Fergus froze. The sound was like a bucket of ice water. He didn't let go of her immediately, but the moment had changed. The weight of the castle and the child settled back into the room.
He stepped back, his hands dropping to his sides.
Ye fool.
His jaw tightened. He had brought her to this castle to be a mother to Lilly, to fix the mess he'd made when he walked away a year ago. If he took her now, in the dark, it wouldn't be because he'd earned her. It would be because he was weak. He was the Laird, and a laird did things the right way.
He didn't let go of her immediately. He felt the curve of her waist under his palms and the way her breath hitched against his chest. But the moment had changed. He couldn't be both theman who wanted her and the leader this clan needed to survive the winter.
He stepped back, his hands dropping to his sides. The distance between them felt wider than the road north.
"I should go," he said. His voice was a rough scrape in the quiet of the room.
"I see. Then go, Fergus." The pain in her voice was enough to make him turn, but Margaret had turned her back to him, her hands gripping the edge of the wooden crib so hard the wood creaked. "Go back to yer walls so we can continue the civil liberties we agreed to."
He stretched a hand to her, but let it fall before it touched her shoulder. Watching her like this was like a dagger slowly turning in his heart, but he didn't answer. He couldn't.
* * *
The hall was too quiet, the air thick with a tension that had nothing to do with the morning's work.
Margaret sat in the high-backed chair by the hearth, her back aching from a night spent mostly awake. The sheets had felt like ice after Fergus walked out, and every time she had closed her eyes, she felt the ghost of his hands at her waist. She had watched the fire turn to ash, her mind replaying the moment the restraint had snapped and then, just as quickly, been forced back into place.
Lilly was wide awake in her arms, batting at the air with a restless energy Margaret couldn't match. The servants moved through the hall like they were walking on eggshells. Maisie was scrubbing a table that was already clean, her eyes darting toward the stairs every few seconds. Two lads were lifting the heavy rugs in the corner, pretending to look for dust while they exchanged panicked looks.
The problem was Fergus.
He came down the stairs with a scowl that could have curdled cream. His hair was a mess, and he was walking with a heavy, uneven hitch—because he was wearing only one boot.
"Iseabail," he barked, his voice a low growl that made the kitchen girls flinch. "Have the floors been cleared?"
"Aye, Laird," the healer replied, her face a mask of stone as she gathered her herbs. "Standard cleanin'."
Margaret watched him from the shadows. He paced the length of the hall, his jaw tight enough to crack stone. He shoved a bench aside and pulled a tapestry back with more force than was needed, his eyes sweeping the floor with increasing fury.
He did not look at her. Not once. He treated the hall like a battlefield he was losing, his movements sharp and impatient.
Ye ken exactly why ye're lookin' everywhere but here, Fergus MacKenzie.
Her fingers tightened slightly on Lilly's blanket.
‘Tis easier to fight a missin' boot than to face the woman ye almost took in the dead of the night.
She waited until he'd circled the solar twice, his frustration peaking as he leaned over a chest, shoulders corded with tension. Then she stood.
Lilly babbled a protest as Margaret crossed the floor, but she kept the bairn steady. She walked into the solar and didn't hesitate. She knew exactly where he'd been sitting when he'd finally conceded to rest. She leaned down by the heavy oak bench near the hearth and reached into the shadows.
She pulled the missing boot free and stood up.
Fergus spun around. His eyes were dark, his breathing ragged. Margaret held the boot out, the worn leather still carrying the faint scent of the stables.
"Ye left them there," she said.
He stared at the boot, then at her face for a fraction of a second before his gaze dropped to her throat. His jaw remained locked as he snatched the leather from her hand.
"I would have found them," he said, the words forced through gritted teeth.
"Eventually," she agreed.
