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She looked up at the crowd, at where Evander once stood, but he was gone. In his place were random people who continued to sway to the music. She furrowed her brow. Where had he gone?

“I am afraid I must interrupt this dance,” his voice suddenly called from the other side.

Keira turned around and found him standing before her, his jaw still clenched in anger.

“Evander,” she murmured, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Come with me,” he grunted.

Arthur still had the same calm smile on his face.

“I dinnae?—”

“I said, come with me,” Evander repeated and reached for her arm.

Keira dropped her hands from Arthur’s neck and let Evander drag her through the room, away from people and toward the courtyard, where the moon cast an incandescent glow on the lush green grass.

“What are ye doing?” he asked once he let her go.

“Dancing. ‘Tis a thing people do when?—”

“Dinna play that game with me now, Keira.”

“I am nae,” Keira huffed. “’Twas always the plan, was it nae? Ye said ye can help me find a husband at the cèilidh. I am doing it now—finding a husband.”

“That was before,” Evander argued.

“Before what?”

He swallowed, the words stuck in his throat, refusing to come out.

“Ye see, that is why I have to find a husband and get out of here as soon as possible,” Keira whispered.

She turned on her heel and made to walk back into the Great Hall. But before she could take two steps away from him, he reached for her wrist, halting her again.

“Ye cannae marry another man, Keira.”

She turned back to him, a blank look on her face. “And why should I nae?”

“Because ye’re mine.”

“I am nae yers.”

“Ye are.”

“Nay, I’m nae. Because if I were yers, ye would have done something about it all these days. Ye want me, but ye dinnae want to marry me. In what universe is that supposed to work?”

“Ach.” He moved closer to her. “I’m doing something about it now.”

Keira narrowed her eyes at him. “What? Ye plan to claim me?”

Evander’s eyes drifted to her lips and then back to her face, his chest heaving. “If that is what it is going to take.”

“And if I refuse, what will ye do?”

“Ye want to see what I’ll do?” Evander asked, not oblivious to the change in the atmosphere.

“Why dinnae ye show me?”

He reached for her, but his hand paused midair. He withdrew immediately.

Keira nodded. “That is what I thought.”

She turned around and resumed her walk back to the Great Hall. But then she felt it again—his hand on her wrist.

He spun her around, yanked her toward him—her free hand landing on his chest—and her lips crashing into his. They remained in that position for what seemed like an eternity.

Then, his lips began to move against hers, full of unquenchable hunger. One hand curled around her neck, and the other grabbed her waist and pulled her even closer to him.

The kiss was charged and filled with tension and more. It felt like they both poured days of pent-up frustration right into that kiss, completely disregarding anything around them.

Suddenly, they heard a clap, and they froze, their lips still locked… until they slowly pulled back.

Keira swallowed and turned in the direction of the sound. Arthur stood a few yards before them, still slapping his hands. Then, she noticed it—the group of people standing right behind him.

She felt her blood run cold.

“What the—” She tensed up, words immediately failing her.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” Arthur drawled, a mischievous smile spreading across his face.

Evander exchanged a confused look with Keira as more people joined them in the courtyard.

“Congratulations on what?” he asked

“Yer betrothal, of course,” Arthur responded.

Keira felt her breath hitch.

Nay.

“We all must congratulate Lady Blythe on getting engaged to the Laird,” Arthur added, before turning around to the growing crowd behind him. “Do we nae?”

“Congratulations.”

The word spread through the crowd like ants on a hill. Keira watched them all, at first reluctant with their congratulations. Then, slowly, the mild murmurs turned into loud cheers and then a flurry of claps all around.

She stared at the crowd, feeling her skin crawl and her heart pound in her chest. As the claps went on, so did the dread that had seized her chest.

Nay. Nay. This isnae happening.

She turned to Evander, who had the same shocked look on his face, and she could see it beneath the shock and the frustration—anger.

Pure, unadulterated anger.

“Exactly,” he started to say, his voice rising above the din. “We held this cèilidh to announce our wedding. It shall be tomorrow.”

Another resounding cheer rippled through the crowd, but Keira felt like she was dying. Her eyes flitted from Evander to Arthur—who was still clapping, a victorious smile on his face—to the faces behind him, and then back to Evander.

It took everything in her not to claw at her throat. She was unable to breathe.

Evander seemed to notice her panic a little too late. “Keira?—”

Before he could reach for her, she turned on her heels, her eyes trained on the ground as she ran toward the castle. She blinked back tears as she burst through the crowd and their incessant cheers.

“Keira!” she could hear Evander call behind her again, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.

Not when she had just been dealt the worst blow of her life.