He studied her for a long moment. Her eyes betrayed her gratitude. A flush was slowly taking over her cheeks. The thanks were genuine, and that seemed to embarrass her.
“Ye earned it,” he finally said.
“Earned it?” Amelia replied, her eyes widening as if she couldn’t quite believe it.
“Aye. Ye stopped tryin’ to flee every second hour.”
She laughed, looking away from him, the corner of her mouth tugging up into an unwilling smile. “That was hardly strategic.”
“It was exhaustin’,” he said, only partially jokin’.
“Ach, ye’re tellin’ me,” she sighed, stepping up to the tiny window in the room.
As she surveyed the tree line, a strand of hair slipped from its place. He reached forward, carefully tucking it away. It wasn’t until her breath hitched that he realized what he was doing and the effect it was having on her.
“If ye wished to leave,” he said, positioning himself behind her and fixing his gaze on the tree line as well, “ye’d have done it already.” He paused, smiling though he knew she couldn’t see it. “But perhaps ye cannae stand bein’ away from me.”
His arrogance was deliberate. He enjoyed teasing. He enjoyed challenging.
“I might simply be waitin’ for better weather,” she countered, the irony of the beautiful day outside not lost on him.
“Me weather is excellent,” he replied smoothly, moving in closer, his mouth hovering near her ear. “Sun when required. Storms only when circumstances demand it.”
She stepped to the side, looking him up and down before rolling her eyes. As she turned back to the window, the tip of her nose pink, she asked, “Do ye rehearse these lines alone?”
He followed her, leaning in once more, even closer now. “Only the successful ones.”
The timber of his voice seemed to rush over her like a rogue wave. Her posture grew straighter, a little noise slipping past her lips. The humor melted away.
“Ye were never a prisoner here, Amelia,” he said seriously, barely above a whisper.
She swallowed audibly before replying quietly, “Then stop speakin’ like I’ll leave.”
“Then stop speakin’ like ye’re plannin’ to,” he said before standing up. Still watching the landscape, he added with a hint of playful teasing, “Fraser weather rarely favors those who run.”
She tilted her body fully toward him. A mix of emotions played in her grey-green irises. He caught what she wanted to keep hidden, though. He saw the warmth, the way she was charmed.
“I’ll be goin’ to the gardens,” he said, taking a measured step back. “Personally, I prefer to enjoy the good weather rather than bein’ confined to a storeroom.”
As Darragh left, he felt Amelia’s eyes on his retreating form. When he was several long strides away, he heard her curse. She was trying to keep herself quiet, but it had carried on anyway.
I ken exactly what ye mean, lass.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Pretendin’ I daenae enjoy havin’ him close is pointless.
Amelia walked through the corridor with her head held high. She would finish with the linens before supper. Besides, it would be best to wait for all of them to be delivered.
“And the weatherisquite nice,” she muttered to a particularly judgmental-looking painting.
In truth, she couldn’t deny herself time with him. She was going to leave. Why shouldn’t she let herself indulge these inexplicable desires while she was still here?
The sunlight caressed her cheeks as soon as she stepped out of the castle. Once her eyes adjusted to the brightness, she found Darragh easily. He was standing near the tree line, his face tilted up toward the sky.
As she approached him, she took the opportunity to admire his profile. Her fingers ached to trace the sharp line of his chin—a longing so deep she felt it physically settled in her chest when she remembered the way his lips had felt against hers.
“I dinnae think ye’d come,” Darragh said when he sensed her approach.
