Chapter 24 - Aligned
Chapter 24 - Aligned
Aidan had spent his afternoon mostly listening. He’d paid Mistress O’Flaherty a visit, inquiring if her duties were needed much lately. Padhraigh had been right, it seemed — the herbalist had confided her worries about malnourishment, flesh wounds, and the occasional broken bone to him.
He still thought about their conversation when he sat with Catherine for dinner.
The village wasn’t haunted by a plague. Aidan had carefully asked about Mistress Brennan — old Seamus’ wife.
He didn’t dig, though. No need to stir the pot before he was ready to serve the dish.
Jenny Brennan was better — that much he knew now.
It still didn’t answer what to do about Seamus. An old friend. A traitor. His gaze flickered to Catherine, who attacked her meal with unwavering focus and a certain sharpness to the stabs of her fork. Something in his chest softened.
He knew a thing or two about foolishness. Still, the Dhorn expected consequences once the rat was exposed. Aidan swallowed the sigh pressing against his ribs. Lunasa. He’d have a private talk with old Seamus — and decide then.
He went over the necessities for the upcoming Quarter’s Day with Catherine. She reacted as reasonably as expected. They both fell silent again, focused on Mistress Jones’ masterpiece of a three-course dinner — conjured from rapidly dwindling stocks.
Her voice rang out. Unexpectedly.
“I saw you working on a carriage the other day, Aidan.”
He slowly looked up. The words washed over him like cold water. Of course she had expected a different life. A life of nobility. Not a life married to a better farmer. It was all he had to offer.
He tried to explain it. Tried to soften the blow. Apologised even. Something in her eyes died when he finished the words. Irritation and guilt gnawed at his stomach in response. She didn’t deserve this. And yet it was who he was. It couldn’t be helped.
They finished their meal in silence. Aidan offered his arm to guide her from the salon. The short walk towards the stairs felt long. After all this time it still stung to have her right at his side, when he knew she could have been at the edge of the world just as well.
He couldn’t afford to grieve what he couldn’t have any longer. Padhraigh’s voice echoed. They needed him. Sharp. Focused.
They reached the staircase, and Aidan stopped, indicating he wasn’t planning on withdrawing for the night yet.
She didn’t move.
Catherine’s fingers twitched, a flutter against the crook of his elbow. Then her hand steadied again. Her warmth spread through the fabric of his jacket and shirt. She didn’t let go.
A twitch of his own muscles caused her hand to suddenly tighten around his arm. His eyes widened when it hit him.
She was holding on to him.
He cleared his throat, desperately trying to make sense of it. Their conversation replayed in his mind.
Her remark about seeing him work.
She had called him by his name.
The name she’d refused to use ever since the ball at Butler Estate.
Aidan sucked in a breath, forcing his free hand into a fist against his thigh to keep himself from grabbing her by both arms and inspecting her face to find out what this meant. If it meant something.
He cleared his throat instead. The word still came out raw. Husky. A question. A plea.
“Catherine?”
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Catherine’s heart sped up with each step towards the stairs. She had tried to reach out. He had shut it down. Of course he had. She’d been aware of it, hadn’t she? He belonged. She was the burden.
She had always been aware her father had traded her to buy Aidan’s political integrity. And Aidan had taken her for her family’s wealth. She had never expected feelings from her marriage.
The awareness didn’t help.
It stung.
By the time they had reached the staircase, Catherine was out of breath. Her skin crawled with the finality of their walk. Knowing something and living it weren’t the same. She had never imagined how it would feel to be entirely alone.
Aidan had offered her a connection. He had cared. Mistress Murphy had testified to it. His letter proved it. She had shut him out when he had tried to reach out. And now?
Perhaps it was too late now.
Catherine realised they had stopped only when Aidan’s arm twitched underneath her grip and his body subtly shifted, making way for her.
It terrified her.
She’d pretended to be above this. Facing to spend her life with a man who couldn’t be trusted had felt bearable — knowing he’d leave her alone soon enough. She had not been prepared for how much it hurt.
Her hand tightened around his arm.
Pathetic.
The threat of another night isolated, until darkness pressed in harder than her stays, made her breath hitch — and her hand clamp around his elbow like he was a lifeline.
Suddenly the muscles underneath her fingers tensed. Sharp.
His voice rang out, raw and trembling.
Her name.
Just her name.
Relief surged so hard it caused her legs to shake.
“Aidan….” her voice broke.
She tried again. “Aidan, I…”
Her mind blanked. Words were not sufficient for whatever this was. And he just stood there. Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. His arm hardened to marble underneath her grip.
But he was still there.
He had not peeled her hand off him.
Catherine turned. Her left hand rose to his free arm, settled upon it. Her fingers were shaking so badly she barely sensed the texture of his jacket against her bare skin, and she finally found the audacity to look into his face.
When her gaze met his, a warm exhale washed over her skin, like this had knocked the breath from his lungs.
Arms closed around her waist, a hand tangled in her neck, and then his mouth crashed into hers.
Warmth pooled low in her stomach, and she leaned into the kiss.
There was nothing playful about it this time. No invitation. No nibble. Just the heat of his body against her own, when he pulled her flush against his chest.
He kissed her like it was the last thing he’d do on this earth — her response matched the depth of his hunger.
The pain in her chest eased.