Page 27 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

He noticed how her gaze flicked over his mouth sometimes. How she bit her lip when he stepped too close. The way her dress clung to her back. The delicate curve of her neck. The little shudder in her chest each time he touched her to correct her form.

And still she kept going.

“Ye’re pushing too hard with yer wrist,” he said finally, stepping behind her. He reached out, curling his hand gently around hers. “Here—calm yerself.”

She stiffened beneath his touch. Tav was painfully aware of how close they were now. He could feel the warmth of her body, the scent of her skin—something soft and clean, like lilac and parchment. His fingers adjusted to hers, guiding the dagger to the right angle.

Agnes didn’t speak. Her breath caught.

"Ye keep locking yer elbow," Tav murmured, unable to stop himself. “It makes ye easier tae disarm.”

She let out a shaky breath, but didn’t move away. “Ye’re daeing this on purpose.”

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence.

“Getting close. Distracting me.”

“Am I distracting?”

She didn’t answer. But her silence spoke volumes.

And then Tav stepped around her and flicked the dagger out of her hand. She gasped and reached for it, but he caught her wrist mid-motion and twisted gently, locking it.

She was only inches away now. Her chest rose and fell quickly, eyes wide, mouth slightly parted. Her skin was warm beneath his fingers. Tav didn’t move, although he knew he should have. Every part of him screamed to pull back. To say something clever and retreat to the safety of banter. But he didn’t.

Agnes stared up at him, and for a moment, the air between them was molten. No words. No jokes. Just heat and silence and the thrum of something neither of them had named. Then she pulled her wrist free, stumbling back a step.

“I—I yield,” she said quickly, avoiding his gaze as she knelt to pick up her dagger.

Tav didn’t move. He just watched her, jaw tight, thoughts reeling. He hadn’t meant for it to get that intense. Hadn’t meant to touch her like that. But gods—he had, hadn’t he?

She sheathed the dagger with shaking fingers, brushing her skirts as if to occupy her hands.

“Ye’ve… improved,” he said finally.

Agnes glanced up, eyes still wide. “Ye’re a terrible liar.”

“Nae lying.” Tav ran a hand through his hair and stepped toward the bed.

They sat down by the fire and drank some of the water he had bought to quench their thirst. They followed it with some dried meat, for their bones were too weary do go down for supper. When they were done Tav stood up.

“Ye take the bed,” he said, taking off his boots.

Agnes blinked from where she stood near the hearth.

“What?”

He looked up, met her eyes. “Ye heard me,” he crouched near the hearth, rolling out his bedroll on the floor. “I’ll sleep down here.”

Her lips parted, brows pulling slightly. “But ye’ve had a longer day than I have. Ye dinnae have tae dae that. We could just⁠—”

“We’ll be on the road at dawn, and I dinnae ken when ye’ll next sleep in a real bed. Could be days,” Tav replied, his tone firm but not unkind.

He stepped closer, the worn wooden floor creaking under his boots. “Ye take it, Agnes. I’ll be fine on the floor.”

She hesitated, clearly torn, before giving a reluctant nod. “All right. But if ye wake up with a sore back, that’s on ye.”

“I’ll live.” He flashed her a quick smile, trying to lighten the mood. “I’ve slept on worse. Ask me about that time with the goat pen in Caldrith someday.”