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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

T hey broke apart, foreheads still touching, her lips still tingling. The world came back in pieces but Agnes kept her eyes closed.

His breath was warm against her cheek. Steady. She could feel him, real and solid. The space between them had vanished.

Agnes pulled back first. Just enough for her gaze to find his. God, the way he looked at her, like he’d been waiting years.

A beat passed. Then another.

And suddenly, she remembered everything.

The engagement. The castle. Caithness, with his quiet mercy and his impossible offer. Her father’s expectations. Her clan. The price of even entertaining this.

“I—” she choked out. “I cannae?—”

She stepped back, one hand rising between them like a barrier, fingers brushing her own mouth like she could erase it. “I have tae go.”

“Agnes—”

But she was already turning.

“I have tae go,” she said again, firmer this time, though her voice still cracked like thin glass.

Her boots were unsteady on the stone as she turned from the parapet, half-expecting him to follow.

He didn’t. Dead quiet followed her down the corridor.

She walked in a haze and, by the time she reached her room, she felt drunk.

From Tav, from the kiss. From her own thoughts, each one louder and more slippery than the last. Her pulse hadn’t calmed. Her knees had gone hollow, as if whatever spine she’d borrowed in his presence had been left behind with him.

She pressed her back to the door as it closed, the soft thud of the wood loud in the hush. Her fingers lifted to her lips again.

What have I done?

The kiss still echoed through her. It was everywhere. Her lips, her throat, the hollow between her ribs. She pressed her fingers to her mouth and felt the tremble there. Her body hadn’t caught up yet. Her thoughts were a mess, looping and stuttering like a wheel caught in mud.

She shoved off the door and crossed the room, steps aimless, one arm wrapped around her middle like she could hold herself together if she just kept squeezing hard enough.

The writing desk sat in the corner, undisturbed. She hadn’t touched it since she had arrived in the castle. Agnes slowly sank into the chair, her skirts spilling around her like water. Her hands found the empty page waiting for her. She was meant to write to Constance. She’d promised.

Her fingers hovered over the parchment. What would she even say? She stared at the blank paper, willing the words to come. But all she could hear was Tav’s voice—soft and rough and too close to her ear.

All she could feel was his mouth.

“Dear Constance,” she whispered aloud, and the words felt like a stranger’s. “I’ve arrived safely. The castle is cold, and the windows look north, and I kissed the man I was meant tae forget?—”

She stopped and let out a soft, humorless laugh. Ink hadn’t even touched the page, but her throat burned, thick with everything she wanted to say to her sister and couldn’t. The laugh didn’t even sound like her. It was too brittle, too hollow.

Agnes stared at the blank parchment as if it should have offered the words she couldn’t summon.

Her hand hovered above it for a bit longer, then she shoved the inkwell aside.

Not harshly, but with enough force that it scraped faintly against the wood.

She hadn’t cried yet, but it was coming.

She could feel it building in the back of her mouth, coiling like a wave waiting to break.

She swallowed hard, the motion thick and painful, and told herself she could keep it down.

Just a little longer. Just until she could breathe again.

A knock came. Soft.

Agnes straightened too fast. Her heart slammed once in her chest, like a hammer against glass.

“Aye?”

The door cracked open. Paisley peeked in, holding a folded gown over one arm. Her usual gentle smile was in place.

"Forgive me, me lady. I thought ye might want tae change tae go to bed,” she paused delicately.

Agnes blinked. The morning felt like it had been days ago.

She smoothed the edge of the desk with her palm.

“Thank ye,” she said quietly.

Paisley stepped closer, her voice still warm. “I can fetch a wash basin too, if ye like. Or help ye intae something warmer.”

Agnes hesitated. She didn’t know what she needed. She didn’t know what she was anymore.

“I…” She looked up, caught Paisley’s gaze. “Can I ask ye something?”

Paisley tilted her head. “O’ course.”

Agnes took a breath and hesitated for a moment. Her fingers worried the edge of her sleeve, twisting the fabric between them. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d said what she really felt. Not since she had started feeling that way about Tav.

“Can I trust ye?” she asked softly.

Paisley blinked, but her answer came without pause. “Aye, me lady. With anything.”

The words landed gently, and something inside Agnes shifted.

She looked down, then back at her, and something about Paisley’s steadiness gave her courage.

A lifeline, almost. She'd spent so many weeks carrying the weight of expectations alone that to hear someone say she wasn’t alone in it felt like a relief so sharp it bordered on pain.

“It’s the laird,” she said finally. “I… I dinnae ken what I’m meant tae feel.”

Paisley moved to sit on the edge of the hearth, folding her hands neatly in her lap. She said nothing, only waited.

Agnes stood, pacing a few short steps across the rug before turning back. The fire behind Paisley popped gently, casting flickering light on the stones. Agnes felt her skin warm from it, though her insides were colder than ever.

“He’s good. He is. Kind in a way I didnae expect. He offered me a choice, and I believe he meant it. He’s never tried tae trap me. And he listens. He truly listens, without judgment. That should matter, shouldnae it?”

Paisley gave a small nod, encouraging.

“But?”

Agnes closed her eyes for a moment. “But I cannae feel what I should. Or maybe I dae, but it’s nae loud enough. Nae like…” Her voice trailed off, too afraid to carry the rest. Her heart finished the sentence without her permission.

“It’s like standing on solid ground,” Agnes murmured. “With Laird Caithness. Safe. Predictable. But I’m nae sure if love is supposed tae feel like this.”

Her voice faltered again. She turned away, arms wrapped around herself.

“I always thought love was supposed tae make me feel like I’m on the edge o’ something.

A cliff maybe. I always imagined it would make me feel alive.

Like every moment could be the last, and that somehow would make it more real. "

Paisley didn’t smile, but her voice was warm. “There’s nay shame in that.”

Agnes sat back down. Her fingers found her braid and began to untwist it out of habit, pulling at the strands as if she could unravel her own thoughts too. The firelight caught the red in her hair, glinting as her fingers moved.

“I ken I have a duty. I dae. I’ve never forgotten that. And I ken how much depends on this match. How much me faither needs this alliance. How many lives it could save in winter.”

Paisley tilted her head. “Dae ye want tae ken why it means so much tae the laird how ye feel?”

Agnes looked up, surprised. “Ye ken?”

“Aye,” Paisley said. “Everyone who serves in this house kens. He is a good laird tae us, and we worry about him.” She adjusted the sleeves of her apron before continuing.

“Laird Caithness lost his faither when he was only fifteen. The whole weight o’ the clan fell on his shoulders overnight.

His maither was still alive then, but her grief never really lifted. ”

Agnes’s lips parted slightly. “

“He never speaks o’ it openly,” Paisley said.

“But he loved them both fiercely. His maither especially. And even after the old laird was gone, she would speak o’ him with such fondness.

Said she’d never stopped loving him. That kind o’ bond left a mark on Caithness.

It made him crave that same kind o’ loyalty and devotion.

The sort that endures through grief and loss and time. ”

Agnes looked at the fire. It crackled softly, the light catching the edges of the basin Paisley had left near the coals. The steam was long gone, the water cooled, but the room still held the scent of lavender.

“He wants that too,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Paisley nodded. “He wants someone who will stand beside him. Nae out of simple duty, but out of choice. Loyalty. Love. The kind that roots itself deep and doesnae waver.”

That word stung.

Agnes looked down at her hands. “But I dinnae ken if I can give that.”

“Because ye dinnae love him?”

Agnes nodded slowly. “Because when I came here it was a simple duty, and kenning how he’s treating me, I feel like I dinnae deserve it. Like I’m nae what he deserves because I’m the one who sees him as an alliance..."

Paisley’s gaze didn’t waver. “Ye’re nae the only one torn between heart and duty, me lady. But sometimes, the hardest part is seein’ which path leads tae peace and which one ye’ll regret. Sometimes the thing that burns brightest is the thing that leaves the deepest scar.”

Agnes blinked fast. The ache behind her eyes was back. “I wish someone could just tell me what the right thing is. Just once. Take it out of me hands.”

Paisley reached out and touched her hand, briefly. “Only ye can ken that. But whatever ye choose, ye must live with it. So choose something ye can live with and forgive yerself fer what ye cannae.”

Agnes squeezed her eyes shut. Her throat tightened. For a moment, neither of them said anything.

“Thank ye,” Agnes nodded, unable to say more.

Her hand stayed resting on the table long after Paisley had gone.

The fire had burned low, shadows growing long on the floorboards, crawling up the walls like dark fingers stretching toward her.

She stared at the shifting shadows, her gaze unfocused, letting her thoughts churn in silence.

She drifted toward the window and rested her palms on the cool stone sill.

The glass was fogged slightly from the warmth of the room meeting the night outside. She leaned in.

The world outside continued, untouched by the storm inside her. Her hands tightened slightly on the stone, as if the chill might ground her. As if stillness might become a kind of strength.

She pressed her fingers to the sill, cold stone meeting warmer skin. She finally knew what she had to do. Tav had kissed her like she was the only thing in the world he wanted. And that was exactly the problem.

Because he would never be hers to keep in a way that was acceptable.

And if she let herself believe otherwise, she would unravel every thread of what her father had fought for, of what the Kerr name still stood for.

She had to protect that. Even if it hurt.

Even if it meant giving herself away. Agnes turned from the window.

Her eyes stung, but she did not cry. There would be time for tears later.

She had to go find Tav and tell him the truth.