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E vander returned to his room, his shirt still clinging to his chest. The cold evening breeze was just beginning to stream into the room, and a wave of mild relief swept over his body.

For some reason, a part of him wished that Keira had appreciated the work he’d done in the passageway more.

Dinnae be ridiculous. Ye werenae doing it for her, in the first place.

But as the thought lingered, he knew he was only deceiving himself and no one else. He had done it for her. At least part of him had.

Angry questions taunted him as he moved about his room, his eyes narrowed as he searched for fresh clothes.

He took off his shirt and let it drop to the floor. Then, he moved to the wardrobe in the corner, yanked out clean clothes, and placed them on his bed.

He needed to take a bath. No one needed to tell him that. But for now, he would relax and luxuriate in the cold water if that was all he could afford.

He cleared his throat and took off his trousers, the cold air biting his calves and thighs. Standing bare before the bed, he grabbed his trousers and reached into the left pocket. Soon, he pulled it out—the purple vial Keira had given him earlier.

“‘Tis a bathing oil. For ye.”

He could still remember how soft her voice had grown when she handed it to him.

Why would she give him some bathing oil in the first place? Did she also feel what he felt? Was she worth pursuing, the widow?

He tightened his grip on the vial and sighed again.

A bleat jerked him out of his thoughts, and the baby goat crawled out from underneath his bed. He looked down at it, feeling a pang of worry in his chest.

“Ye cannae be that comfortable here, can ye? Ye need grass and the fields.”

He swallowed and stared at the goat, who seemed to stare back at him for a minute. Evander would find a home for it tomorrow. He was too tired to do anything else today.

The thought alone made the back of his arms ache.

He walked into the bathing chamber, where a fresh bath waited for him.

The cold sensation traveled from his feet to his head as he gently lowered himself into the water. Soon, his body was completely submerged, but his head and the upper part of his chest stayed above. He leaned back against the edge and closed his eyes.

Think about anything else. Anything except her.

Her.

And just like that, the memories returned. Everything grew vivid, and he could still feel and see it. The scent of herbs in the apothecary, the taste of her, the way she had arched into him.

Why could he not stop thinking about her? Why her?

It did not matter. He had already informed her about the cèilidh. He had also promised to help her find a husband, and he planned to stick to that promise, no matter how long it took.

It was better for them, and now was not the time to overcomplicate things.

How about one night together?

The thought had crept into his unsuspecting mind rather bizarrely, and now he could not stop mulling it over. What if he spent one night with her? Part of him wondered if she would refuse.

She cannae, can she?

He could feel it in the way she had kissed him back. He could picture her face. Her dark brown hair and how her warm hazel eyes had stared back at him. He could practically see the flush that had crept across her face right after the kiss.

Something about her face stirred something inside him. Something he felt under the water.

For the love of God.

Now was not the time to get aroused.

As if God listened to his prayers and wanted to make life even more difficult for him, a knock sounded at the door.

“Who is it?”

His eyes scanned the room, looking for something. A pillow, a piece of wood—something he could use to cover himself.

“Rory,” a voice called back from the other side of the door.

“Damn it,” he whispered and rose from the water.

But instead of ebbing, his arousal grew even more. And the last thing he needed was a confrontation with his man-at-arms.

He grabbed his bedsheet and covered the space between his navel and knees. Droplets of water followed his footsteps as he hurried to the door and gently pulled it open, one hand tightly gripping the knob and the other holding the bedsheet firmly in place.

Rory, who seemed to catch on with the water dripping down his body, opened his mouth to speak, but the words refused to come out.

“Stand here for longer and we might just witness the sunrise,” Evander prompted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I apologize, M’Laird. I came to offer ye a bathing oil. I understand the maid had cleared the ones in the bathing chamber, and I ken how particular ye are about the?—”

“Where is it?”

“Where is what?”

“The bathing oil, of course.”

“Aye, of course,” Rory muttered, his voice thick with embarrassment.

He handed the vial to Evander, who had to release the doorknob to grab it.

“Will that be all?” Evander asked.

Rory nodded. “I will leave ye to it, M’Laird.”

Evander narrowed his eyes at him. “Aye, I would like that, thank ye very much.”

Rory nodded and walked away.

Evander shut the door behind him and flung the sheets across the bed.

She was doing this to him. Having to answer the door with a raging manhood because he couldn’t stop thinking of her.

Her.

He must find her a husband as soon as possible. This could simply not continue. His grip on the vial tightened as he went back to the bathing chamber. He had never needed cold water more than ever.

As he lowered himself into the water once again, another wave of anger crashed into him, like water against a cliff. Except this time, he was not thinking about her and what she was putting him through. He was thinking about his decision.

It had been so easy to come to that conclusion in his head.

Finding her a husband.

That would solve everything. It would get rid of all the lingering glances and the tension that had grown even thicker in the past few days. But it also meant she would be with another man.

His grip tightened even further on the vial Rory had just handed to him as he spiraled deeper into the thought.

With. Another. Man.

He hated that. He hated it so much that he couldn’t tell when the vial had shattered into several pieces. The scent of smoky and lavender bathing oils filled his nostrils as he opened his hand. The oil trickled down his palm, glistening in the nearby candlelight.

“Damn ye,” he growled under his breath.

No woman had ever made him feel like this. None at all. And that fact alone made him even more upset. The way she blushed when she spoke, the way she always stood up to him and remained firm in her convictions.

The last thing Keira was, was a typical widow.

Nothing about that woman was typical, and the thought of giving her to another man made his stomach twist in discomfort despite the cold water submerging his body.

He dunked his head under the water, shutting out the world. The sky had completely darkened by now, and the cold night air drifting from the window sill bit at his skin.

He just had to remain in the tub long enough for his arousal to go away—no matter how long that took.

Breakfast was rarely a grand affair in the castle before the Laird arrived. This was because Keira preferred eating in her room, and when she was done, she would move to the garden and tend to her flowers.

However, since Evander arrived, breakfast had become a bigger event. Every day, the table would be spread with bread, cheese, honey, and sometimes bannocks for the children, who were already interested in eating some of the sweets.

While she was not exactly keen on it, she had tried her best to eat in the dining hall ever since.

A part of her did that just to make sure that she was familiar with most of the strangers who had managed to find their way into her home.

The other part did it just to keep an eye on Evander and make sure he didn’t make any plans during breakfast that she would not be made aware of.

She was determined not to learn the same lesson twice.

However, today, as she finished the last of her bread and discussed matters with Lesley, she couldn’t help but notice Evander’s absence. In the middle of the breakfast, part of her kept thinking that he was going to join them sooner or later. But he didn’t.

Several thoughts raced through her head as the maids began to clear the table of the used plates and cups.

Had he been so disgusted by her that he refused to join her for breakfast? Was he still thinking about the kiss, and had he decided to stay away from her?

But she thought he had put all of that behind him when he informed her about the cèilidh and promised to help her find a husband. Had he slept on it and thought it was a terrible idea, and that the best thing to do would be to avoid her altogether?

She turned to one of the maids who was clearing the cutlery. “Where’s the Laird?”

The maid swallowed. “He left after eating his breakfast.”

Keira narrowed her eyes. “He already ate his breakfast?”

“Aye, M’Lady,” the maid responded.

Keira shook her head. “We may nae be on the best of terms, but it shouldnae stop us from having at least breakfast and supper together, should it?” she asked, turning to Lesley, who was sipping from a cup of water.

“Aye,” Lesley uttered after downing the water. “I agree.”

Keira exhaled and rose from the table. “I shall go find him.”

She exited the dining hall, her mind racing with more questions.

He had just finished breakfast, and she knew from the brief moments she had spent with him so far that the last place he would be was his quarters. He was probably in the stables or the courtyard, training with his men. Wherever he was, she was determined to find him.

The cold morning mist enveloped her as she stepped out, her feet digging into the dewy grass, the cold a welcome sensation to the soles of her feet.

She hiked up the skirt of her dress and pressed her lips into a thin line, before moving across the courtyard, acknowledging the few people who stopped to greet her as they went either to the stables or the flour mill.

A sharp sound drifted to her ears, one she was rather quick to recognize. She would know a bleat from anywhere, and she quickly realized where it came from. As she moved closer, so did the realization crash harder into her. It was the same baby goat she had given to Evander.

Given .

She chuckled at how loosely she had used that term.

She hurried past the training men and toward the castle, her eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. The bleat grew louder, and she felt the sun rays kiss her face.

She stopped short as she came to the other side of the castle.

Crouched low before her just a few yards away, in nothing but a pair of trousers that hung loosely on his hips, was Evander.

The sun had only begun to rise, spilling a golden hue across the courtyard. The hue reflected well on Evander’s skin, more than she would have liked to admit.

She watched him drive a wooden post into the ground—what seemed to be the third post, as her eyes quickly landed on the first two. Then, her eyes flicked to the animal that rested beside him as he worked.

The goat.

His back still turned to her, he paused his work for the briefest of moments and turned to the goat. Then, he said something she couldn’t understand or hear clearly unless she moved closer.

But she was close enough, and the last thing she wanted to do was alert him of her presence.

The goat nuzzled him, wobbling on its slim legs. There was a strange gentleness in the way he worked, in the way he nailed the wooden planks to the posts to firmly secure them in place.

It was hard for her to believe. This man, who had managed to make her life a living hell ever since he took her castle, who she had thought had no mercy, had a gentle side.

This was the last thing she thought he would be doing with the goat. Or for the goat, rather. She could tell just from the size of whatever it was he was building that it was going to be a home for the goat.

She moved even closer and continued to listen as attentively as she possibly could. Then and only then did she properly hear him, even though his words were punctuated by the soft bleats of the baby goat.