Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The rain had finally broken. By midmorning, the world looked softer, glistening.
The sky, once heavy with storm, had turned a hesitant blue, and the air smelled of wet earth and pine.
Catherine stood on the slick stones of the garden terrace, skirts gathered in one hand, watching the sunlight spill timidly across the grass.
It felt like the first real breath she’d taken in days.
Alyson knelt nearby, a little pile of bluebells and daisies gathering in her lap, while Sofia twirled through the damp grass with all the grace of a startled lamb. Catherine laughed, shaking her head as Sofia tripped over her own hem.
“Careful,” she said, stooping to catch her by the arm. “Ye’ll break yer neck before ye finish a single turn.”
“I’m practicin’!” Sofia announced. “If there’s a dance at the next gathering, I mean tae outshine every lass there.”
Alyson snorted. “If ye spin that fast, ye’ll outshine them by fallin’ intae their laps.”
Catherine rolled her eyes, though the laughter that followed felt easy, warm. It was the first morning since their arrival that the three of them could simply be, without fear, without rain, without Aidan Cameron’s unreadable eyes following her through every shadow of her thoughts.
And yet even as she smiled, she couldn’t quite banish him.
Every time she blinked, she saw the flicker of his expression when she’d walked into his council chamber—the disbelief, the fury, the faint glint of something else he’d tried too hard to hide.
Every time she breathed, she remembered how close he’d stood in her chamber, how his voice had dropped to a whisper she could still feel against her skin.
She hated that she remembered. Hated more that she didn’t want to forget.
Sofia had just placed a half-finished crown on her head when Alyson straightened suddenly, her gaze darting over Catherine’s shoulder.
Catherine turned. Aidan was crossing the courtyard toward them, tall and steady as ever, his stride purposeful. Sunlight struck the dark weave of his plaid, glinting off the buckle at his shoulder. He looked too composed for her liking.
Catherine’s heart gave one traitorous flutter before she forced it still.
“Me laird,” she greeted coolly when he stopped before them. “We were takin’ advantage o’ the fine weather.”
“I can see that.” His voice was calm, but there was a weight in it that made her stomach tighten. “Might I have a word wi’ ye, Lady Catherine?”
Alyson’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “Oh saints, what’s she done this time?”
“I’ve done naethin’,” Catherine said quickly, heat rising to her cheeks.
“That’s what ye said the last time,” Sofia chimed, smirking behind her flowers.
Catherine shot her a glare sharp enough to cut through stone.
Aidan’s mouth twitched, though his tone stayed steady. “It’s naethin’ concernin’. But I’ll need a moment o’ yer sister’s time.”
Catherine hesitated, half tempted to refuse out of pride alone. She didn’t like the look in his eyes, dangerous in its calm. “Very well,” she said finally, handing Alyson the half-finished flower crown. “Try nae tae make a fool o’ yerselves while I’m gone.”
Sofia called after her as she followed Aidan down the garden path, “If ye start arguin’, shout loud enough so we can hear!”
Catherine didn’t grace that with a response.
The ground was still damp beneath her shoes, the scent of rain heavy in the air.
Aidan didn’t speak, only led her toward the covered walk along the wall, where the noise of the courtyard faded into quiet.
The air there was cooler, shaded, heavy with the memory of storms.
“What’s this about?” she asked, trying for nonchalance. “Surely ye didnae come tae scold me in front o’ me sisters.”
He stopped so abruptly she stumbled into him.
Before she could catch her balance, his hand found her waist, hot through the thin fabric of her gown.
In one smooth motion, he drew her back, her spine meeting the cold stone wall as his body closed the space between them.
The contrast of heat and chill sent a shiver racing up her skin.
Her breath hitched. “Aidan—”
His name left her lips more like a gasp than a protest, a sound that trembled in the air between them.
His grip tightened just enough to make her pulse falter, the roughness of his palm anchoring her where she stood.
She could feel the warmth of him, the solid line of his chest barely an inch from hers, the scent of rain and steel and something distinctly him.
“What in God’s name were ye thinkin’?” His voice was low, but it carried the weight of command. “Marchin’ intae me council chamber like that? Dae ye ken the uproar ye caused?”
Catherine blinked, momentarily too startled to speak. “I—what? I was deliverin’ the letter ye asked fer.”
“In the middle o’ a meetin’?” His tone sharpened. “With half me Council starin’ as though they’d never seen a woman before?”
Her shock melted into indignation. “Then perhaps they should look more often. It might dae them some good.”
“Catherine.” The rough, strained way he said her name sent a shiver down her spine. “Ye kent exactly what ye were daein’.”
Catherine’s heart thudded against her ribs, though she kept her expression still.
The air between them felt charged, as though the world had shrunk to the narrow space where his breath brushed hers.
He was close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, could see the muscle shift in his jaw as he fought to hold himself together.
“I did,” she said again, voice steady though her pulse was anything but. “I was providin’ ye with the answer ye required.”
He exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing, his gaze dragging over her face like the scrape of a blade. “Oh, I saw yer answer, all right.”
The way he said it made her stomach twist. She wanted to speak, to say something clever or sharp enough to pierce the tension choking the air, but her words wouldn’t come.
Instead, she tilted her chin, every inch of her wrapped in composure. “Is there anything else, me laird?”
Aidan didn’t answer right away. He looked at her like a man balancing on a cliff’s edge, one wrong breath away from falling. His voice, when it came, was quiet but edged with something that made her throat tighten. “Ye keep bringin’ me tae the edge, Catherine.”
The words were a blow she hadn’t expected. Her mouth went dry. “The edge o’ what?”
He gave a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Ye dinnae want tae ken.”
Catherine frowned. “I wouldnae ask if I didnae.”
He said nothing. His eyes stayed on hers, unreadable, dark as storm light. She hated that she couldn’t look away.
A sharp, nervous energy coiled in her chest, too wild to contain. “Well,” she said, forcing her tone light, laced with a touch of mockery to steady herself, “if it’s anger ye mean, I can see that clearly enough. I’ve been told I’m gifted at bringin’ that out in ye.”
His mouth twitched, the faintest ghost of a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Aye. That ye are.”
She crossed her arms, though it did little to hide the tremor in her hands. “Ye dinnae look like a man who loses his temper easily. I suppose I should feel honored tae be the exception.”
“Ye’re nae an exception,” he said, quiet but firm. “Ye’re a test I never asked fer.”
Something in his tone—half admiration, half frustration—sent a strange ache through her.
“Well,” she said with a sharp little laugh that didn’t sound quite real, “I’d apologize fer it, but I imagine ye enjoy a bit o’ testin’. It must be a relief from all the perfect, soft-spoken women ye’re used tae.”
That did it. His head lifted sharply, eyes flashing with something that looked too close to truth. Catherine regretted the words the moment they left her mouth, but pride wouldn’t let her take them back.
“Oh, dinnae look so shocked,” she said, feigning ease she didn’t feel. “I’ve heard enough tales about Laird Cameron tae fill a book. I ken well I’m nae the sort ye prefer.”
“Ye think I prefer them docile,” he said, voice low.
“Dinnae ye?” she countered.
He took a step closer, and she instantly felt the dangerous pull. “Aye,” he said at last, his tone slow, deliberate, almost mocking himself. “I prefer peace. And yet, I keep findin’ me way tae storms.”
Her throat went dry. “Then perhaps ye should learn tae stay indoors when the clouds gather.”
He smiled, but it wasn’t gentle. “Perhaps I should.”
For a heartbeat, the world stilled. Catherine could feel the warmth radiating from him, could smell the faint trace of smoke and rain that clung to his skin.
His gaze flicked to her lips before returning to her eyes, and she thought, absurdly, that if she took one step closer, she might see what lived on the other side of all that restraint.
But then he turned away, jaw tight, like a man walking himself back from a precipice.
“Fer the sake o’ me friendship wi’ yer braither,” he said quietly, not looking at her, “I hope ye never find out what it means.”
Her breath caught, though she masked it with a dry, incredulous laugh. “Ye make it sound like a curse.”
“Maybe it is.”
“Or maybe ye’re just afraid it’s somethin’ ye cannae control,” she said, her tone turning sharp again, needing to strike at something, anything, to keep from trembling.
He finally looked back at her then, and the heat in his gaze silenced her. There was no amusement there now, no anger either; just that steady, unbearable intensity that stripped her bare without touching her.
“Ye’ve nae idea what I can control,” he said softly.
The words rolled through her like a shiver.
Her heart leapt into her throat, her tongue tripping on every thought that might have followed.
He stepped back, his hand falling from the wall beside her head.
The absence of him was sudden, cold. Catherine didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until it escaped her in one uneven rush.
He turned toward the garden path, his back to her now. The morning light spilled across his shoulders, catching on the edge of his plaid, making him look like something carved from both light and shadow.
“That’s all, then?” she said, before she could stop herself. The question came out smaller than she’d meant, softer, as if she’d just confessed something instead of asking it.
He stopped but didn’t turn. “Aye. That’s all.”
Catherine’s pride sparked before her heart could answer. “Aye, well. I’m glad tae hear it.”
He looked over his shoulder, and for one heartbeat she thought he might say something real, something that might undo all the walls between them. But instead, he only nodded once. And then he walked away.
She stayed pressed against the wall, her palms flat to the cool stone, her pulse pounding like she’d just run from battle.
The wind caught the edges of her gown, lifting them slightly, the world suddenly too bright, too sharp.
She felt absurdly aware of everything—the weight of her hair against her neck, the place on her waist where his hand had been, the hollow ache that his leaving had carved in her chest.
Catherine swallowed hard. “Damn him,” she muttered under her breath.
She pushed herself off the wall and began to walk, each step deliberate, though her legs felt unsteady beneath her. The garden stretched before her in gleaming colors, sunlight glinting on every wet surface, as though mocking her turmoil.
She should have been angry. She was angry. He had no right to speak to her like that, to touch her, to look at her that way, to leave her standing there trembling like some foolish girl. And yet anger wasn’t the only thing burning in her chest.
She hated that she could still feel him, that she could still hear the quiet rasp of his voice when he’d said her name, low and rough, as though it belonged only to him.