Page 83 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

“Thank ye,” she said quietly.

Paisley stepped closer, her voice still warm. “I can fetch a wash basin too, if ye like. Or help ye intae something warmer.”

Agnes hesitated. She didn’t know what she needed. She didn’t know what she was anymore.

“I…” She looked up, caught Paisley’s gaze. “Can I ask ye something?”

Paisley tilted her head. “O’ course.”

Agnes took a breath and hesitated for a moment. Her fingers worried the edge of her sleeve, twisting the fabric between them. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d said what she really felt. Not since she had started feeling that way about Tav.

“Can I trust ye?” she asked softly.

Paisley blinked, but her answer came without pause. “Aye, me lady. With anything.”

The words landed gently, and something inside Agnes shifted. She looked down, then back at her, and something about Paisley’s steadiness gave her courage. A lifeline, almost. She'd spent so many weeks carrying the weight of expectations alone that to hear someone say she wasn’t alone in it felt like a relief so sharp it bordered on pain.

“It’s the laird,” she said finally. “I… I dinnae ken what I’m meant tae feel.”

Paisley moved to sit on the edge of the hearth, folding her hands neatly in her lap. She said nothing, only waited.

Agnes stood, pacing a few short steps across the rug before turning back. The fire behind Paisley popped gently, casting flickering light on the stones. Agnes felt her skin warm from it, though her insides were colder than ever.

“He’s good. He is. Kind in a way I didnae expect. He offered me a choice, and I believe he meant it. He’s never tried tae trap me. And he listens. He truly listens, without judgment. That should matter, shouldnae it?”

Paisley gave a small nod, encouraging.

“But?”

Agnes closed her eyes for a moment. “But I cannae feel what I should. Or maybe I dae, but it’s nae loud enough. Nae like…” Her voice trailed off, too afraid to carry the rest. Her heart finished the sentence without her permission.

“It’s like standing on solid ground,” Agnes murmured. “With Laird Caithness. Safe. Predictable. But I’m nae sure if love is supposed tae feel like this.”

Her voice faltered again. She turned away, arms wrapped around herself. “I always thought love was supposed tae make me feel like I’m on the edge o’ something. A cliff maybe. I always imagined it would make me feel alive. Like every moment could be the last, and that somehow would make it more real."

Paisley didn’t smile, but her voice was warm. “There’s nay shame in that.”

Agnes sat back down. Her fingers found her braid and began to untwist it out of habit, pulling at the strands as if she could unravel her own thoughts too. The firelight caught the red in her hair, glinting as her fingers moved.

“I ken I have a duty. I dae. I’ve never forgotten that. And I ken how much depends on this match. How much me faither needs this alliance. How many lives it could save in winter.”

Paisley tilted her head. “Dae ye want tae ken why it means so much tae the laird how ye feel?”

Agnes looked up, surprised. “Ye ken?”

“Aye,” Paisley said. “Everyone who serves in this house kens. He is a good laird tae us, and we worry about him.” She adjusted the sleeves of her apron before continuing. “Laird Caithness lost his faither when he was only fifteen. The whole weight o’ the clan fell on his shoulders overnight. His maither was still alive then, but her grief never really lifted.”

Agnes’s lips parted slightly. “

“He never speaks o’ it openly,” Paisley said. “But he loved them both fiercely. His maither especially. And even after the old laird was gone, she would speak o’ him with such fondness. Said she’d never stopped loving him. That kind o’ bond left a mark on Caithness. It made him crave that same kind o’ loyalty and devotion. The sort that endures through grief and loss and time.”

Agnes looked at the fire. It crackled softly, the light catching the edges of the basin Paisley had left near the coals. The steam was long gone, the water cooled, but the room still held the scent of lavender.

“He wants that too,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Paisley nodded. “He wants someone who will stand beside him. Nae out of simple duty, but out of choice. Loyalty. Love. The kind that roots itself deep and doesnae waver.”

That word stung.