“Cat.”
Her pulse fluttered instantly.
Malcolm stood a little farther down the corridor, half-shadowed against the stone wall. He had removed his sword belt after supper, though the dark green of his coat and the tartanbreacan, worn as a sash across his chest, still suited him unfairly well. His broad shoulders nearly filled the narrow passage.
He was watching her with that same intense look that had unsettled her all evening.
A smile tugged faintly at her lips as she approached him. “There ye are. I was beginning tae think yer new ally had stolen ye away entirely.”
“Funny. I thought the same about ye,” he muttered dryly, though his mouth twitched.
She stopped before him, close enough to feel the warmth coming off his body, tilting her head back to meet his shadowed eyes.
For a moment neither of them spoke, but the air seemed to thicken around them.
Then Malcolm folded his arms across his chest and asked, with suspicious casualness, “So. Did ye enjoy Kenneth Forbes’s company at supper?”
Catriona blinked once. Then she nearly laughed, only just managing to stifle it.
“Och,” she said softly, a teasing edge to her voice, “isthatwhat’s troubling ye?”
His brows drew together immediately. “Naethin’s troublin’ me.”
“Aye, of course nae.” Her smile widened slightly. “And I suppose ye were glowerin’ across the supper table all evenin’ purely by coincidence?”
“I wasnae glowerin’.”
“Malcolm Gordon,” she said, fighting laughter now, “ye looked ready tae challenge the poor man tae a duel over the roast venison.”
His jaw tightened, which only confirmed her suspicions further.
“He was flirtin’ with ye.”
The blunt honesty of it startled her enough that her amusement softened. “Aye,” she admitted gently. “He was.”
Malcolm looked away briefly, rubbing a hand along his cleanshaven jaw.
“I ken Kenneth,” he muttered. “He enjoys pretty women and hearin’ himself speak.”
Catriona tilted her head to one side. “Is that meant tae reassure me?”
His eyes flicked back to hers. “Nay,” he admitted.
The quiet possessiveness beneath the words sent warmth curling through her chest.
She stepped a little closer. “Well then, if it eases yer mind any, Laird Kenneth seems perfectly pleasant…”
Malcolm’s expression darkened immediately.
“…but he isnae the man I’m interested in impressin’.”
Silence settled between them. Malcolm simply stared at her. And though his expression barely shifted, she saw it nonetheless—that subtle easing around his eyes, the tension loosening slightly from his shoulders.
Relief.
The realization filled her with such tenderness she almost reached for him then and there. Instead she said softly, “Ye hide yer feelings very poorly fer a man who prides himself on his control.”
A rough huff of laughter escaped him. “Only around ye it seems.”
