Chapter 16 #2
“Oh, Moira.” Ava’s throat ached. “I am so, so sorry. I thought—” She stopped herself.
What had she thought? That she could push Moira toward Lachlan like a pawn on a board, and it would all resolve in a neat happily-ever-after?
That her cleverness would keep everyone safe from the sting of heartbreak?
Her pride fractured, sharp and painful.
“This is my fault,” Ava said, voice low. “I encouraged it. I thought… I thought I knew what was best for ye. I was wrong. And I’m sorry.”
Moira blinked, startled by the admission.
“I think,” Ava continued, her tone steadier now, “that ye should forget about Lachlan Ferguson. He’s a cad. And if ye wish it, I can help ye with Asher. He’s kind. He adores ye. And ye deserve someone who sees ye for who ye are, no’ someone who makes a game of ye.”
Moira wrapped her arms around herself, staring at the grass. “I dinna know what I want." Her voice hitched as she wiped gently at her tears. “And I dinna know if I want your help.”
The words stung, but Ava nodded. She was certain that in Moira’s position, she would have felt the same way.
“That’s fair,” she said quietly.
Moira glanced at her, blinking away the tears gathering in her eyes. “I just… need some time.”
“Of course,” Ava said. “Take all the time ye need.”
They stood there for a long moment in the shadow of the basket booth, the bustle of the festival carrying on around them as though nothing had shattered between them.
Somewhere behind them, she could feel him, Gavan, hovering at the edges, giving Moira space but close enough to intervene if she crumbled.
Ava didn’t dare turn to confirm her suspicions.
It was bad enough to know Moira’s trust in her had cracked.
To imagine what Gavan must think of her now, that stung worse than Lachlan’s insult ever could.
Moira excused herself, heading toward the quieter edge of the green. Though Ava wanted to follow, she respected Moira's wish to be alone and stayed rooted in place, staring at nothing.
She’d always prided herself on being clever. On managing things. On knowing how to move people where she thought they needed to be. But today, that pride felt hollow. Moira wasn’t a piece on a board. Her feelings weren't a game to be played. She was a friend. And Ava had hurt her.
For years, Ava had believed matchmaking was a harmless hobby. Just a way to bring happiness and love between two people. But all she’d done was wound someone who trusted her. And Moira wasn't the first. Gavan, too, had been upset with her schemes.
The realization that so much pain could have been avoided if she'd only realized sooner, left Ava feeling profoundly small. If she wanted to repair what she’d broken, she’d need more than charm and cleverness.
She’d need humility. And for the first time in a very long time, Ava wasn’t sure she had enough of it to begin.
“Ava.”
Her name stopped her cold. She hadn’t heard him approach, assuming he’d followed his cousin, but of course it was him, Gavan, dark and unyielding as ever, standing against the bright swirl of festivalgoers, watching her.
Ava froze, her heart stuttering painfully in her chest. She had avoided him all morning, hadn’t wanted to be around him.
Not after everything his steady, unreadable gaze had stirred in her.
But Gavan Douglas never let her run for long.
“A word,” he said, low and clipped, when she tried to pass him.
She kept her chin high. “Now’s hardly the time, my lord. I’m busy—”
“I dinna care.” He stepped closer, cutting her off from the path. “We’re talking.”
“Gavan,” she hissed, glancing around at the people nearby, “ye’re making a scene.”
“Good,” he said, his voice rougher than she’d ever heard it. “Ye’ve been avoiding me.”
“I’ve been occupied,” she snapped. “Some of us have friends to tend to, reputations to—”
“Reputations,” he bit out, as if the word tasted foul. “Is that what this is? Playing untouchable while Ferguson drapes himself over ye and makes a fool of my cousin?”
Her breath caught. “How dare ye!”
He reached her in three strides. One strong hand caught her elbow, not rough, but firm enough to halt her retreat, and before she could ask what in God’s name, he thought he was doing, his mouth was on hers.
It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t polite. It was heat and impulse, a kiss that stole her breath and scattered every shield she’d so carefully constructed.
And then, just as suddenly, it was over.
He stepped back, his chest rising hard and fast, his jaw tight with something like regret, or was it restraint? “I’m—” His voice cracked. He swallowed. “I should no’ have done that.”
Ava blinked, the festival spinning back into focus around her. Bagpipes keened in the distance. Children shrieked with laughter. The scent of spiced cakes was thick in the air. But none of it felt real.
Her lips still tingled. Her pulse still roared in her ears.
She wanted to speak. To laugh. To rage. To demand answers. But her tongue felt heavy, and her thoughts tangled. Because beneath the shock, beneath the outrage she knew she should summon, one undeniable truth rose to the surface, terrifying in its clarity: She’d wanted him to kiss her. Again.
The realization gutted her, left her unmoored in a way she hadn’t felt in years.
She turned without a word, skirts swishing around her ankles as she ran, though she wasn’t moving fast though she wasn’t entirely sure where she was going.
Each step only made the whirlwind in her head louder: the feel of his hand on her elbow, the press of his mouth, the way the rest of the world had fallen away as if there had only ever been the two of them.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not with him. Not after all this time, not after everything she’d built to protect herself.
And yet…
She pressed a hand to her lips, as if she could wipe away the heat that still lingered there.
It didn’t work. She wanted to laugh. To cry.
To scream. But she did none of those things.
She stopped running, gathered herself, spine stiff and chin high, and walked away, her heart still hammering, her composure nothing but a fragile mask.
For the first time in years, Ava didn’t have a plan.