Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The smell of damp hay and fear hung thick in the air. Shadows flickered across the walls, broken by the shafts of sunlight that slipped through the gaps in the roof. The horses shifted restlessly, their hooves striking the wet ground, their breaths coming quick and sharp.
Catherine stood still in the center of it all, the sound of her own heartbeat loud in her ears.
She could feel Aidan behind her, close enough that his presence pressed at the edges of her awareness like heat.
She’d felt the weight of his hand on her back moments ago, steady and sure, and the echo of it still burned through her like an ember she couldn’t shake.
Dinnae be afraid. I ken what ye can dae. I trust ye.
The words replayed in her mind, quiet and impossibly tender. For a man like Aidan Cameron, trust was not something easily given. The knowledge of it stirred something deep in her chest.
She swallowed hard, forcing her focus back to the horse before her. It was a young mare, her flanks trembling, eyes wide and rolling white. Catherine moved slowly, keeping her voice low, the rhythm of her words like a lullaby.
“Shh, lass. Easy now. Nay one’s goin’ tae harm ye. Ye’ve had a rough few nights, that’s all.”
Her hand brushed the mare’s neck, gentle, coaxing, until the tremors began to still. The horse’s ears twitched toward her voice, her breathing slowing to match Catherine’s own. She kept stroking the animal, until all the tension seemed to leave its body.
“There,” Catherine murmured, after a few minutes. “That’s it.”
She stepped closer, running her fingers through the mare’s mane. The air felt lighter, quieter, the panic in the animals fading into cautious calm. One by one, they seemed to follow the mare’s lead, their heads lowering, the frantic pacing giving way to stillness.
Behind her, she heard one of the men whisper under his breath, “Saints preserve us.”
The stablemaster, a grizzled man with hands like bark, approached from the doorway, hat in hand. His expression hovered between disbelief and awe. “I’ve been tendin’ beasts all me life,” he said slowly, “but I’ve ne’er seen the like o’ that. They near trampled me this mornin’.”
Catherine smiled faintly, brushing stray hair from her face. “They’re only frightened. Ye’ve just got tae let them ken they’re safe.”
The man nodded, his weathered face softening. “Aye, well… safe or nae, I reckon they’d follow ye intae battle now.”
That earned a few quiet chuckles from the men nearby. Catherine tried not to glance at Aidan, but she felt his gaze all the same like a weight against her skin.
“Fine work, me lady,” one of the younger men said, still holding his cap awkwardly in his hands. “Wouldnae have believed it if I hadn’t seen it meself.”
“Thank ye,” she said lightly, though her pulse was still racing.
The stablemaster gave a low whistle. “Ye’ve a gift, lass. Cannae teach what ye just did there. It’s in the blood.”
Catherine turned to look at him, her tone softening. “Me faither used tae say the same. Said animals understand what words cannae.”
There was a murmur of agreement, the kind that ripples through a group when awe lingers and no one quite knows how to express it.
Catherine took a breath, her heart finally beginning to steady.
She should have felt triumphant, but all she could feel was the strange awareness of Aidan, watching in silence.
She dared a glance over her shoulder.
He stood near the far stall, arms crossed, broad shoulders casting a long shadow in the dust-speckled light. His expression was composed, but there was something in his eyes that unraveled her composure entirely, made her throat tighten and her pulse stumble.
She turned back quickly before he could see the warmth rising to her cheeks.
Pull yerself together, Catherine. He’s only lookin’. The man stares at everyone like that. Like he’s weighin’ them.
The others drifted out, but Catherine stayed where she was, running her hand absently along the mare’s neck, trying to calm herself as much as the animal.
The sounds of work faded from the stable yard—men’s laughter giving way to distant shouts, the creak of carts, the rhythmic strike of hammers rebuilding walls. Soon, even those noises grew faint.
The horses had settled, soft breath filling the quiet. Only she and Aidan remained.
She could feel the shift in the air the moment the others were gone.
The weight of it pressed against her skin.
When she dared glance again over her shoulder, he hadn’t moved.
He was still watching her, his arms crossed, posture easy, expression unreadable.
But there was a steadiness in his gaze that pinned her all the same.
She forced herself to look away, focusing on the horse’s mane, her fingers brushing through the tangles. Her heart would not slow.
He broke the silence first, his voice low, softer than before. “They’re calm now.”
“Aye.” Her throat was dry. “Seems they just needed a bit o’ gentle coaxin’.”
He made a quiet sound that might’ve been agreement, or disbelief. “Gentle, aye. But it takes more than that. They listen tae ye.”
Catherine glanced at him then, her lips curving faintly despite herself. “I only did what any decent hand would’ve done.”
“Nay,” he said, his voice firmer this time. “That was somethin’ else entirely.”
She turned fully to face him. “If ye start callin’ me a witch, me laird, I’ll take offense.”
Aidan’s mouth twitched at the corner. “I wouldnae dare.”
“Good.”
Their gazes caught briefly, and the air seemed to tighten again. Catherine’s chest heaved with something she couldn’t name. It felt too large to be embarrassment, too heavy to be amusement.
“Thank ye,” she said softly, her gaze lowering for the briefest moment. “Fer… believin’ in me.”
He stepped forward, closing part of the distance between them. “Ye dinnae need tae thank me,” he said quietly. “What happened here—” He gestured to the rows of stalls, the calm horses. “—that was all ye.”
Her brows drew together. “Ye helped.”
“I did naethin’ but stand in yer way. Ye’ve a way wi’ them,” he said, quieter now. “Aye, ye whisper tae the horses, Catherine.”
The words were simple, but they struck her somewhere deep. She felt heat rise up her throat before she could stop it. “That’s nonsense,” she murmured.
“Is it?”
“Aye,” she said quickly, trying for lightness. “They just ken I mean them nay harm.”
“Maybe so,” he said, his tone dropping lower still, “but that’s nae all.”
The weight of his gaze made her chest tighten again. She swallowed hard, her wit momentarily deserting her. “Ye’re makin’ me sound like some sort o’ enchantress.”
He smiled, slow and dangerous. “Maybe ye are.”
Her pulse stumbled. “If I am, then ye should be wary, me laird.”
“I am,” he said softly.
Aidan took another step closer. The light slanted through the broken roof, catching in his hair, the rough line of his jaw. His voice dropped to a low rasp. “Ye whisper tae me too.”
Catherine blinked. “What?”
His gaze didn’t waver. “When ye speak. When ye look at me. Ye dinnae even ken ye’re daein’ it, but… ye dae.”
Her breath caught, the sound barely escaping her.
The words sank deep, far deeper than she wanted them to.
She could feel them settle in the pit of her stomach, spreading warmth that had no right to exist. God help her, he had no business sayin’ things like that—he of all men.
A rake, a man known for ruin and recklessness, for leavin’ hearts shattered and stories behind him like broken glass. And yet—
The way he said it wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t the smooth charm she’d expected, the kind that came easy to men like him. It was quiet. Rough. As if the truth had clawed its way out of him against his will.
Her pulse thudded in her throat. She wanted to look away, to laugh it off, to throw the words back with some sharp remark and end the moment before it became something she couldn’t escape. But she couldn’t.
Because he was looking at her like she was the only thing in the room.
“That’s…” she began, her voice breaking before she caught it, the heat crawling up her neck. “That’s a dangerous thing tae say….”
Even as she said it, her chest ached with the knowledge that she wanted him to say more.
“Aye.” He gave a faint, humorless smile. “It is.”
“Ye should maybe keep such thoughts tae yerself. Especially considerin’ who me braither is.”
“I ken.” His voice was rough, stripped of its usual steadiness. “But it daesnae change that it’s true.”
She searched his face, waiting for the smirk, the teasing edge that usually softened his sharp words, but it never came. He was entirely serious. It was maddening.
Catherine drew herself up, forcing her tone to stay level even as her heart hammered against her ribs. “Then maybe ye should try harder tae forget whatever it is ye think ye hear.”
“I’ve been tryin’.”
He said it simply, quietly, as though confessing something he hadn’t meant to say aloud. The sound of it stole the words from her tongue. Catherine’s pulse thudded in answer.
“I should—” she began, but the rest of the sentence never formed.
He stepped closer, close enough that she could see the faint sheen of sweat on his temple, the rise and fall of his chest. His voice came low, threaded with something that wasn’t quite control anymore.
“Ye think I dinnae ken it’s wrong?” he said quietly. “Ye think I havenae told meself a hundred times tae stay away? But every time ye walk in a room—every time ye look at me like that—it gets harder tae remember why I should.”
Her throat felt too tight to breathe. “Like what?” she whispered.
He met her gaze, unflinching. “Like ye see somethin’ worth lookin’ at.”
Catherine’s composure cracked, if only for a heartbeat. She looked away, her hands curling at her sides. “Ye’re the laird,” she said, her voice barely steady. “I’d be a fool nae tae look.”
He gave a low, humorless laugh. “Aye, ye’re lookin’, all right.”
Her head snapped up. “Careful, me laird. I’m nae one o’ yer maids tae be teased.”
“I ken that.”
“Then act like it.”
He studied her for a moment that felt like an eternity. The silence burned between them, as bright and dangerous as lightning in the dark.
Finally, he exhaled, stepping back. The motion was small, but it broke the spell that had been holding the air still.
His voice, when it came again, was quiet. “Ye should get back tae work.”
Catherine’s pride snapped up around her like armor. “Aye, I should. Wouldnae want anyone thinkin’ I’m distractin’ ye.”
His eyes met hers once more, something flickering there that she couldn’t quite read. “Ye already are.”
Before she could think of a reply, a shout came from outside. “Catherine!”
It was Sofia’s voice, bright and unbothered, as if the world hadn’t just shifted on its axis inside the stable.
Catherine tore her gaze from Aidan’s, her pulse still pounding. “Aye?” she called back, her voice higher than she intended.
Sofia appeared in the doorway, hair in disarray, her skirt muddied up to the knees. “Ye’ve tae come quick! The bairns are startin’ tae fight over the blankets again. Alyson says ye ken how tae sort them.”
Catherine blinked, her body still thrumming with something that didn’t belong to the present moment. “I—aye, I’m comin’.”
Sofia grinned at her, oblivious to the charged silence she’d interrupted. “Ye look flushed,” she said cheerfully.
Catherine forced a laugh, though her throat felt tight. “The horses were in quite a state.”
She turned back to Aidan, her composure pieced hastily back together. “Thank ye,” she said, her tone clipped but soft.
He looked at her, something unreadable passing through his eyes. “Dinnae thank me.”
He was standing where she’d left him, half in shadow, the sunlight catching on the edge of his plaid. His expression was calm again, but his eyes were anything but.
She forced herself to smile, a small, careful thing. “Try nae tae scare any more o’ the men while I’m gone.”
He inclined his head, the ghost of amusement flickering over his face. “I’ll dae me best.”
Catherine turned before she could see him smile fully. Her heart thudded unevenly as she stepped out into the sunlight. The brightness struck her like a shock. The air smelled of wet earth and pine, the world moving as if nothing at all had changed.
But everything had.
Sofia caught her by the arm, pulling her toward the cottages. “Come on, ye’re slow as mud today.”
Catherine let herself be dragged, though her mind was still inside that stable, replaying every word, every look, every breath.
She told herself she wouldn’t think of him again. That she’d let it go, bury it deep where it belonged. But even as she smiled at the villagers and bent to help gather the children, she felt it like a heartbeat that wasn’t her own, pulsing faintly beneath everything else.
Ye whisper tae me too.
She hated how the memory of it made her stomach turn to warmth. Hated more that part of her didn’t want it to stop.