Page 82 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

They broke apart, foreheads still touching, her lips still tingling. The world came back in pieces but Agnes kept her eyes closed.

His breath was warm against her cheek. Steady. She could feel him, real and solid. The space between them had vanished.

Agnes pulled back first. Just enough for her gaze to find his. God, the way he looked at her, like he’d been waiting years.

A beat passed. Then another.

And suddenly, she remembered everything.

The engagement. The castle. Caithness, with his quiet mercy and his impossible offer. Her father’s expectations. Her clan. The price of even entertaining this.

“I—” she choked out. “I cannae⁠—”

She stepped back, one hand rising between them like a barrier, fingers brushing her own mouth like she could erase it. “I have tae go.”

“Agnes—”

But she was already turning.

“I have tae go,” she said again, firmer this time, though her voice still cracked like thin glass. Her boots were unsteady on the stone as she turned from the parapet, half-expecting him to follow. He didn’t. Dead quiet followed her down the corridor. She walked in a haze and, by the time she reached her room, she felt drunk.

From Tav, from the kiss. From her own thoughts, each one louder and more slippery than the last. Her pulse hadn’t calmed. Her knees had gone hollow, as if whatever spine she’d borrowed in his presence had been left behind with him.

She pressed her back to the door as it closed, the soft thud of the wood loud in the hush. Her fingers lifted to her lips again.

What have I done?

The kiss still echoed through her. It was everywhere. Her lips, her throat, the hollow between her ribs. She pressed her fingers to her mouth and felt the tremble there. Her body hadn’t caught up yet. Her thoughts were a mess, looping and stuttering like a wheel caught in mud.

She shoved off the door and crossed the room, steps aimless, one arm wrapped around her middle like she could hold herself together if she just kept squeezing hard enough.

The writing desk sat in the corner, undisturbed. She hadn’t touched it since she had arrived in the castle. Agnes slowly sank into the chair, her skirts spilling around her like water. Her hands found the empty page waiting for her. She was meant to write to Constance. She’d promised.

Her fingers hovered over the parchment. What would she even say? She stared at the blank paper, willing the words to come. But all she could hear was Tav’s voice—soft and rough and too close to her ear.

All she could feel was his mouth.

“Dear Constance,” she whispered aloud, and the words felt like a stranger’s. “I’ve arrived safely. The castle is cold, and the windows look north, and I kissed the man I was meant tae forget⁠—”

She stopped and let out a soft, humorless laugh. Ink hadn’t even touched the page, but her throat burned, thick with everything she wanted to say to her sister and couldn’t. The laugh didn’t even sound like her. It was too brittle, too hollow.

Agnes stared at the blank parchment as if it should have offered the words she couldn’t summon. Her hand hovered above it for a bit longer, then she shoved the inkwell aside. Not harshly, but with enough force that it scraped faintly against the wood. She hadn’t cried yet, but it was coming. She could feel it building in the back of her mouth, coiling like a wave waiting to break. She swallowed hard, the motion thick and painful, and told herself she could keep it down. Just a little longer. Just until she could breathe again.

A knock came. Soft.

Agnes straightened too fast. Her heart slammed once in her chest, like a hammer against glass.

“Aye?”

The door cracked open. Paisley peeked in, holding a folded gown over one arm. Her usual gentle smile was in place.

"Forgive me, me lady. I thought ye might want tae change tae go to bed,” she paused delicately.

Agnes blinked. The morning felt like it had been days ago.

She smoothed the edge of the desk with her palm.