Page 64 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

His stomach turned.

“A ball?”

“Aye. Laird Caithness is throwing it. Fer… the engagement.” She said it carefully, like she was testing the weight of the word in her mouth.

He kept his face still. It was harder than he’d expected.

“I see.”

“He invited ye, if ye feel up tae it.”

He looked away. “We’ll see.”

There was a pause.

“I thought ye might want tae ken,” she added, voice quieter now.

He nodded. “I appreciate it.”

Agnes stepped back toward the door but didn’t leave. Her eyes lingered on him. Something flickered there—uncertainty? Guilt? He couldn’t name it.

“I should get ready,” she said, voice low. “But I’ll come check on ye later. Make sure ye’re settled.”

“Alright.”

She gave a small nod, turned, and slipped through the door, closing it softly behind her.

Tav let his head fall back against the wall behind the bed, the pain in his ribs flaring again. He clenched his jaw, breathing through it. The room was quiet now, the fire crackling softly in the hearth, the scent of pine and smoke drifting on the air.

He should rest. He should be grateful to be alive. And he was. But still, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way she’d said “engagement.” Not like someone in love. Not like someone who was sure. And gods, he hated that he was thinking about it as if her liking the engagement or not would make much of a difference. He shifted on the bed, groaning at the sharp bolt of pain in his side.

Pain he understood. Pain made sense. But not whatever had lodged itself in his chest when she had walked away. It didn’t bleed. It didn’t scar. And it wasn’t going anywhere.