Page 28

They moved easily together. Graceful. Her hand in his. Her eyes slightly downcast. Her lips parting in a polite smile. From a distance, it could almost look like affection. Like something blooming instead of breaking. Tav’s chest went tight.

"Ye alright?" Isla asked, noticing the shift in his posture.

He blinked. Tore his eyes away. Cleared his throat.

"Aye. Just... sore."

She tilted her head, clearly unconvinced, but didn’t press.

Tav looked back toward the floor again, just once more. Agnes tilted her head up, smiling at something Caithness said. The laird leaned in close, just enough for his breath to touch her ear. And she laughed. That did it.

The pain in his side roared to life, not from strain, but from the crack that had just widened somewhere beneath his ribs. He stood too quickly, swaying for a moment until he caught his balance.

Isla looked up, startled. "Oh—are ye alright? Did I say something?"

"Nay," Tav said, voice low. "Nae at all. Ye were lovely company. Just... need some air."

She nodded slowly. "Of course. Well, if you need someone tae hide with again, I’ll be loitering near the wine."

He gave her a small nod of thanks and turned, walking stiffly but deliberately across the room. No one stopped him. He didn’t look back.

Agnes had never smiled that much in her life.

There was a tight, stretched ache just beneath the surface, like the skin was beginning to bruise. Every time someone said her name, every time they uttered the word "betrothed" with a delighted lilt, she felt herself tighten a little more behind the eyes.

She stood beside Laird Caithness, smiling politely through yet another introduction, nodding as yet another noble complimented her composure, her beauty, her future. Her fingers were clenched so tightly around her goblet she was surprised the stem hadn’t snapped in two.

Caithness stood beside her, the perfect picture of charm—tall, self-assured, always saying just the right thing to whomever they spoke to. He was kind, yes. Considerate. But his hand kept finding the small of her back like he had a right to it. Like she belonged to him already.

And everyone else seemed to agree. His betrothed. His promised. She could hear it behind every smile, and it made her want to vanish. Agnes glanced around the hall again, as discreetly as she could manage. Her eyes skimmed past dresses and candlelight and wine-dark silk until they found him.

Tav. He was sitting near the far wall, half-shadowed by a tall column. And he wasn’t alone.

A young woman sat beside him with dark hair, warm expression and laughing as she spoke. Agnes couldn’t hear her words, but she saw the way Tav looked at her. The flicker of amusement in his eyes. The softness at the corner of his mouth.

She felt it like a punch. Something sharp and cold knotted in her stomach, and her throat burned like she’d swallowed flame. He was supposed to be angry. He was supposed to be watching her, aching the way she was. Instead, he was—what? Laughing with some girl at the edge of the room?

Agnes turned back too quickly, her vision blurred for half a second. Betrayal . That’s what it felt like. And it was ridiculous. She had no claim to him. No right. And still…

“Lady Agnes?” Caithness’ voice broke through her thoughts, gentle but clear. She blinked up at him.

“Fergive me,” she murmured.

“Would ye honor me with a dance?” he asked, offering his hand.

She hesitated for the barest breath. Then she smiled again, and it was a wide, bright, blinding smile.

“O’ course,” she said, and placed her hand in his.

Let him watch. Let him see what he walked away from.

Caithness led her to the floor with ease.

The music was gentle, a lilting reel that turned beneath their feet.

He moved well, guiding her with the lightest touch.

And Agnes played her part. She laughed in the right places.

Answered his questions with feigned interest, though her mind was somewhere else entirely. She didn’t look at Tav.

“Are ye enjoying the evening?” Caithness asked, voice low as they turned.

“Very much,” she said.

Liar.

“It’s a fine celebration,” he continued. “Ye deserve naething less.”

She nodded. Another turn. Another glide.

“I ken this can all feel a bit... overwhelming,” he added.

Agnes glanced up at him. He was watching her with something close to kindness. It softened her edge, but only slightly.

“I’m fine,” she said, tone gentle. “Thank ye.”

He smiled and spun her carefully. She followed his lead, her skirts fanning around her like mist. She dared a glance. Tav wasn’t there; the chair was empty and the girl gone. Her breath caught. Where had he gone? Why had he left?

Her eyes scanned the ballroom, searching for a glimpse of that dark jacket, that face she knew better than her own. Naething. Had he been watching? Had he left because of her? Or— Nay. It didn’t matter, even if he had left with that woman. He wasn’t hers to lose.

She turned her face up to Caithness again and smiled. Let him think she was radiant. Let the whole damn hall think she was happy. Even if she was burning.