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CHAPTER FOUR

T hey rode in silence, but it was not peace. Not for Tav.

He could feel her back pressing on his chest, the smooth skin of her neck seemed almost inviting to him.

Her presence was not just a weight on the saddle, but a heat that crawled up the back of his neck and rooted somewhere low in his gut.

Every time the horse shifted beneath them, her thigh brushed against his.

She didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she did, but she didn’t pull away.

Neither did he. He couldn’t. Hell, he didn’t even try.

This is wrong.

The wind had picked up again, tugging at her hair until strands of it slipped forward and brushed against his jaw.

Her soft scent wrapped around him and Tav found himself tightening his grip on the reins just to give his hands something to do.

Something that wasn’t reaching forward to touch her knee, to press her closer, to do something reckless and stupid.

She'd touched him the day before, her hands had roamed on his bare skin, careful but sure. Agnes Kerr had bent over him, unafraid of his blood or the grim set of his jaw, her fingertips whispering across the wound on his ribs like she meant to memorize him. He’d watched her work, unable to tear his eyes from the curve of her brow, the focused line of her lips, the rise and fall of her chest when she breathed. God help him, he felt possessed.

The ache in his side had dulled, especially after they had stopped to camp for the night to rest, but now another kind had taken its place, sharper and hungry.

Tav shifted slightly in the saddle. A mistake.

Her body slid backward an inch, her hand accidentally pressing against his thigh.

She must’ve noticed his breath catch, because he felt her still in front of him.

One, two, three heartbeats passed before she moved again, but even that tiny pause made sweat bead at the back of his neck.

She was a fire that burned him, and she didn’t even know it.

She is off-limits.

Tav stared straight ahead, focusing on the path, the landscape, the dying light of day as it burned low over the Highland hills.

Anything but her. Anything but the memory of her fingers pressing the cloth to his side, her voice low and tight with worry.

He didn’t deserve that voice. Or the way she’d looked at him like he was more than just a blade for hire.

And yet, part of him wanted to be seen like that. Especially by her.

She didn’t know what kind of man he was. She thought he was brave, perhaps, or loyal, maybe even good. But Tav knew better. Tav knew exactly how many men he’d killed. He remembered every face. He remembered how quickly the light left the eyes.

She would look at him differently if she knew. He wasn’t meant to be touched by hands as clean as hers.

Still, he couldn’t stop the images that crept into his mind as they rode.

Her mouth. Her voice. The flush on her cheeks.

He’d never met a lass like her. Agnes was clever.

She was sharp with her words and quicker still with her eyes.

She saw too much. She asked too many questions.

And yet, she hadn’t pulled away from him even once, not when she’d seen the wound, not when he’d grunted through the pain, not when their eyes had locked and the silence had thickened between them like syrup.

She made him feel… alive.

That was the worst part.

Then, the castle appeared ahead, the dark towers rising from the moor like the teeth of some slumbering beast. The horse slowed instinctively, and Tav’s body tensed from the fresh agony of her dismounting.

Her leg brushed over his thigh as she swung it down.

For one insane second, he nearly reached for her waist, just to keep her there.

But her feet hit the ground, and the moment passed.

She stepped away, brushing her skirts down, avoiding his eyes. Her lips parted as if she might say something—but then the doors to the castle burst open.

Ewan Kerr stormed down the steps like a man built from fury and suspicion, broad-shouldered and with a scowl already set deep across his features.

“Why are ye back?” His voice cracked like a whip. “Ye should be a three day’s ride north by now.”

Tav dismounted in silence. The ache in his side flared as his boots hit the ground. He straightened, squaring his shoulders.

“We were ambushed,” he kept his voice calm.

Ewan’s eyes darted to Agnes, then to the dried blood on Tav’s side. “Ambushed?”

“All o’ our men are dead. Yer daughter was chased from the carriage,” Tav ground out, jaw tight. “I found her in the trees. She would’ve been taken?—”

“I can speak fer meself,” Agnes said quickly, stepping between them now, her voice trembling just enough to draw Tav’s gaze. “I left the carriage when the fighting began. I ran. Tav found me, and he—he took a blade fer me. He was hurt.”

Tav almost flinched. The way she said it. Like his health mattered to her.

“Go tae your room, Agnes.”

She opened her mouth again, then closed it. Her shoulders stiffened as if struck, but she didn’t argue. She cast Tav one last glance, something unreadable passing between them then lifted her chin and walked toward the house.

Tav watched her go. He shouldn’t have. But he did. He watched the sway of her hips, the way her fingers clutched her skirt, the tension in her spine. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, even now, with her father looking at him like a loaded fire gun.

“Inside,” Ewan barked. “Me study. Now.”

Tav nodded once, curt, and followed him up the steps.

As they passed the stairwell, he caught sight of her again. Agnes, at the landing, half-turned, eyes on him for only a second before she disappeared down the corridor.

He kept walking, not looking back.

Tav stood just inside the threshold of the study. The door shut with a sharp click behind him.

This was Ewan’s sanctuary of old maps and older books.

His shoulders squared despite the weight dragging down his spine.

The lamplight was dim, throwing long, crooked shadows over the shelves and along the floorboards.

The air smelled of tobacco, paper, and something bitter underneath. Disappointment, perhaps.

Ewan Kerr did not sit. He stood near the hearth, one hand braced on the mantel, the other curled into a fist at his side. His eyes, usually keen with calculation, burned instead with restrained fury. The silence stretched, brittle and tight.

Tav knew better than to speak first.

Kerr’s eyes narrowed, as he finally spoke. “This troubles me. They were organized. They had the gall tae attack on me land and nearly succeeded. What happened Tav?”

Tav stiffened slightly. “I believe they were sent. Possibly… connected tae Armstrong.”

Silence. It rang louder than any accusation. Kerr’s expression shifted. The fury didn’t vanish, but it sharpened.

“Armstrong,” Kerr repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tav gave a single nod. “I cannae be certain, but the way they moved, the way they?—”

The laird snapped, finally letting the anger crack through. “God above, Tav. Ye bring me daughter back from the brink, sayin’ she was nearly stolen from the woods, and then ye mention Armstrong? Dae ye realize what that implies?”

Tav met his gaze squarely. “Aye.”

“Then ye must also ken why that makes this worse.” Kerr stepped forward, the space between them charged. “If this—if they—have followed ye here? Have targeted her because o’ ye?”

Tav flinched. Just slightly. “That was never me intention.”

“Aye, it wasnae.” Kerr’s voice was quiet, which made it worse.

“I trusted ye.” Ewan turned now, facing him fully. His face was lined—not just with age, but with exhaustion. “Ye, of all men. And they followed her because o’ ye. They kidnapped ye once, and they want tae dae it again.”

Tav swallowed the instinct to explain. Kerr was right. At least about his connection with Clan Armstrong, who was a neighbor of Clan Kerr and definitely not an ally.

Tav had left his home and family some years before to earn money to help his blacksmith business.

He was an excellent warrior and had decided to work as a mercenary to make some good coin quickly.

He fell in with the wrong crowd and got onto the payroll of Laird Armstrong, a cruel man, who had made him do unthinkable things.

One day he decided he could do it no longer, and he got into a skirmish with Armstrong and his men while were returning from a battle, when he tried to leave them.

Kerr had seen the fighting and had intervened.

He knew of Tav’s prowess and wanted him for his own army, so after he saved him and offered him a job.

Tav had sworn him loyalty ever since. Kerr had seen that day that Tav was being taken by Armstrong but Tav had never explained all the details of his time with him.

“I did what I could,” he said simply.

“All yer men are dead.”

Tav’s jaw tightened.

“And Agnes, me daughter, was nearly taken in the woods by God knows who. She should have already been halfway tae Caithness.” The laird’s voice rose, a note of accusation sharpening with every word.

“Dae ye realize the importance o’ this mission?

Dae ye realize the danger ye have put, nae only me daughter, but our entire clan in? ”

“I didnae want tae risk her on the road again.” Tav’s voice was low, rough. “Nae until I understood what we were dealing with.”

Kerr stepped forward, the distance between them narrowing like a noose tightening.

“She was meant tae be delivered tae Laird Caithness. On time, unharmed, and under me seal. This is a political arrangement that determines the continuation o’ this clan, and I entrusted it tae ye. ”

Tav nodded again, slowly. The words sliced deeper because they were true. All of them. He hadn’t done what he set out to do. He had failed.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll see it finished.”

“And how dae I ken ye’ll succeed now when ye’ve already failed once?” The blow landed with precision—sharp, cold, deliberate. Tav stiffened.

Because it wasn’t just about this one mission. It was years of service, years of bleeding for Kerr lands, years of quiet obedience. Of loyalty unspoken and unrewarded. All of it dismissed in a single breath.

Something in him cracked.

“If ye think me unworthy of yer trust,” Tav said, his voice quieter than before, but not less steady, “ye can send me away, strip me o’ me position. But I’ve served ye without question, me laird.”

Kerr stared at him. The fire behind him crackled, casting flickers of orange across his face.

“That’s nae what I want. I just want ye tae understand, Tav,” Kerr snapped. “I want ye tae grasp how much is at stake here.”

“I dae.”

“Nae, ye dinnae understand what this marriage means tae our future. What it means fer Agnes, and fer me entire clan.” Kerr’s shoulders dropped, his voice roughening.

“Ye may nae care fer the politics o’ land and name and coin, but I dae.

I have nay other way. And I cannae protect me legacy without that girl marrying intae Caithness. ”

Tav bristled. “She’s nae a pawn.”

“Nay. She’s me daughter. And I have given her a future, one that willnae end with her because I didnae secure her place now.”

She deserves more than that.

Tav ground his teeth. The urge to say something itched on his tongue, but he swallowed it.

“She has tae arrive . On time. At Castle Mey. We cannae risk Laird Caithness thinking we are not taking this contract seriously.”

Tav stared at the floor for a long moment, his thoughts circling like a storm.

He’d failed. Aye. And that failure bled into everything—Kerr’s disappointment, the broken contract, the bruises on Agnes’s arms, the haunted look she hadn’t quite shaken.

He should’ve seen it coming. He should’ve anticipated the ambush. Should’ve kept her safer.

But instead, she’d been forced to run through the forest, and he’d been left with blood on his hands and nothing else.

“A carriage willane make it in time,” Kerr said, as if reading his thoughts. “Even if we left at first light, we’d arrive two late.”

Tav lifted his head.

“Then we dinnae use a carriage.”

Kerr blinked. “What?”

“I take her,” Tav said. “Nay guards. Nay convoy. Just the two o’ us. On horseback. We can move faster through the woods, past the marked roads. Take the riverside paths and avoid the main crossings. Nay one will see us coming.”

“That’s madness.”

“’Tis our only option.”

Ewan paced now, muttering something under his breath. Tav waited. He’d offered what he could. If it wasn’t enough, so be it.

“She’ll be vulnerable,” Kerr said finally. “Unprotected.”

“I’ll protect her.”

“Ye already failed once.”

The words hit like iron, but Tav didn’t flinch this time. He just nodded. “Aye. I did. But I won’t again.”

“And if she’s taken?”

“She willnae be.”

The laird turned, studying him. There was something harder in his gaze now, something like suspicion. But beneath it, Tav thought he saw the old man calculating again. Not just the risk, the gain as well.

“I’ll get her there,” Tav said. “Safe. Nay delays. Nay danger.”

Kerr said nothing for a long moment. Then, “Ye’ll ride taenight.”

Tav blinked. “Taenight?”

“The moon’s full. Ye’ll have light. I’ll write a letter tae the Caithness steward explaining reason there is nay convoy. Ye’ll deliver it tae him yerself.”

Tav inclined his head. “Aye.”

Kerr moved to his desk, retrieving a quill with practiced fingers. He sat at last, scribbling across the page. Tav stood silent, unmoving, waiting for the dismissal.

But Ewan didn’t dismiss him.

“I ken ye think I’m hard on ye,” Kerr said, still writing. “And maybe I am. But I trust ye more than I’ve trusted any other man under me roof. Dinnae make me regret it.”

Tav nodded slowly. His voice felt thick. “I willnae.”

When Kerr finished writing, he folded the paper and pressed his seal into the wax. He handed the letter over without looking Tav in the eye.

“Leave under the cover of dark.”

Tav took the letter. “Aye.”

“God help ye if anything happens tae her.”

Tav bowed his head slightly. “Naething will.”

Tav left the office in silence, the door closing behind him with a soft click that echoed louder than it should have.

The corridor was dark, the sconces flickering. Somewhere in the castle, the staff worked in hushed footsteps, and wind whispered at the corners of the stone. He moved without sound, his boots silent on the floor, his thoughts louder than ever.

Would she hate him for this? For dragging her into another ride through darkness and danger? Or would she understand?

He’d take her to Caithness even if it killed him.

He’d do this one thing right.