Page 93 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

His expression cracked, just slightly. "I just need time. That’s all."

She nodded. Not because she agreed. Because she knew that no matter what she said, she wouldn’t be able to get through to him.

"Alright," she said.

He gave a ghost of a smile. "Thank ye."

Then he turned and left her in the corridor, heart thudding, the walls too close again. And Agnes, once more, was left standing alone in the quiet.

Her chest ached. She felt her heart cracking in real time, like a fault line splitting wide inside her. Anger sparked beneath the pain. She wanted to scream after him, to demand he not shut her out, not now, not after everything. But the corridor had already swallowed him.

She folded her arms tight across her chest, breathing hard through her nose. Her whole body felt restless, trapped inside the stillness. That wasn’t how it was meant to go.

Agnes walked quickly down the narrow stone steps, her slippers catching on the worn edges, the cold wall brushing against her shoulder as she descended toward the gardens. The morning sun was bright, and she hated it. It did nothing to warm the place Tav had left hollow in her chest.

He’d walked away.

She could still feel the ghost of his hand, the trace of his voice… I just need time. As if that was something he had the right to ask of her, after what they’d been through. As if she hadn’t handed him her heart and body in the same breath and expected him to hold it with care.

She should have known better. He had done this before—shut her out after the first night they’d shared, pulling away like nothing had changed. She should’ve learned then what he was capable of. But she hadn’t. She’d believed him when he came back. Believed him again when he said she mattered.

Anger beat a steady drum beneath her skin, but it was tangled with hurt, with the sting of rejection so sharp it made her throat ache. She’d offered him everything. And he’d shut her out. Again.

The gardens were still quiet at that hour, the earth smelling of early dew and crushed lavender. Agnes stepped past the hedgerow and let herself breathe. She moved toward the rose arch with pale yellow blooms.

Was this what it would always be? Waiting on men to make up their minds about what she deserved? Tav and Caithness. Her father. She felt like a pawn dressed in silk, breathing through her teeth just to survive the weight of other people’s expectations.

She heard footsteps. Agnes turned her head. A soldier was walking down the path from the far end of the garden. She straightened slightly.

The soldier didn’t answer. Another joined him. Then a third.

Her breath stilled. Something was wrong. Their faces—she didn’t recognize them. And the way they moved wasn’t with the easy alertness of guards who knew their ground, but like wolves, careful, measuring.

She rose slowly. “Who are ye?”

Still no answer. She stepped back instinctively. Her heel caught a stone and she stumbled. They advanced.

“Guards!” she shouted, loud and clear. "Guards!"

The men surged. Agnes spun, skirt whipping against her legs, and ran. She didn’t think. She just moved. Her boots tore through the grass, her breath jagged as she pushed through the hedgerows, branches scratching her arms.

She heard three sets of footfalls pounding behind her like war drums.

This is just like the first time.

Her muscles burned. She didn’t stop.

A rough arm caught her around the waist, yanking her off her feet. She kicked out, twisted hard. A blow landed. She heard one of them curse. Her elbow found flesh. But there were too many hands.

A cloth pressed to her mouth. Nay.

She screamed into it, thrashing, nails clawing, but her limbs were heavy now. Her thoughts blurred at the edges. One final twist. One last breath.

Then darkness.