Page 13

CHAPTER TEN

T av's body shifted with alarming swiftness, his movements sharp and silent as a drawn blade. Agnes barely had time to speak before his hand lifted into a silent command, palm turned toward her, fingers splayed in warning.

Dinnae make a sound.

Her breath caught in her throat.

It was happening again. How? The question clawed at her mind.

They couldn't have been found. Her breath came in shallow bursts as memory forced its way in.

The feeling of those rough hands grabbing her, the sour stench of ale on their breath as they'd crowded around her filled her senses.

If not for Tav... She squeezed her eyes shut.

What could one man do against so many now?

Yet even as terror coiled tight around her ribs, some stubborn part of her refused to fully despair.

Tav wouldn't let harm come to her. She knew this with the same certainty she knew dawn would break, even if she couldn't begin to imagine how he'd stop the inevitable.

Tav was already moving, untying the horses with swift, practiced fingers, guiding them into the dense brush with a care that belied the urgency in his eyes.

Agnes remained where she stood, frozen beside the stream, her heart hammering against her ribs like it meant to shatter them from the inside.

The forest around her had turned. Only moments ago, it had been soft, dappled light and birdsong.

Now it felt sharp, brittle. As if even the trees were holding their breath.

When Tav returned, he didn't speak. He merely reached for her wrist and tugged urgently, leading her into the thick of the woods, past ferns and fallen logs, deeper into shadow.

The voices from the road faded behind them, dulled by moss and distance, but still present.

Agnes could hear the faint clop of hooves, a laugh too cruel to be anything but predatory.

Tav slowed as they approached the base of a massive oak, its trunk wide enough to shield them both.

With a glance over his shoulder, he turned to her, placing a firm hand on her hip.

She barely had time to register the heat of it before he was guiding her back, gently but insistently, until her spine pressed against the rough bark. And then he was in front of her.

Tav planted his feet, braced one arm against the tree just above her shoulder, the other hand still resting at her waist. His body curved protectively around hers, blocking her from view, but caging her too.

Agnes could see the tension coiled in every line of him, his breath low and controlled, his gaze flicking sharply through the trees beyond.

"Dinnae move," he murmured, voice barely more than breath.

Agnes nodded, but the motion was small. She couldn’t have moved if she tried. He was too close. Her hands were pinned between their bodies, and her chest rose and fell far too fast. She tried to calm it, but the feel of his heat and his scent scrambled her thoughts.

She stood motionless, her back pressed to the bark, Tav’s body a barrier between her and the world beyond. The hush around them was deafening. There was no birdsong, no rustle of leaves. Only the slow, steady thud of her heart echoing in her ears.

She could feel everything. The heat of him.

The subtle tremble in his muscles as he held still.

His breath came shallow, controlled, ghosting the space between them like a whisper.

She could feel the tension in his arms, the firm press of his thigh against hers.

Every breath he took brushed the air between them, and her body was suddenly aware of everything: the scratch of bark through her cloak, the press of her back against it, the way his fingers still lingered at her hip, just resting there, holding her.

Her gaze flicked up and met his. His face was inches from hers.

The slope of his nose. The hard line of his jaw.

That faint scar that cut through his eyebrow, making him look just a bit more dangerous than was entirely fair.

He didn’t look at her. His eyes were fixed on something beyond her line of sight, watching.

But she wanted him to look at her. In a moment she forgot everything, except his lips in front of her face.

She was not supposed to think of him that way.

Hoping he hadn’t noticed, she forced her gaze to the side, trying to see what he saw—but there was nothing.

Only the faint shimmer of light through the branches.

Still, his body remained rigid, alert. Agnes swallowed hard, breath catching in her throat.

The scouts hadn’t passed. They lingered, circling somewhere near the bend in the road they’d left behind.

She could hear them speaking, though the words were blurred by distance and the thicket around them.

Tav didn’t move. He didn’t speak. But she could feel the way his whole body responded and how every muscle honed and listened. And she couldn’t stop the way she responded to him .

A branch snapped somewhere behind them. Agnes jerked in place, but Tav pressed closer without touching her, as if even that slight movement might give them away.

She stopped breathing, counting seconds in her head, her eyes wide and fixed on the knot in the tree bark behind Tav’s shoulder. They must’ve stood like that for an eternity, waiting as the danger crept past them in slow, circling steps.

Eventually, the sound of hooves began to fade. The voices receded, muttered and far now, until they were little more than wind through distant leaves.

Tav didn’t move. Neither did she.

The silence stretched long after the danger had passed, held taut by something neither of them dared name. Agnes blinked once, slowly, her lips parting to take a real breath at last. When she looked up, Tav was already looking at her.

Her breath hitched. The intensity in his eyes hadn’t eased. If anything, it had deepened and now there was something raw and unreadable flickering just beneath the surface. Finally, voice low and hoarse, she said, “We’re nae hiding anymore, are we?”

Tav stared at her for a beat longer. Then the tension in his shoulders gave, fractionally. He stepped back. Just enough that the space between them could breathe again.

“Nay,” he said, running a hand over his jaw. “They’ve moved on.”

Agnes exhaled slowly. The loss of his heat made her feel colder than she wanted to admit.

She stepped out from behind the tree and smoothed her skirts with trembling fingers, trying not to think about the way his breath had felt against her skin, brushing in her face. Or how her body had ached by being so close to him.

Tav cleared his throat and looked away. “I’ll go fetch the horses.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice to speak.

He took a step, then paused. “Ye did well,” he added, glancing at her sidelong. “Ye stayed quiet.”

A flicker of something—wry amusement, maybe—broke through her nerves. “Aye, well. Ye pinned me tae a tree, Tav. There wasn’t much else I could dae.”

His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. But not far from one either. “Ye could’ve kicked me. Screamed. I’ve kent ye tae be louder.”

She raised a brow, recovering some of her footing. “Give me time. I’m sure I’ll be yellin’ at ye before the day’s out.”

That earned her a proper look this time. She held it for a moment, longer than she should’ve. Then dropped her gaze.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, voice low again. “Stay near the tree. Dinnae move until I come fer ye.”

She gave him a small nod, folding her arms over her chest to still the shiver working its way up her spine. As he disappeared into the underbrush, the forest seemed to sigh around her. The trees relaxed. The tension eased, but only slightly.

Agnes swallowed hard. Her heart was still racing. And she wasn’t sure anymore if it was from fear… Or from him. All she could feel was the thunder of her heartbeat. The way her skin still remembered the shape of him. The way her body still hummed with the echo of his nearness.

Alone again, Agnes leaned her back against the trunk and stared up at the canopy. The light filtered down in golden slats, illuminating the dust motes and the faint mist that still clung to the forest floor. It should’ve been beautiful. It was beautiful.

She let her head rest back against the bark and closed her eyes.

She didn’t know what to do with any of this.

With him. With the fact that she was meant to be a bride, and yet the only man who made her feel anything close to alive was the one who had no business looking at her that way.

The one she had no business wanting. Her lips parted. She drew a deep breath.

She let her head rest back against the bark and closed her eyes.

It wasn’t just the danger that left her unsteady. It was him. The way he stood too close. The way his silence wasn’t cold, but careful. Measured. The way his hand had hovered at her waist like he wanted to hold on.

She drew in a long, uneven breath, as if she could exhale the tension he’d left behind. She was promised, bound. A future already drawn for her like ink on a page. And yet, Tav made her feel something that the thought of her future never had. Possibility. And want.

Gods, the wanting.

Her lips parted. She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath.

And when she opened her eyes again, Tav was already walking toward her through the ferns, reins in hand. He stepped back, slow and deliberate, as if it cost him to do it.

"We’ll wait another few minutes," he added, glancing toward the trees. "Make sure they dinnae circle back."

Agnes nodded again, trying to pull herself together. She crossed her arms, more to keep from reaching for him than anything else.

"Next time," she muttered, "ye could at least warn me before trapping me."

A corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "Ye looked like ye needed me support."

"Ye looked like ye enjoyed it."

That did it. A ghost of a grin, small and brief.

"Wouldnae be the worst thing I’ve done."

He looked the same as he always did—grim and steady—but his eyes flicked to her face and lingered a moment longer than they should’ve. Agnes straightened, brushing her palms down the front of her skirt.

He stopped a few paces away. “They’re well out o’ earshot now,” he said, voice quiet. “I kept tae the northern rise. Didnae see or hear a trace.”

She nodded, still trying to find her breath, her voice, herself. “Ye think they kent we were hidin’ here?”

Tav shook his head. “Nay. If they had, they would’ve circled back. Searched.”

Agnes chewed her lip. “But they were close.”

“Aye,” he said. “Too close.”

She looked away, toward the place they’d been pressed together, heart skipping again for reasons she could not and would not name aloud. “Dae ye think… they were sent just tae prevent the wedding?”

Tav’s jaw tightened, his gaze flicking toward the shadowed treeline as though the answer might be written there. “Laird Armstrong wouldnae send scouts fer that.”

It was a good answer. Dismissive enough to calm the nerves of someone easily pacified. But Agnes wasn’t.

She frowned, something cold slipping down the back of her neck. “But they said…” Her voice was quieter now, the weight of realization dragging it lower. “They kent I left only with ye?”

Tav didn’t speak at once. His silence stretched, taut as a bowstring. And in that pause, she felt it. The truth threading through the air between them.

“Aye,” he said finally. “I think they kent.”

Her stomach twisted. “Ye think they followed us from the castle?”

“Maybe nae directly,” Tav said, eyes narrowing. “But the scouts—those men—they were nae wanderin’. They were expectin’ tae find us on that road.”

Agnes nibbled at her lower lip, the words tumbling out before she could stop them, "Dae ye think Armstrong’s got some quarrel wi' the clan?"

Tav's shoulders lifted in a weary shrug. "Could be. Cannae say fer certain."

"But what else would make sense?" She drew a steadying breath, fingers twisting in her skirts. "Why ride all this way just tae meddle wi' me marriage? Why fixate on us?"

"They're huntin' us." Tav's voice carried the grim finality of a slamming door. "That's all that matters now."

Agnes looked away, her throat tightening. The hide-and-seek tension, the silence in the trees, the way Tav had gone still when he heard the voices… they had come looking for them. That more than anything chilled her blood. Agnes drew her arms around herself. The chill in her spine had returned.

“Then we should ride ahead,” she said, lifting her chin.

For a moment, Tav didn’t answer. He just looked at her.

She watched his throat move as he swallowed, like the words caught there burned on the way down.

For the first time, she dared to wonder if duty wasn't the sole tenant of his mind.

Perhaps, in some shadowed corner of his heart something else had taken root?

The thought terrified her even as it kindled a dangerous hope.

And just as quickly, it was gone. Locked behind that grim, impassive mask he wore like armor.

He finally nodded then said, “Aye. We should.”

He stepped forward and offered his hand, steady as ever. Agnes took it, fingers curling around his palm as he guided her to her horse. The contact was brief, but it lit another flame low in her belly. Something dangerously close to longing.

She swung into the saddle with his help, settling herself with a slow exhale.

As she settled, Agnes blinked hard against the wave of dizziness that swept over her. Her limbs felt heavy now, like they belonged to someone else. The tension that had held her upright moments ago had drained from her all at once, leaving a strange, hollow ache in its place.

Her hands trembled where they gripped the reins.

She tucked them into the folds of her skirt, hoping Tav wouldn’t notice.

Her palms were clammy despite the cool air, her heartbeat still stuttering as though her body hadn’t yet accepted that the danger had passed.

It felt as if she was still waiting for the men to ambush them, appearing out of thin air.

Just as they had all those times before.

A breath hitched in her throat. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been until now—until her muscles began to throb with the aftershocks of stillness and silence, until her spine ached from holding herself too straight for too long.

Agnes squared her shoulders anyway, forcing her back to straighten once more.

Tav reached for his own reins. “We’ll take the river bend trail. Less likely tae be watched. But it’s rougher.”

Agnes smirked, despite herself. “Rougher roads suit me fine.”

He glanced at her, lips twitching again. “I’ve noticed.”

And with that, they turned back toward the trees and rode on, deeper into the forest, and whatever waited beyond.