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CHAPTER ELEVEN

I t had been three days since the scouts, and Agnes still hadn’t decided whether Tav’s continued silence on the matter was maddening or merciful.

They hadn’t seen another soul in the forest since.

There had been no riders, no travelers, not even a curious squirrel brave enough to venture near their makeshift camps.

The woods had swallowed them whole, it seemed, offering no threats but also no ease.

Every step forward was just another step closer to Caithness. And to her wedding.

She didn’t like thinking about that. It felt too distant—no, not distant, but unreal . The name of the man she was meant to marry barely stirred anything in her anymore, if it ever had. A name without weight. A promise made by her father.

Because all she knew now was this . It was the rhythm of Tav’s voice when he muttered directions, the way the forest changed colors as the day passed, the soft clop of hooves in mud and moss.

This strange, suspended life, tucked between trees and tension, where nothing before seemed to matter, and nothing after felt possible.

It was as though the world had shrunk down to two people and the space between them. Just her and Tav. Riding along, speaking too little and feeling too much. Hiding from the forest’s dangers, and from everything waiting beyond it.

Tav, for his part, was behaving as though they were simply on a long errand.

He gave directions with that same dry certainty, corrected her reins when she drifted, handed her jerky and bread at dusk without much fanfare.

His silence was maddening, and yet it steadied her.

He was always the same, except for the moments he wasn’t.

The ones where his gaze lingered too long, or his hand brushed her arm and didn’t move away fast enough.

Those were the moments that stayed with her at night, when the fire burned low and her thoughts refused to settle.

In the quiet between these moments, she let herself imagine that the heat in his gaze wasn’t just duty’s fire.

Against all reason, she sometimes thought that the careful distance he kept was as fragile as her own resolve.

Perhaps that thing between them, those feelings , had always been a mirror, each reflection perfectly matched.

It was late morning when she finally asked the question.

"How long d’ye think we’ve left, truly?"

They were following the curve of a narrow stream, the water babbling quietly alongside them. Tav rode a few paces ahead, his posture upright and tense as ever, like he expected someone to leap out of the brush at any moment.

He didn’t look back when he answered. “One day. Maybe two, if the weather turns. The hills slow things.”

Agnes huffed, adjusting in her saddle. “Two days more o’ moss and midges.”

“And me sparkling company.” He flashed her a breathtaking grin.

She blinked. Did he just ? —?

She eyed the back of his head suspiciously. “Did ye just make a joke?”

“Nay.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Ye did.”

His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Midges get tae everyone eventually.”

She snorted, half-laughing despite herself. “Aye, even ye’ve begun tae crack.”

“It was inevitable. I had nay choice.” A slow smile broke across his face as he shook his head in that way of his.

Agnes let the silence stretch then, oddly comfortable.

The horses walked slowly, hooves squelching in patches of damp earth, the air full of birdsong and the buzz of insects. She let her gaze drift ahead.

Tav rode ahead with the kind of straight-backed composure that made her want to throw a stone at his head for making her feel like this.

She sighed, low and bitter, and rubbed at the back of her neck.

The canopy above them grew denser, blotting out the weak sunlight in patches.

The temperature dropped slightly. Somewhere to the east, an owl called, far too early.

Shadows began to stretch, long and flickering.

Her mind wandered as it often did on this cursed ride. And, of course, it wandered somewhere she didn’t want it to go.

She imagined it Tav standing at the back of the church, arms crossed, that unreadable expression carved into his face, for half a second. Maybe he’d smirk if she stumbled.

“Ye’re quiet,” Tav said suddenly, his voice cutting through the hush.

Agnes startled, blinking like someone had yanked her from deep water. “Just enjoyin’ the view,” she said airily, though the tone didn’t quite land.

“Moss and midges, was it?”

“And yer sparkling company.”

He snorted, but didn’t press.

She stared at his back, wanting it to speak.

He could simply say something. But Tav was Tav.

The only stories he offered were told with glances and silence, and she was starting to hate how much she was learning to read them.

Her horse stumbled slightly on a rock, and she righted herself with a hiss.

To distract herself from the ache in her hips and from the pit sitting stubborn in her gut, Agnes did what she always did when silence became too loud. She let her imagination run wild.

She imagined him at the wedding. Not in the shadows or as the quiet escort lurking by the door. She imagined him standing at the altar.

The image came unbidden. Him in something finer than his usual leathers, though still not proper. He’d never be proper. Maybe the collar would be slightly crooked, the cuffs undone. Hair still a bit damp from being forced into neatness. And he’d be looking at her.

Agnes shifted in the saddle, uneasy. It was a stupid thought. A useless one. Tav wasn’t hers. He wasn’t even trying to be.

She clenched her hands on the reins. “Gods,” she muttered under her breath, annoyed at herself.”

The horse flicked an ear, as if agreeing with her nonsense.

Tav glanced back again, brow lifting. “Ye mutterin’ spells, or just talkin’ tae yerself now?”

Agnes forced a smirk. “Bit o’ both.”

He didn’t press, but his mouth twitched in that maddening way it always did when he knew more than he let on. She scowled and kicked her horse forward. Maybe she’d imagine him tripping into a stream next. That was a much safer fantasy.

Dusk fell fast that night, as if someone had doused the sky in ink. One moment the trees were lit in gold, and the next, they were blue-black shadows curling around them. Agnes squinted into the growing dark, her eyes straining to follow the vague shape of Tav riding ahead.

“Careful there,” he called over his shoulder. “Ground’s turnin’ patchy.”

“I noticed,” she muttered, half to herself.

She’d spent the last hour trying not to ride directly into a tree. The path was barely visible now, the moon obscured by thick cloud, and her mare’s ears kept flicking nervously, picking up things she couldn’t see. Every rustle of leaves made her back tighten.

Tav slowed a little, glancing over. “Ye alright?”

“Fine,” she said. “Just cannae see more than a foot in front o’ me.”

“Keep yer reins steady. And mind the low branches.”

She was trying. Truly. But her vision was nothing like his. He seemed able to sense the shape of the land by instinct, moving fluid and sure, while she felt like a blindfolded chicken.

“I can ride,” she snapped, before he could offer to lead her like a child.

“I ken,” he said mildly. “Still, rather ye didnae end up with a broken neck.”

His calm only annoyed her more and she gritted her teeth, blinking hard into the dark. Shadows played tricks on her, shapes curling at the edges of her sight. Her mount shifted beneath her, uneasy.

Tav reined in, waiting. “D’ye want me tae ride ahead? Set the pace?”

Agnes hesitated. Her pride wanted to decline. Her knees, however, were less convinced.

“… Aye. Fine.”

He didn’t gloat. Just urged his horse forward a few paces, enough that she could keep his outline in sight.

“Just follow me,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll call out if it gets worse.”

Agnes adjusted her reins, narrowing her eyes to the silhouette in front of her. “I’ve got eyes, Tav.”

“Aye, and I’d rather they dinnae get gouged out by a low-hangin’ pine.”

She bit back a reply, mostly because her horse suddenly stumbled on a rock and she yelped, grabbing the saddle horn to steady herself.

“Ye alright?”

“I’m fine,” she snapped, cheeks burning. She was glad he couldn’t see that.

Tav didn’t say anything, but she could almost feel his smirk through the dark.

Agnes muttered a curse under her breath and leaned forward, squinting ahead. Her hand rose to push back a branch but something sharp caught in her hair.

She froze.

It snagged tight, dragging against her scalp with a sting. Her horse snorted and shifted beneath her, agitated. The pain made her wince.

“Tav?” she called, but her voice was quieter now. A thread of unease coiled in her chest.

He hadn’t heard her. He was riding a few paces ahead, still talking—something about watching the roots up ahead—but she couldn’t make it out. The forest around her seemed to close in, the dark turning thick, the hush pressing too tight against her ears.

She reached up, fingers fumbling and felt another sharp pull. She winced again, twisting slightly in the saddle.

“Tav,” she said again, louder this time.

He reined in instantly. “What is it?”

Agnes didn’t answer right away. She was too busy trying to untangle the thing clawing at her hair.

A branch, probably. Or gods forbid, some forest creature deciding she made a fine nesting site. But it tugged again, and her scalp throbbed.

“Tav—” she said, half screaming now, half annoyed. “I’m stuck.”

He turned his horse around fast, dismounting in one fluid motion. Agnes sat still, hands awkwardly twisted above her head, one leg half-slid from the stirrup as she tried not to move too much.

“I said I was fine,” she muttered as Tav approached, her arms still raised above her head in the most undignified posture possible. “Clearly I lied.”

Tav didn’t say anything at first. He just stood there, one brow raised, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Dinnae laugh.”

His smile deepened. “I’ve said naethin’.”

“Ye’re thinkin’ it loud enough I can hear it.” The words were barely out of her mouth when she winced, her hair yanked back again, sharper this time.

He gave a small, infuriating shrug. “Well, it’s nae every day I find ye strung up like a woodland ornament.”

Agnes rolled her eyes and hissed when the branch gave another tug at her scalp. “Charming. Truly. Instead o’ standin’ there like a smug oaf, ye might consider helpin’.”

Tav clicked his tongue like he was weighing the idea, then stepped in, his expression sobering as he peered at the knot of hair tangled around the branch.

“It’s caught good,” he said, voice low now. “Hold still.”

“I am holding still,” she snapped. “I’ve been holdin’ still. Me entire skull is at the mercy o’ this cursed tree.”

Tav didn’t respond, but she felt the warmth of him as he reached up.

His fingers brushed against her braid, careful but rough, tugging gently here and there as he assessed the damage.

Agnes gritted her teeth. The branch was tugging at the base of her braid like it wanted to take her scalp with it, and Tav’s soft huff of amusement wasn’t helping.

“Are ye enjoying this?” she asked.

He made a sound suspiciously close to a laugh. “Aye.”

She jerked slightly, and the branch bit into her skin.

“Stop movin’,” Tav said, barely holding in another laugh. “Ye’ll make it worse.”

“Ye’ll make it worse,” she mimicked under her breath. “Ye think ye’re hilarious.”

“I’m tryin’ tae help,” he said mildly, and then, before she could respond, he reached up and snapped the branch clean off at its base.

Agnes gasped, jerking backward. Her braid came free, but with it came a rain of dry leaves, twigs, and the sharp sting of a pulled hair or two.

She blinked, stunned. “Was that really necessary?”

Tav held up the offending branch like a trophy. “It worked, nay?”

Her hand flew to her hair, and she winced. Bits of twig were tangled in the braid, a small knot forming at the base. “I look like I’ve been wrestlin’ wi’ a hedge.”

“Ye kind o’ have.”

She gave him a flat look. “Chivalry’s dead, clearly.”

He grinned. “Dae ye want help cleanin’ it out or nae?”

Agnes paused. She hated asking for help. Hated being fussed over. But her arms were sore, she couldn’t see half of what was in her hair, and frankly, if she tried to sort this herself, she’d likely make it worse.

“…I could,” she muttered.

“I’ll take that as an aye,” he said, already turning back to his horse. “We’ll stop fer camp soon. I’ll fix it then.”

“Oh, will ye now?” she asked, trotting after him. “Is that one o’ yer many hidden talents?”

“I’m prepared fer anything,” he called over his shoulder. “I told ye I’d take ye there in one piece.”

Agnes was momentarily too stunned to reply. The thought of Tav braiding hair, his large, callused hands deftly working through knots and strands, was so at odds with the man currently ducking under low branches and muttering about firewood that it made her head spin.

She swung back into her saddle, her hair still sticking out at odd angles. “Well then,” she muttered. “Let’s hope ye ken what ye’re daein’.”