Page 54 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

But Tav’s vision was almost gone. Each step sent fresh lightning bolts of pain through his ribs. He clenched his jaw, willing his legs to move, willing his lungs to keep pulling in air.

He stumbled. One of the men swore.

“Almost there,” someone murmured. “Almost inside.”

The castle gates loomed ahead. He saw the stone archways blur past. The dark shapes of guards. The glint of steel in the sunlight.

And through it all—he felt her.

Agnes.

He remembered her hair catching the wind like fire. Her face pale and worried. Her lips parted, calling his name though he couldn’t hear it. Couldn’t reach her.

He wanted to say her name. Just once more. But the pain surged like a wave and everything went black. His last thought before the dark took him was of her. Agnes.

Always her.

The guards didn’t speak as they guided Agnes across the drawbridge. A horn sounded once from the tower above. Doors opened, footsteps gathered. Agnes sat a little straighter, trying to school her expression into something that wasn’t sheer worry or wild confusion.

They passed under the portcullis. The courtyard was wide and clean, cobbled in dark stone, but everything was a blur to her. Servants bustled forward, a few stable boys rushing toward the horses. And then he was there.

Laird Malcolm Caithness.

He descended the steps at the far end of the courtyard with the confidence of a man who had never once been out of place. Broad-shouldered, towering. His dark hair was tied back, streaked with pale grey at the temples, not unhandsome but severe in its precision. His eyes were a striking shade of silver-blue. They met hers immediately and did not waver.

“Lady Agnes Kerr,” he said, voice deep and smooth as polished steel. “At last.”

She dismounted before they could help her, though her knees buckled slightly when her feet hit the ground. The ride had left her sore and shaken, and her hair was still damp from the river, half-wild around her face. She probably looked like a madwoman. A madwoman with road mud on her shift and blood beneath her nails.

Still, she curtsied. “Me laird.”

Laird Caithness’s eyes narrowed, as if appraising her. “Ye’ve arrived a bit earlier than expected.”

“We... we were pursued,” she said, glancing over her shoulder before she could stop herself. There was no sign of Tav. No sound of returning riders. Just guards moving in and out of formation, stable hands murmuring to each other in low voices. Her heartbeat thundered.

Caithness nodded once. “I was informed. Yer escort made contact with our forward riders.” His gaze flicked past her, toward the gates. “They’ve engaged the threat.”

The threat. That’s all it was to him. A skirmish at his doorstep. He didn’t see the man who had thrown himself between Agnes and every danger since they’d left home. Didn’t see the way her whole body was wound tight with the fear of what might be happening out there, just beyond the reach of these damned stone walls.

“I’d like tae wait fer him,” she said, surprising herself with the urgency in her voice. “The man who brought me—Tav. He—he fought tae keep me safe.”

Laird Caithness’s expression barely shifted. “And he will be honored fer it,” he said evenly. “But ye’re needed inside. There are expectations tae attend. Ye’ll be seen tae.”

“I simply⁠—”

“Come,” he interrupted, not unkind but firm. “Ye’ve ridden far. We’ll speak after ye’ve had time tae rest.”

He turned without waiting for her to follow.

Agnes stood frozen for a heartbeat, heart still thudding, eyes dragging toward the gates once more. Still no sign of Tav. She inhaled through her nose, clenched her jaw, and followed Caithness into the castle.

Stone swallowed her. The air turned cool and still, the walls echoing with footsteps and formality. She didn’t feel like she was entering her future. She felt like she was leaving something behind. Something she wasn’t ready to lose.