Page 78 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

Shame rose hot in her throat. Not because she’d been caught. But because, somehow, he wasn’t angry. Not even disappointed. That was worse.

“I never meant tae disrespect ye,” she said quietly. “Or this arrangement.”

Caithness nodded once, slowly. “I believe that.”

The wind rustled through the leaves above them, the branches casting soft shifting shadows on the grass. Agnes found herself looking at her hands again. She didn’t know what to say. What could be said, when her heart was a battlefield of its own making?

“I brought ye out here tae tell ye something,” he continued, his voice even. “And ask ye something else.”

She looked up.

“I ken what this alliance means—fer my clan and fer yers. I dinnae take it lightly. But I also ken that a marriage, if we were tae move forward, cannot be built on... obligation alone. I’ll nae force ye. If ye wish it, I will see tae it that another match is made fer ye.”

Agnes blinked. “Ye’d dae that?”

He nodded. “I would.”

“Why?”

His mouth twitched—not quite a smile. “Because I ken what happens when two people are yoked without choice. Ye are a good woman, and I appreciate all ye’ve done. I wouldnae wish that fate on ye.”

Agnes felt something hitch inside her. She wasn’t sure if it was awe or grief.

“I still need tae ask ye two things,” he said.

She nodded slowly. “Aye.”

“First,” Caithness said, folding his hands loosely in his lap, “dae ye think, given time, that ye could care fer me as a husband? Perhaps even love me?”

She stared at him, throat closing. She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she looked at the wine flask, the edge of the blanket, the shape of the hills beyond.

“I think ye’re a good man,” she said. “A much better one than I expected. Ye’ve shown me more respect than most. And I care fer that. Truly. But…” Her voice broke a little on the word. “I cannae say what time would dae. Only what I feel now.”

Caithness didn’t flinch. “Then we’ll move forward from that truth. Nae pretend it’s otherwise.”

He let the silence stretch before continuing.

“The second thing I need tae is, if we wed, would ye be loyal tae me? Would ye be me wife, nae just by contract, but in truth?”

The question felt heavier than the first. She could lie, say yes, because it was expected. Because it would keep her clan safe, and close the book before it ever had a chance to become something messy and real. But a lie like that would rot her from the inside.

So she said, “If I wed ye… aye. I would be loyal. I’d nae dishonor ye, I promise that. But I cannae promise I can, and if I did, that me heart would be yers.”

He met her eyes for a long time, searching. Whatever he found there, it must have satisfied him, because he nodded.

“Then I’ll give ye time,” he said. “A few days. Nay more. Think on it, speak tae yer faither. But ken this—I willnae force ye. And I willnae punish ye if ye choose otherwise.”

Agnes opened her mouth. Closed it again. No one had ever spoken to her like that. As if she were not a simple tool to be wielded, but a person, one who might be worthy of choosing her own life.

Her eyes stung. “Thank ye,” she said, and meant it.

Caithness gave a small nod and reached for the wine.

“Tae whatever future awaits,” he said, pouring them each a cup.

Agnes took hers, the cup trembling faintly in her hands. They drank in silence.

And in that silence, she realized something that hurt more than she’d expected. She could have liked him, maybe even come to love him, if life had been different. If her heart hadn’t already been in the hands of a man who might not survive the week.

She set her cup down and turned her face to the wind. It smelled of moss and something faintly sweet. Hope, maybe.