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Mabel kept her eyes locked on his chest, refusing to look up at his face. “Everything ye said last night. In the solar. Did ye mean it? Or was it only because ye were angry with Fergus Comyn?”

The question caught him off guard. Caelan pushed the furs aside, ignoring the biting chill of the morning air. He sat up slowly, resting his weight on one elbow, and turned fully toward her. He stared down at her bowed head, searching her face for any sign that she was teasing him. He found none.

A sharp, agonizing ache twisted in his gut.

She genuinely did not know. Even after he had held her, even after he had kissed her until he could barely breathe, she still believed there was a chance he might regret everything once the morning light hit the stones. She had spent the entire night lying awake in his arms, terrified that the Black Laird would return with the dawn and push her away again.

That thought hurt him far more than he ever expected.

He had spent weeks systematically destroying her confidence with his coldness. He had built this fear inside her. He had convinced her that she was nothing more than a political burden, and now, the damage of his own stubborn pride was staring him directly in the face.

Caelan reached out. His large, callused hand moved deliberately across the linens. He gently covered her small, trembling fingers where they gripped the blanket.

Mabel flinched slightly at the contact, but she finally lifted her head. Her blue eyes met his, bright with unshed tears and a desperate, agonizing need for the truth.

“Mabel,” Caelan said softly, his voice dropping into a dark, vibrating tone of absolute certainty, “I have wanted ye from the very beginning.”

Mabel’s breath caught audibly in her throat. Her lips parted in shock.

“From the very first night,” Caelan continued, refusing to look away from her. He shifted closer, his thumb slowly tracing the delicate line of her knuckles. “The first day ye walked into me solar. Ye were shivering. Ye were covered in mud and freezing rain. Ye had lost yer father, yer home, and yer entire clan in a single night. And yet, ye stood in the center of me room, holding William’s ring, and ye looked at me.”

Caelan paused, a heavy, ragged breath tearing through his chest as the vivid memory washed over him.

“Ye dinnae look at the scar,” Caelan whispered, his eyes dark with raw emotion. “Ye dinnae look at the terrifying stories the glens whisper about me. Ye looked at me.”

Mabel stared up at him, captivated. The fear in her eyes began to slowly fracture, replaced by a profound, cautious wonder. She uncurled her fingers from the blanket, turning her hand over to link her fingers with his.

“I remember,” Mabel breathed softly. “Ye promised nay man would ever touch me.”

“And that promise terrified me,” Caelan confessed, the absolute truth finally pouring out of him without restriction. “It frightened me more than any battle, any siege, or any blade I have ever faced in me entire life.”

He let go of her hand, moving his fingers up to gently cup the side of her face. His thumb brushed across her cheekbone, marveling at the sheer softness of her skin against his rough calluses.

“For years, everyone has only ever looked at the Black Laird,” Caelan said. “Ye were the first to see Caelan. And I was afraid that if ye got close enough, ye would see everything else too.”

Mabel leaned the warmth of her cheek fully into the palm of his hand. “Ye are nae broken, Caelan.”

“I am a killer, Mabel,” Caelan argued gently, needing her to understand the depth of the sacrifice he had been trying to make for her. “I have taken countless lives. Me hands are permanently stained with the blood of me enemies, and the blood of me own men who followed me orders. Me name inspires fear across the entire Highlands. When mothers want their children to behave, they tell them the Black Laird will come for them in the night.”

He looked down at her beautiful, innocent face, his heart aching with a fierce, protective love.

“I owed yer father a debt that could never be repaid,” Caelan continued softly, his thumb continuing its slow, rhythmic stroke against her cheek. “He saved me life. When he sent ye to me, I swore I would secure yer future. But every single instinct I possessed told me I had to keep ye at a distance. I am twelve years older than ye are. I am a hardened, cynical soldier. Every part of me believed that ye deserved a gentler man.”

Mabel frowned slightly, her delicate eyebrows pulling together.

“I wanted ye to have a man untouched by war,” Caelan said, his voice cracking with the raw sincerity of his confession. “A man unscarred by guilt. A man who could give ye laughter, bright rooms, and a peaceful life, instead of dragging ye down into the darkness of this fortress.”

He dropped his hand from her face, the confession leaving him exposed. He had laid every single one of his insecurities bare before her. He had given her all the logical, tactical reasons why he had pushed her away for weeks.

Mabel lay perfectly still in the quiet chamber. She absorbed his words, processing the immense, crushing burden of self-loathing he had been carrying on his own.

She pushed herself up on one elbow, the blanket slipping down to pool around her waist. The dark green wool of her gown was wrinkled from sleep, but Caelan had never seen a more beautiful sight in his entire life.

She looked at him, her striking blue eyes clear of the fear that had plagued her all morning. She did not look intimidated by his confession. She looked fiercely, stubbornly determined.

“Ye decided I needed a gentler man,” Mabel stated, her voice quiet but ringing with MacAllister steel.

“Aye,” Caelan confirmed gruffly.