He shrugged slightly, though there was a tension in the movement that had not been there earlier. “Ye were never a burden.”
“Ye thought I was when we began. But to be fair, I felt the same way.”
Lachlan chuckled. “And now?”
Isabel’s throat tightened, and fearful her voice would only come out a croak, she shrugged instead.
Lachlan stepped closer, and it felt like just that small deliberate step somehow sucked the air right out of her lungs.
Reaching to lift the cloak from her shoulders, his fingers brushed lightly against the side of her neck as he eased the fabric away. The touch lingered, long enough not to be an accident. Isabel’s breath caught and she shivered despite herself, her awareness narrowing to the mere inches of space between them.
Their hands brushed as he folded the cloak and handed it to her, and still she didn’t move to put the cloak away. Could hardly even open her mouth to say thank you.
“Isabel…” Lachlan whispered, her own feelings reflected in his eyes.
A dangerous battle between should or shouldn’t.
The distance between them closed without either of them acknowledging it, until she could feel the warmth of him again, just as she had on the road. Toe to toe, hip to hip, chest to chest. She should step away, back up. And slowly, she did. But he followed, and when her back hit the wall, Lachlan lifted his hand, bracing lightly against the stone beside her shoulder.
As much as he was trapping her in, she did not feel trapped. Did not want to escape. If anything, she longed for him to lift his other hand and well and truly keep her held in place.
Her pulse quickened, heat flooding her entire body. “Lachlan?—”
He did not let her finish. His other hand slid to her waist, drawing her closer as he leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers. The softest brush of his lips that stole her breath.
This time, there was no excuse for a shared kiss. No fever. No danger pressing in from outside. Only choice. And somehow, that made it far more dangerous.
The kiss was slower than before, more deliberate, as though he meant to understand exactly what he was doing—and what it would cost. Isabel felt it in the way he held her, in the way his mouth moved against hers with a certainty that left no room for doubt.
Her hands found his leine, gripping the rough linen as though anchoring herself to something solid. Beneath her fingers, she felt the rapid beat of his pulse, matching her own. Heaven help her…
With his lips on hers, the subtle brush of his tongue between the seam, everything else disappeared. The war. The English. The uncertainty that had followed her across the mainland. The betrothal to Comyn.
All of it fell away beneath the weight of that single, reckless, and delicious decision.
And then?—
A sharp knock sounded at the door.
Isabel gasped against his mouth at the same time Lachlan groaned.
Another knock followed, harder this time. “My laird.”
Reality returned in an instant. How did his man even know he was in here?
Lachlan exhaled slowly, resting his forehead briefly against hers before stepping back, the distance between them returning too quickly. His stormy blue eyes met hers. Passion and promise in their depths. Isabel almost begged him to ignore the summons.
Schooling his expression into something hard, he reached for the door handle, and she scurried across the chamber toward the window, putting distance between them not only for propriety’s sake, but for her own. A cool breeze wafted through the window, and it did nothing to quell the heat of her skin.
“My laird, James and Finley have returned from the northern ridge.” Angus stood in the doorway, cleaner than on the road, and the quick smirk he sent her way meant the propriety she had been attempting to maintain had failed. She glared back, her hand inching toward her sleeve where her dagger was still strapped to her forearm. He watched her movement, and his smirk turned into a full grin. Isabel was going to murder him, and perhaps Lachlan too. It was his fault. She wished he were uglier, or ruder, or literally anything else to stop this foolish attraction.
Lachlan nodded once. “Tell them to meet me in the courtyard.” He turned then, eyes meeting hers. He looked ready to say something, and she desperately longed to hear it.
Instead, he turned and left.
Isabel remained where she was long after the door closed, her gaze lingered on the wooden planks of the door before she finally forced herself to stare out the window instead. Below, the courtyard still moved with quiet purpose. Torches cast long shadows across stone, and men crossed from one side to the other, their voices low but steady. Beyond them, the sea loch stretched dark and endless.
Lachlan marched out into the courtyard, and she found herself having to lean against the stone of the wall for balance. He stood among his men, his posture once again that of laird and commander, his attention fixed on whatever news the scouts had brought. There was no trace of the man who had stood in her chamber moments before.
