Page 17

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

T av stood with his back to the fire, his arms folded, gaze pinned to the darkness just beyond the edge of light.

The forest breathed around them, deep and steady, like some ancient beast at rest. The trees whispered above, the wind threading through their branches like fingers through hair, and in the canopy overhead, stars burned cold and clear.

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink much. He’d trained himself out of that long ago.

When you blinked too long, you missed things.

Things like the rustle of a boot in dry grass, the flex of a bowstring before the arrow flew.

Those woods weren’t likely to hold danger, but Tav never trusted a quiet night.

Quiet was a liar, because when you got used to it, that’s when danger struck.

He scanned the tree line again, instinctively mapping the terrain.

The stream they’d passed earlier curved west, which meant they’d need to double back before sunrise and cut east again to avoid the worst of the slope ahead.

He pictured it all in his head, like laying out stones on a board.

Forest, incline, creek bed. Old game trails hidden beneath the brush.

He marked them with invisible ink behind his eyes, a route unfolding step by step.

One day until they arrived to Castle Mey. Hours. He should have felt relief at that. The end was in sight. The duty done. But his chest pulled tighter the closer they got. Not just because of the risk, the men who might still be behind them, somewhere in the trees. But something harder to name.

He shifted slightly, boot grinding into the dirt.

The fire behind him popped. Agnes was stirring in her sleep and he turned just slightly, just enough to see her curled up in the blanket, her hair a dark braid across her shoulder, one hand tucked beneath her cheek.

Her breathing was slow and steady, the lines of her face soft.

Vulnerable. He hated that word. Hated what it meant out here.

But she was. Not because she was weak, but because she trusted him enough to fall asleep with her back to him.

That thought made his chest ache. He looked away. Ye’re the sword , he reminded himself. That’s all ye are.

And yet, every time she laughed, every time her voice cut through the dark and she looked at him like he was more than a blade, more than a shadow of obligation, and it rattled him.

Made something sharp inside him curl toward the warmth.

But was that simply her nature? To be kind without cause?

Or did her pulse quicken when he neared, as his did for her?

The question lodged like a blade between his ribs.

He couldn't entertain it, not truly, for the mere possibility of her indifference left him breathless, as if his very soul had been pressed between millstones.

A small sound pulled him from the thought. Not the forest. Agnes . She shifted again, harder this time. A whimper. Tav turned immediately. She jerked in her sleep, brows drawn tight, her limbs twisting under the blanket. Another sound, low and strained. Then?—

A high, broken cry escaped her throat. Tav was moving before he even realized it.

He dropped to his knees at her side, one hand reaching out but stopping just short of touching her. Her face was twisted, her lips trembling, her breath coming too fast. Another choked noise escaped her throat and his gut clenched.

“Agnes,” he said softly, urgently. “Agnes—it’s me. I’m here.”

Her eyes snapped open with a sharp gasp. Her whole body jolted, sitting upright too fast, wild-eyed and panting. Tav caught her before she could fall sideways, steadying her with both hands.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, calm, “It’s alright. It’s me. Ye’re safe.”

She blinked rapidly, tears clinging to her lashes, chest heaving. She looked around like she didn’t recognize where she was. Like she wasn’t sure any of it was real.

“It was just a dream,” he murmured, “Ye’re safe. I promise.”

Agnes shuddered. Her mouth opened once, then closed. She pressed her hands to her face, dragging them down roughly as though trying to erase what she’d just seen.

“I saw them,” she whispered. “The men in the forest that tried tae kidnap me. The ones who… grabbed me and killed yer men.”

Tav’s hands curled into fists where they rested against her bedroll. He kept his voice level. “It wasn’t real. They’re gone. Long gone.”

She shook her head, still breathless. “It didnae feel like a dream. It felt like I was back there. Like I was in it again and they wouldnae let go.”

The firelight caught the sheen of sweat on her brow, the fear still clinging to her skin like a second cloak. Tav hated the look in her eyes. Hated the helplessness he saw there. Without thinking, he reached out and pulled her against his chest.

Agnes stiffened for a heartbeat. Then, she melted into his embrace. Her hands gripped the front of his tunic like it was the only solid thing in the world. She was trembling.

He didn’t speak. Just held her with his arms wrapped around her tight, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other at her spine, anchoring her.

Her breath hitched again, then leveled slowly.

He could feel the shape of her against him, every curve, every breath, every tremor.

She fit. God help him, she fit like she belonged there.

He shut his eyes, his cheek resting lightly against the top of her head.

If he could have taken the memory away from her, ripped it free and buried it where it could never hurt her again, he would have in a heartbeat.

If he could have hunted the men down and silence their breaths with steel, he’d have done that too.

But right now, all he could do was be there, be her shield. Agnes didn’t let go. Didn’t speak.

Tav rubbed slow circles into her back, whispering things he barely remembered saying. Things like “I’ve got ye,” and “Nay one will touch ye again,” and “Ye’re alright, lass. Ye’re alright.”

She shivered against him. One of her hands curled around his sleeve.

“Ye dinnae have tae speak,” he told her, voice rough with something too big to name. “Ye dinnae have tae explain. I’m here.”

She nodded into his chest.

He stayed there until her breathing evened out again, until her grip loosened.

Until the tension bled from her spine. But he didn’t let go.

He couldn’t. Because somewhere in that moment, sitting beside the fire, with her held so close he could feel her heartbeat beneath her ribs, he knew something with a clarity that shook him: he would never be able to let her go.

Not when they reached the castle. Not when she was passed to another man like coin across a table.

Not when she smiled at someone else the way she smiled at him.

He was a man of duty. Bound by code, by promise.

But there were limits to the oaths a man could carry before they broke him.

And wanting her... wanting her was beginning to feel less like a mistake and more like the one true thing he had left.

She stirred against him, head still tucked beneath his chin.

“Ye alright?” he murmured.

Agnes nodded, barely. He didn’t ask again.

He just stayed and held her through the quiet.

Sitting with her in his arms, as unmoving as a stone, but a storm churning beneath the surface, listening to the fire crackle, he tried not to think of having to let her go.

Her weight against his chest was slight, barely anything.

But it anchored him to the ground in a way nothing else had in years.

The fire had burned low, casting only a faint orange glow, like the final embers of a day too long. The stars above them pulsed behind thin clouds, quiet witnesses to his undoing.

He should have moved. The rational part of his mind, the part that still clung to restraint, knew he should have shifted her back onto her blanket, and let her sleep properly instead of tangled against him like this.

But the thought alone sent a sharp protest through his body. He didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Her fingers were curled into the fabric of his tunic, clutching him even in sleep as if she feared he might slip away. The warmth of her cheek pressed into the hollow of his shoulder, as though that space had been carved just for her. And God help him, he burned with it.

Every breath she took fanned against his skin.

Every shift of her body, soft and trusting against his, sent heat licking through his veins.

His entire body ached, not just with want, but with something deeper, something perilously close to need.

The urge to pull her closer, to mold himself against her until there was no space left between them, was nearly unbearable.

But he stayed still, because if he moved, even an inch, this fragile, stolen moment would shatter. And he wasn’t ready to let go. Not yet.

He kept his arms firm around her and tilted his head back against the tree trunk, eyes on the dark canopy above.

He traced constellations in his mind—not the old names, but the routes.

Hills they’d passed. Streams. He recited them silently like a prayer.

East by the hollow. Avoid the fork at Windmere.

But he couldn’t concentrate, with her curled against him like that. Not with the memory of her scream still echoing in his bones.

That nightmare had carved something open in her.

And it had gutted him. He hadn’t known he was capable of such rage until that moment, hearing her cry ou, seeing her flinch.

It had lit something inside him—raw and violent and terrifying.

He would’ve razed the world just then, if it meant taking the fear out of her eyes.

He looked down at her sleeping face, soft again now in the hush of midnight. Her lashes still damp. Her brow smooth. One of his arms was under her shoulders, the other wrapped across her back, his hand resting between her shoulder blades, keeping her close. Keeping her safe.

He should never have let it go that far.

He should have distanced himself from the start.

Called her "Lady Agnes" at every turn, kept his tone formal, cold. Built a wall and never let her climb it. But he hadn’t. And now, there she was, pressed to him like something he couldn’t put down, couldn’t part with.

His fingers moved before he could stop them, lightly tracing one loose strand of hair curling against her cheek. He caught himself, stopped, clenched his hand in a fist against her back. He wanted to keep her. The thought came uninvited, a blade slipped between his ribs. Fierce. Unforgivable.

He could see it with brutal clarity: spurring his horse past the castle gates, the thunder of hooves drowning out the shouts behind them.

Taking the southern road through the glens, where the mist clung low and the bracken whispered secrets.

Disappearing into the mountains with her, where the world couldn’t claw them back.

To somewhere else. Somewhere untouched by fathers or alliances or the weight of broken names.

Just her. Just him. A cabin, maybe, rough-hewn and snug against the wind.

The weight of her head on his chest, her breath warm through the linen of his shirt.

Her laughter, bright as a spark catching, curling through the rafters and settling in his bones like a prayer.

He couldseeit. He couldfeel the phantom press of her palm against his, the imagined heat of her mouth. The way the future trembled, sweet and impossible, just beyond his grasp. And that terrified him more than any blade ever had. Because heknewbetter.

Her freedom was borrowed. Brief. A fleeting season of stolen moments before duty reclaimed her. It would end the moment they crossed the threshold of Caithness, and she’d become a stranger again. She would be a lady with his fingerprints still fading from her skin.

And what would be of him?

He lowered his head slightly, breathing her in.

Her scent was warm and earthy, touched with pine and fire smoke and something faintly floral.

He’d noticed it before, as he had always noticed everything about her, even when she wasn’t paying attention to him.

His grip tightened for just a moment, then loosened.

She shifted slightly in his hold, a quiet breath escaping her lips, and Tav stilled, every muscle alert. When she settled again, cheek nestling deeper into his collarbone, a soft sound escaped him—a whisper of a sigh.

He thought of the next day. And the final one.

When he would walk her to the gates of a life she hadn’t chosen.

When he would have to hand her over, eyes down, mouth shut, pretending none of this had happened.

That he hadn’t braided her hair, that he hadn’t held her through the dark.

That she hadn’t said his name like it meant something.

Would she look back at him? Or worse… would she not? He didn’t know what scared him more. He closed his eyes again, letting his forehead rest gently against hers, not enough to wake her, just enough to feel her breath against his skin.

He couldn’t change the end of this road.

But maybe, just maybe, he could linger on it a little longer.

Just until dawn. And so he stayed there, holding her as the stars wheeled silently overhead, listening to the forest breathe, to the soft beat of her heart near his own, pretending, just for one night, that the story ended there.

That that was enough. That he was enough.