Page 35

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

H er own chamber felt colder now. Emptier.

Agnes sat on the edge of the bed for a long moment, hands clasped in her lap, the quiet pressing in too tightly.

Tav hadn’t spoken to her since that day in his room.

Three days of silence. Three days where she'd passed him in corridors only to feel the chill of his absence more keenly than any wound.

And now Caithness. With his steady voice and quiet reverence, offering her a choice that should have brought relief, but instead left her splintered.

He'd promised she could walk away. That the alliance would hold, even if she chose Tav. Wasn’t that what she'd wanted all this time?

So why did she feel like she was standing on the edge of a cliff with no wind at her back?

The ride back to the castle had been nearly silent, each of them wrapped in their own thoughts.

She hadn’t known what to say after what he’d offered her.

Not after the way he’d looked at her with that solemn understanding.

She’d stared at the path ahead, reins loose in her hands, the rhythm of the horse beneath her the only thing grounding her.

And still, through the tangle of emotions inside her, one thing had shone through—gratitude.

She was immensely grateful to Caithness for his patience, his clarity and the gentleness with which he had handed her the choice for her own future.

And yet, her head was spinning, gratitude warring with guilt.

Hope twisted into confusion. She didn’t know what to make of any of it.

Tav hadn’t spoken to her in days. Her heart felt like it was still caught in his hands, whether he wanted it or not.

And now another man who was good, kind and honorable, had given her the one thing she never expected.

It felt like the ground was shifting beneath her, and she didn’t know which way to lean.

She rose and crossed to the bell cord, pulling it gently. Minutes later, Paisley arrived, her smile bright but measured.

"Me lady?"

Agnes managed a nod. "Could ye draw me a bath?"

"Of course. Right away."

As the door shut, Agnes stared out the window, her reflection faint in the glass. She didn’t know what would come next, but she knew that she couldn’t go back to pretending.

A while later, Agnes sank low into the bath with a sigh that rippled the surface, the warm water licking up to her shoulders like a balm.

Her hair was pinned atop her head in a loose coil, and tendrils had already begun to fall, curling damply against her cheeks.

The heat soaked into her bones, easing the ache from her back and dulling the quiet throb in her thighs.

Even her heart, still tangled in the knot Tav had left behind, seemed to slow its frantic pace.

Paisley knelt nearby, dropping one final scoop of fragrant lavender salts into the steaming tub. "There," she said with a little nod of satisfaction. "That should help ye feel better."

Agnes snorted softly. "I have felt better."

Paisley arched a brow. "Well, ye make it look elegant."

That drew a small, but real laugh out of her. Agnes let her head tip back against the curved edge of the tub, closing her eyes for a long breath.

"It’s been a strange few days," she murmured. "Strange, and long, and somehow every moment was too fast and too slow."

"Aye," Paisley agreed, rising to her feet and wiping her hands on her apron. "But ye’re here now. In a warm room, with hot water, and me fer company. Could be worse."

"Much worse," Agnes agreed. "But..."

Paisley tilted her head. "But?"

Agnes opened her eyes and stared at the rising steam. "This trip has wrung me out, Paisley. There were days I didnae ken if we’d make it. Nights I wanted tae scream but had tae stay silent. And...”

She trailed off.

"And?" Paisley prompted, voice light but not unkind.

Agnes hesitated, then waved a hand vaguely. "And then emotions got... complicated."

"Oh, I see." Paisley’s eyes sparkled as she knelt by the side of the tub. "Ye’ve had quite the journey. But ye’ve left all that behind now, haven’t ye?"

Agnes blinked. "I suppose I have."

Paisley gave a nod, brushing a loose curl behind Agnes’ ear like a sister might. "Ye’re safe here now. Nay more runnin’ or lookin’ over yer shoulder. Just rest."

Agnes let out a slow breath and sank lower until the water brushed her chin. "It feels strange. Tae stop movin’. Tae just… be."

"Strange, but good," Paisley said with a small smile. She stepped toward the door. "Now, I’m goin’ tae fetch ye somethin’ tae eat afore ye faint dead away in that tub."

Agnes waved a hand vaguely. "Fine, thank ye."

"I’ll be back." With a smile and a whirl of skirts, Paisley disappeared through the door.

The room fell silent. Agnes tilted her head back again, letting the steam soak into her skin. The flicker of firelight danced on the ceiling above her. Her muscles floated loose in the water, but her thoughts tightened all over again.

Tav.

What had happened to him? The pacing, the ranting, the way he’d looked at her like he wanted to run and stay at the same time. And now? She sighed. The heat was making her sleepy. Maybe she would nap in the tub—just a little?—

The door creaked. Agnes blinked upright, her hands instantly curling around the sides of the tub. She hadn’t expected Paisley to return so soon. But it wasn’t Paisley. Tav stood in the doorway, hair damp and disheveled, his shirt rumpled, eyes wide as they landed on her in the bath.

"Christ," he said, and immediately looked away, turning sharply toward the fireplace as if it might swallow him whole. "I—Gods, I thought ye’d be dressed. I was comin’ tae apologize."

Agnes stared at him. Her entire body flushed, and not just from the heat.

"Tav," she said, very slowly. "What are ye daeing in me chambers while I’m bathing?"

"I didnae think— I mean, I thought—" He turned halfway, then turned back, clearly battling himself.

Agnes let out a laugh, half flustered, half amused. "Well, ye’ve seen me now. Might as well finish yer apology."

He groaned softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I’m sorry. Truly. Fer last time we spoke. I was... out o’ me mind. I didnae mean tae snap at ye. Or make ye feel unwelcome."

Agnes’s expression softened slightly. "Then why did ye?"

Tav stepped forward, just enough to be seen from the corner of her eye.

His voice dropped. "Because I’m scared, Agnes.

And when I’m scared, I get sharp. That’s nay excuse, but it’s the truth.

And the idea o’ losin’ ye—or seein’ ye in danger again—it makes me thoughts twist up. I should’ve said that."

She didn’t answer right away. The bathwater lapped gently around her as the fire cracked nearby. Tav shifted, awkward and fidgeting, as though debating whether to bolt entirely. Then they heard it. Footsteps. From the corridor.

Agnes’s eyes widened in alarm. "Paisley."

Tav paled.

Agnes pointed sharply toward the bed. "Under. Now."

"What?"

"Go!"

He didn’t argue again. Just scrambled, as silently as possible, to duck beneath the bed. His boot caught on the edge of the frame with a thud, and he barely muffled a curse.

Agnes splashed deliberately as the door opened. Paisley re-entered, holding a tray.

"Found some fresh bread and cheese," she announced. "And some little sweet tarts ye must try."

Agnes smiled brightly. "Saints bless ye. I’m starved."

Paisley set the tray down near the fire and turned. "Ye feelin’ better?"

"Much," Agnes said truthfully, shifting a bit in the tub to avoid glancing toward the bed. "The water helped."

Paisley nodded. "Good. Stay in as long as ye like."

"I think I will."

"Right, I’ll leave ye tae it then. If ye need me, I’ll be within hearin’." With that, she swept from the room once more.

"Ye can come out now," she said, voice half-laughing.

There was a beat of silence. Then Tav’s voice, muffled and miserable, "I think I bruised me rib again."

Agnes clapped a hand over her mouth.

He emerged slowly, covered in dust, hair askew, looking thoroughly affronted. "That was—" he began.

"Deserved," she said primly.

He rolled his eyes but smiled faintly. Then, his expression grew more serious.

"I really am sorry, Agnes. Fer this morning. Fer last night. Fer all o’ it."

Her gaze softened. "I forgive ye. But next time—maybe knock first."

He gave a sheepish nod. "Lesson learned."

They looked at each other for a moment, something quiet passing between them. Then Tav straightened.

"I’ll let ye get back tae... nae drownin’."

Agnes smirked. "I’ll try."

And then he was gone, leaving behind a faint trail of dust and a heartbeat that would take a while yet to settle. She leaned back in the bath, smiling for real.

The door clicked softly behind him, and silence settled once more. Agnes let the warmth cradle her, her smile lingering even as her eyes fluttered shut. For the first time in days, her chest didn’t ache quite so sharply. Her limbs floated weightless. The air still smelled of lavender and woodsmoke.

But slowly, the quiet crept back in. The smile dimmed, curling at the edges. Doubt returned steadily, like a tide rolling in to reclaim what it had momentarily spared.

Her mind remained tangled, her heart pacing even as her body sat still. Tav had spoken to her. Finally, he had apologized and smiled like he used to when they were travelling. And still, she didn’t know what to make of it.

She rose when the water began to cool, wrapping herself in a robe and standing for a long moment at the hearth, letting the fire chase the damp from her limbs.

Outside, the light had dipped lower, softening into evening.

Shadows stretched across the floor. The bath should have soothed her.

Instead, her thoughts churned harder, louder, crashing against each other like waves with no shore to break upon.

Caithness. His words from the picnic wouldn’t leave her. They pressed in against her chest, soft as a whisper but so heavy. The choice he’d offered her so gently, the way he’d made space for her feelings even when they weren’t in his favor.

And that, somehow, made it harder. Because now, she had to reckon with what that freedom might cost. If she walked away from the match, there was no promise the alliance would hold. No safety net for her clan. She could lose him and risk her people losing everything.

She dressed slowly and brushed her hair back into a loose braid with shaking fingers. Her lips were dry. She poured herself a cup of water, sipped, and set it down. Then she paced the length of the room, again and again.

The silence Tav had buried her under was too much. The yearning in her chest refused to quiet or settle. And Caithness deserved someone steady. Not a woman walking in circles, heart cleaved open in two.

She caught sight of herself in the glass as she passed the window. A ghost of a woman trying to make sense of feelings that didn’t fit neatly into boxes of loyalty or love.

She had to speak to Tav. Her feet moved without asking permission, carrying her out into the corridor, down the long, quiet hall lit with flickering sconces. She paused at his door. Her hand hovered above the wood, fingers trembling. Then, she knocked and the door opened.

Tav stood there, hair damp and rumpled, his shirt wrinkled, his face drawn. His eyes were still shadowed with too many thoughts, too many nights spent turning over regrets.

Agnes swallowed. "Can I come in?"

He didn’t speak right away. Just looked at her. Then he nodded once, stepping aside. "Aye. As much as I ken we shouldnae talk... I want tae talk wi’ ye."

She stepped inside. The room was dim, lit only by the glow of the fire. His bed was unmade. A cup sat half-drunk on the table. The windows were fogged over with the press of night. It felt like time had stilled in his room, like he’d been stuck in that same moment since she had left.

Agnes turned to face him. "I came tae this castle because it was me duty. Because I thought... it was the right thing."

Tav stood still, arms loosely at his sides. "Me duty ended the moment I brought ye here safely."

Her breath hitched, but she pushed forward. "Daes that duty also include watchin’ me get married?"

Something in his expression broke. He didn’t speak at first. Just moved slowly, like the motion cost him something, and sat down on the edge of his bed. His hands braced against his knees as he bowed his head.

"If it were up tae me," he said, voice low and breaking, "this weddin' would never take place."

He gave a small shrug, but it carried a weight of loss that left her breathless.

It was the quiet surrender of someone who had already let go of something they never truly believed they could keep.

It was in the slump of his shoulders, in the way his eyes refused to meet hers for more than a heartbeat.

As if saying it aloud had cost him something he couldn't get back.

It made her chest tighten, made her want to reach for him and push the words back into his mouth.

"But I cannae force ye.” He continued. “I cannae ask ye tae give up what yer faither planned, or go against his wishes or what the world expects. Even if every part o' me has already chosen ye. Long ago."

She felt the floor sway beneath her, and her hands curled into fists. She didn’t know when but she stepped toward him, as if pulled.

"Tav," she whispered.

She dropped to her knees before him, hands trembling as she reached up to touch his face. Her palms framed his cheeks. His skin was warm. He didn’t move.

Their eyes locked and the space grew smaller, like the air itself was urging them forward. Agnes’s body moved before her mind could catch up, pulled, like a thread too tightly wound finally giving way.

They met halfway and their lips found each other in the silence, not with desperation, but with aching, tentative reverence.

His hand found her waist. Hers moved to the back of his neck, into the rough silk of his hair.

She felt the smallest tremble in his breath, the way his lips hesitated like he didn’t quite believe this was real.

It was heaven.