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Her eyes lifted to his, and the air shuddered out of his lungs. Neither of them spoke. What was there to say anyway?

His hand rose to her temple, where a few raindrops clung to her hair. His knuckles grazed her skin, and she drew in a sharp breath, which did nothing to cool the fire inside him.

His hand slid down to her cheek and then her jaw. Her lips parted, her chest heaving, but her eyes never left his. His gaze fell to her rosy lips, and the sound of the storm outside faded to the background. The space between them grew smaller.

He studied her, hoping to see fear or hesitation, a hint that he should stop. But he only saw anticipation.

He leaned in, as if pulled to her by an invisible thread. His fingers caressed her jaw as his other hand landed next to her hip, bringing him closer.

Close enough for her breath to tickle his skin, for her scent to fill his senses, for the heat of her body to set him aflame. She didn’t pull away, swaying faintly toward him instead, her hand braced right beside his.

One breath. That was all there was between them. One breath, and every rule he had made for himself would be broken.

In this moment, he didn’t care. He craved that kiss, to feel her lips against his, the slow dance of their tongues.

A strip of light filtered in through the window and cut between them like a blade, making him close his eyes. He inhaled sharply. He could not. He would not. He should not forget himself.

“We should go back.” He pulled back.

Isla straightened, pulling her hand to her lap, and looked away. “Aye. The rain has stopped.”

She didn’t look at him as she gathered their things, her eyebrows drawn together.

Alisdair felt that same pang again, the one he felt every time she showed even the smallest sign of discomfort. Once more, he decided to ignore it.

They rode back to the castle in silence, burdened with everything they had shared and left unsaid.

CHAPTER TWELVE

MIDSUMMER BONFIRES

A Few Days Later

“Duncan!” Alisdair didn’t look away from the map on the wall. “If ye are here to pester me again, go away.”

“But it is St. John’s!”

“I am fully aware. I am also aware that Sinclair has been suspiciously quiet after Isla’s arrival.”

“And ye think that if ye stay cooped up in here during the celebration, ye will figure out why?”

Alisdair glared at his friend. “I used to like ye, Duncan. But ye seem determined to change that.”

“It’s the bonfires!”

“Then by all means, go! Ye are an unmarried man—go find a lass.”

Duncan’s laughter filled the room.

Alisdair knew well how hard it was to tie down his childhood friend. Laird Cameron had certainly tried many times and failed.

“Isla is coming,” Duncan said lightly.

Alisdair froze, then turned back to the map, feigning indifference. “Did she say so?”

“Well, no, but I saw yer aunt go to her room quite determined,” Duncan replied.

If his aunt wanted Isla at the bonfires, then Isla had no hope of escaping it. She would be dragged there by manipulation or guilt, whichever worked faster. His aunt was skilled at both.