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Tav’s mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out. His brows drew together, and for the first time since their argument began, something broke in his expression. Something raw.

He shook his head once. "Agnes, that’s nae?—"

"Dinnae," she snapped, cutting the air between them. "Dinnae try tae take it back now. Ye think I’m selfish, or foolish, or blind tae the world ye live in. But, once again, I ken what this is. I ken what we are. And ye can try tae convince yerself it’s just a job, just another duty—but I see the way ye look at me. "

She was shaking now, but not from fear. From fury. From the weight of everything she hadn’t said. Everything she couldn’t keep locked inside any longer.

"I see it when ye think I’m nae lookin’. When ye touch me like ye’re afraid tae let go. When ye hold me like ye wish ye could keep me. Dinnae stand there and lie. Nae after all this. Nae after last night."

Tav's stricken expression hardened like cooling iron. Before Agnes could continue, his hand shot out, capturing her wrist and yanking her forward until their chests nearly collided. "Enough," he growled, the word rough as gravel. "Ye want honesty? Then listen when I?—"

She twisted in his grip, fire undimmed. "Oh aye, now ye find yer voice?—"

"Damn it, woman!" His free hand cradled the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her damp hair as he forced her to meet his gaze.

The fury in his eyes burned hotter than any hearth.

"Dae ye ken what ye've done?" His thumb brushed her jaw, a fleeting tenderness at odds with his grip.

"Ye carved yerself into me bones when I wasnae lookin'.

Now ye stand there in yer sodden shift, mockin' me position, when every ragged breath I take in yer presence is proof against this 'duty' ye hate so much. "

The wind stole the gasp from her lips. Water dripped from her hair onto his forearm.

Then he moved. It was like something snapped inside him and he closed the space between them in a stride.

His hands came to her face, rough and shaking, and then his mouth crashed into hers.

Agnes gasped against him, but then she was kissing him back, fierce and breathless.

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, his neck, like she couldn’t get close enough.

His lips were fire and desperation, teeth grazing her lower lip before he groaned against her mouth and kissed her deeper, slower, like he needed to memorize every part of her.

She was lost in it. Lost in the way he tasted, the way he felt, the way his hands slid to her waist and held her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.

There was nothing soft about the kiss. It wasn’t delicate or questioning.

It was wild, uncontained—a clash of heat and desperation that swallowed the air between them.

It was mouths meeting like they were starving, like they were drowning, like neither of them knew whether this was the beginning or the end of everything.

It was his hands in her hair, in her shift, on her back, pulling her so close it felt like he might disappear if he let go.

Agnes melted into it, and then surged against him, arms winding around his neck, nails digging into his shoulders, every inch of her answering him with the same storm.

She kissed him like she wanted to burn, like she wanted to brand him into her memory so deeply that no laird, no marriage, no amount of time could erase the shape of him from her bones. It was a claiming.

When he finally pulled back—because they had to, because they needed air or they’d fall right into each other and never climb out—the world didn’t feel quite real.

Their foreheads stayed pressed together, breath ragged, hearts slamming against their ribs like war drums. The sun filtered down through the leaves above, dappled gold and shadow dancing across their skin, but Agnes barely registered it.

Her lips were swollen, tingling. Her breath came in shallow pulls, her chest rising and falling in time with his. And her heart… God, her heart. It felt like it had been torn open and rebuilt all at once.

Tav’s eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them. They were vulnerable in a way that gutted her.

She could see the war inside him, the way his hands trembled slightly even as he cupped her cheek. His thumb brushed beneath her eye, catching the edge of a tear that hadn’t even fallen. It was so gentle she thought she might fall apart.

“What now, Agnes?” he whispered against her lips, his voice hoarse with longing, with fear, with need. “What can we dae now?”

He shut his eyes for a beat. A long, slow breath shook out of him like he was trying to steady the storm roaring through his chest. His mouth opened like he had an answer, like he was about to say something that would change everything?—

But before he could speak, the unmistakable sound of hooves pounding over earth shattered the stillness. Both of them froze.

Tav turned, his entire body going rigid. His hand went to his belt, fingers curling around the hilt of his blade before Agnes could even process what she was hearing.

From the trees, the sound grew louder. The rhythmic thunder of riders cut through the hush of the forest like knives. Agnes stepped back instinctively, heart lurching into her throat.

Then they emerged. Men. Six, maybe seven, all on horseback. Dressed not in the neutral plaids of border guards but in the mismatched gear of mercenaries—leather and steel, some bearing old clan insignias, most with weapons drawn.

Agnes felt Tav step slightly in front of her, his body a wall of heat and steel.

"Stay behind me," he murmured.

"Tav—"

"Dinnae argue."

Agnes’s stomach dropped, standing barefoot in the moss with her heart lodged in her throat. But she knew, without a shadow of doubt that Tav wasn’t going to let anyone take her.

Not then. Not ever.