it.”
Then she turned toward the stairwell, her heart still unsteady, her lips still warm from a memory she couldn’t stop chasing.