Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The sound of laughter still lingered in her ears long after she’d left the hall. Even upstairs, it followed faintly, muted by stone walls, yet somehow still there, threaded through with the deep rumble of his voice.
Catherine paused halfway down the corridor and forced a steady breath.
She could still feel the heat of that exchange burning through her, every glance, every word heavy with something she refused to name.
The way he’d looked at her calmly, almost amused, yet with that spark beneath it, had set her heart beating faster than she cared to admit.
By the time she reached Alyson’s chamber door, the quiet of the upper floor was both a relief and a curse.
Inside, the candlelight was soft and low, her sisters already in their nightclothes, gathered around the small table near the hearth.
Alyson was brushing Sofia’s hair while the younger girl tried to braid the end of her sleeve instead, her laughter filling the room in light, bright bursts.
It was a peaceful sight, the kind she should have found comforting.
But something in her chest was too restless to settle.
“There ye are,” Alyson said, glancing up with a small smile. “We thought ye might’ve gone straight tae bed.”
Catherine smiled faintly and closed the door behind her. “I was headin’ that way.”
Sofia twisted in her chair, eyes narrowing playfully. “Ye look tired, Cat. Or—” She paused, grinning, “maybe just distracted.”
Catherine blinked, trying for nonchalance. “Distracted?”
Sofia tilted her head. “Aye. Like ye’ve spent the whole night thinkin’ about somethin’ ye cannae quite let go o’.”
Alyson snorted softly, tugging at a tangle in Sofia’s hair. “Leave her be. The poor lass has had enough on her mind lately. There’s been fire, raids, and near death. Nae wonder she looks worn.”
Catherine exhaled, grateful for the rescue, though the last word made her chest tighten all the same. Near death. She could still smell the smoke if she thought about it too long, could still feel the rough grain of the beam that had nearly trapped her, the burn in her throat from calling his name.
And his arms catching her. The steadiness of them. The way he’d said her name after, low and rough, like a man who hadn’t known how close he’d come to losing something.
She cleared her throat quickly, forcing herself back to the present. “I’m fine,” she said. “Truly. Just tired.”
Sofia peered up at her again, brow furrowing. “Ye havenae slept much since the fire, have ye?”
Catherine shook her head, perhaps a bit too sharply. “I’ll sleep when I’ve fewer thoughts runnin’ through me head.”
Alyson set the brush down and turned to face her fully. “Ye can talk about them, ye ken. That helps.”
“I’ve done enough talkin’,” Catherine said, softer this time. She sank onto the stool near the foot of the bed.
Sofia leaned forward on her elbows, studying her with the keen, unfiltered curiosity that only younger sisters seemed capable of. “Ye’re thinkin’ about him, are ye nae?”
The words hit like a dropped stone.
Catherine’s head snapped up. “What?”
Sofia’s eyes widened, though she didn’t look nearly as guilty as she should have. “Laird Cameron.”
“I am nae!”
Alyson sighed, smiling faintly. “Ye are.”
“I am nae,” Catherine insisted, though her voice wavered, and that was all the proof they needed.
Sofia grinned, leaning closer. “Then why are ye blushin’?”
“I’m nae blushin’!” she said, which of course only made her blush harder.
The two of them exchanged looks, the kind that sisters did when they knew they’d uncovered something. Catherine groaned softly and pressed her palms to her face. “Saints preserve me,” she muttered through her fingers. “The pair o’ ye are unbelievable.”
“But right,” Sofia said, trying not to laugh.
“Ye ken naething o’ what ye speak.”
Sofia only raised a brow. “So, there is somethin’ tae ken.”
Alyson gave her sister’s arm a light nudge. “That’s enough, Sofia. Let her be.”
Catherine lowered her hands slowly, letting out a long breath. “Thank ye,” she murmured.
But Alyson was watching her too now — gentler than Sofia, but no less perceptive. “He’s a good man, Catherine,” she said quietly. “A bit hard on the surface, aye, but good. I see how he looks at ye.”
Catherine froze.
Alyson smiled faintly at her expression. “Ye think we didnae notice? We did. And I ken ye’ve had a rough time of it lately, but maybe that’s nae all that keeps ye awake.”
Catherine stood abruptly, the movement sharper than she intended. “Enough,” she said, though her voice wasn’t angry, only strained. “Please. I dinnae want tae speak of him.”
Sofia frowned. “We were only—”
“I ken,” Catherine interrupted, her tone softening. “But truly, I’m tired. Me head’s too full. I just… need some quiet.”
The sisters exchanged a glance but said no more. Sofia rose first, her expression softening as she leaned in and kissed Catherine’s cheek, a gesture so gentle it made something in Catherine’s chest tighten.
“Sleep, Cat,” she whispered. “Ye’ve done enough thinkin’ fer the day.”
“She’s right,” Alyson murmured, her voice the kind that always seemed to steady a room. “Rest, love. Tomorrow’ll look better after a bit o’ sleep.”
Catherine smiled faintly, though the expression didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Sleep well, both o’ ye.”
They smiled back, that wordless kind of sisterly understanding passing between them. It wasn’t pity, not exactly. It was love, threaded with quiet knowing.
Then she left the room, and went to her chamber.
Catherine stood there a long moment, staring into the soft glow of the fire that had been lit by the servants for her.
Then she opened the door and stepped into the corridor.
The air outside was cooler, sharper. A draft moved through the stone halls, carrying the faint scent of rain and torch smoke.
Her footsteps were soundless against the floor as she hesitated just beyond the doorway, the weight of her decision settling on her like a secret.
She should have been content. She was near those she loved. She should have felt gratitude for it. But peace eluded her; her thoughts ran wild, circling the same memory until it was sharp enough to draw blood.
She tried to recall how she’d felt before him, how clear the world had seemed when her only concerns were duty and survival.
But the thought slipped through her like water, because every time she thought of his hand catching her wrist, or his lips at her throat, or the way he’d looked at her in the hall when she’d thrown his words back at him, something inside her stilled and trembled all at once.
Her chest tightened. She could still turn back. She could climb into bed, pull the covers to her chin, and let the night pass in restless thoughts. That would be the sensible thing.
But she was tired of being sensible.
She leaned against the wall for a moment, trying to steady her breath. The stone was cool beneath her palm. She could almost hear her own heartbeat echoing down the corridor, quick and traitorous.
What would she even say to him? That she couldn’t sleep? That his voice wouldn’t leave her alone? That she kept replaying the look in his eyes, that quiet struggle between desire and discipline, until it drove her half mad?
No. She’d keep it simple. She’d find some practical excuse, something safe and harmless. Ask about the repairs, perhaps, or the patrol routes. Nothing that would reveal the truth.
She drew in a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and started down the corridor.
The torches along the walls flickered as she passed, each one bending in the draft, making the shadows move like figures turning to watch her. Her slippers made no sound. The further she walked, the louder her heartbeat seemed to grow, until it was all she could hear.
By the time she reached the end of the corridor, she could see the faint glow spilling from beneath his door and her pulse stuttered. It was late, but the thought of leaving now felt worse than the thought of being seen.
She hesitated only a moment longer before lifting her hand.
Then she knocked.
No answer.
The sound vanished into the stone, small and soft, and for a heartbeat she thought perhaps he had already gone to bed. The thought should have brought relief. It didn’t. It made something restless in her chest twist harder, until the silence itself began to feel like mockery.
She knocked again, louder this time. Still nothing.
Her pulse was too quick. She should have turned around, gone back to her room, pretended that impulse had never existed. But the longer she stood there, the more she imagined him on the other side of the door, utterly unaware of how much chaos he had left behind in her.
Before she could talk herself out of it, her hand was on the latch and the door opened with a low creak.
The room beyond was dim, lit only by the orange glow of the hearth. The scent of rain drifted in from the half-open window, mingled with something faintly smoky.
Aidan turned from the table where he’d been standing, a map still spread out before him. His shirt was open at the throat, sleeves rolled to the elbows, the lamplight catching on the dark hair at his temples.
“Catherine,” he said, surprise flickering across his face. “Is something wrong?”
She should have answered calmly. Instead, everything she had been holding in came tumbling to the surface.
“Ye could answer the bloody door, fer a start,” she snapped, closing it behind her a little too hard.
His brows drew together. “I didnae think—”
“O’ course ye didnae.” Her words tumbled out before sense could stop them. “Ye never think, dae ye? Ye just appear—everywhere—and then look at me like—like—”
He folded his arms, one brow lifting. “Like what?”
“Like I’m somethin’ ye cannae decide whether tae guard or destroy!”
The room went very still. The fire popped softly, throwing light against the wall.
Aidan’s voice came low. “Where is this comin’ from?”