Page 39 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

CHAPTER TWELVE

By the time they found a spot to make camp, night had settled in fully and the sky was studded with stars. There was no more gold left in the sky, no final brush of daylight and the trail behind them had vanished into shadow, swallowed by the forest’s hush.

Agnes dismounted with a muttered curse, her boots hitting the earth harder than intended. Her thighs ached from the saddle, and her lower back throbbed like it had been beaten with a mallet. She stretched once, hands on her hips, then winced as her joints popped in protest.

Tav landed beside her with the sort of quiet grace that made her jaw drop in awe. He barely made a sound. Just swung down, reins already looped and tucked, his eyes scanning the clearing with that ever-watchful look he wore like second skin.

“I’m fairly certain I’ve bruises in places I cannae name,” she muttered, brushing her hands off on her skirts.

Tav gave a quiet grunt, his version of sympathy. “This spot will dae. There’s a stream just past those birches. We’ll stay the night.”

She was too aware of the dull ache pulsing behind her knees, to even consider arguing. The place seemed appropriate. While she began to remove the saddlebags from her horse, Tav knelt near a patch of cleared earth and began gathering kindling from the nearby brush, striking flint before she’d even gotten her blanket unfurled.

Within minutes, flames cracked to life between them, casting flickering light across his face, sharpening the angles of his jaw and the deep line between his brows as he coaxed the fire higher.

Agnes knelt beside her own pack, rummaging through their modest provisions. “If I have tae eat another mouthful o’ jerky, I might start cryin’,” she said, more to herself than him.

He didn’t look up, but she saw the corner of his mouth twitch. “We’ve still got some smoked fish. Bit o’ bread. Apple if it hasn’t turned.”

“Gourmet,” she muttered.

Tav rose and dusted off his hands. Without a word, he moved to unroll their bedding, placing his by the outer edge of the clearing, hers closer to the fire. She watched him work, how efficiently he moved, how he always seemed to know what needed doing without asking.

He returned a moment later, holding out a small cloth-wrapped bundle.

Agnes raised a brow. “Am I meant tae swoon?”

“It’s food,” he replied, deadpan. “Nae a bloody poem.”

Still, she took it from his hand, fingers brushing his for just a second longer than necessary.

Inside was the usual dinner they’d had since they started the journey, consisting of salted fish, half a heel of bread, and a thin slice of dried apple that looked more like old leather than fruit. But it was warm by the fire, and the ache in her body softened as she tore the bread in two and handed him a piece. It wasn’t much, but her stomach welcomed it anyway.

Agnes glanced up to thank him, but Tav didn’t go back to his own space. Instead, he crouched down directly behind her, close enough she could feel the warmth of him at her back.

Her breath caught. “What are ye daein’?”

“Ye said ye could use help with yer hair.”

Her fingers froze around the piece of bread in her hand. “Aye, I did. I didnae think—well, I figured ye’d maybe just hand me a brush.”

“Dinnae own one,” he said dryly, already reaching toward the tangle of her braid. “And it’s easier if I can see it.”

She felt his fingers graze the nape of her neck, warm and deliberate. Slowly, he began to undo the braid, working his way down with careful precision.

Agnes couldn’t move. The sound of the forest fell away. All she could feel was the faint tug of his fingers, the occasional catch of a tiny twig being plucked free, the brush of his knuckles as they passed over her skin.

It was—well, it wasn’t what she expected. It should’ve been awkward. But it was soft and strangely intimate.

Tav worked slowly, methodically, unbraiding her hair until it lay loose down her back in a mess of dark auburn waves, leaves and moss scattered like confetti through it.

“There’s half a forest in here,” he muttered.

Agnes rolled her eyes, biting back a smile. “Aye, well. Some o’ us weren’t born wi’ bark fer skin and eyes that glow in the dark.”

He made a soft sound, almost a chuckle, but didn’t rise to the bait. His fingers moved more gently now, finding the smaller bits, the ones caught close to her scalp. With each slow pass, she felt her shoulders loosen, the tension bleed away. It was dangerous, the way this felt. Like something real. Like something that could last. Even though she knew it couldn’t.

Still, she found herself speaking. “Where’d ye learn tae dae this?”