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Cristane’s hand froze midway to the foal’s muzzle as the sound of footsteps met her ears. She knew who it was at once. Could see it in the subtle shift of the stableboy’s posture. He’d tossed back his shoulders, straightened his spine. Scrambling to her feet, she slid into the empty stall next to the foal’s.

None knew the purpose for the second entrance to the stable, but it had come in handy these past few days, enabling her to avoid Rory quite easily. The man really did have an affinity for this place and came quite often.

The door opened without a creak.

Just as she stepped into the snowfall—lovely, fat snowflakes—a voice stopped her.

“Cristane?”

She’d not been fast enough.

A chicken squawked at her feet, the smell of hay behind her and cold in front. She could ignore Rory and keep walking, maybe even run to safety.

Nay.

She’d already run from him half a dozen times. They lived in the same castle, for now, and she would need to speak with him eventually. Besides, now that her anger had cooled, she’d accepted some responsibility for the fiasco in the hunting lodge. She had very much offered herself to him, and of course they could not marry. The very thought was ludicrous. How could she blame him for the solution he’d offered to their situation? He’d insulted her, aye, but as everyone had told her, she had already risen as high as she possibly could. Dreaming of more was foolish. She should not aspire to be anything other than Cait’s maid. Certainly she could never be Rory’s wife. Some dreams were too big to entertain.

She turned, and wished she hadn’t.

With the dark fur on the collar of his mantle brushing against the sides of his face, framing his features, Rory Kennaugh looked every bit a man. He watched from hooded eyes as she melted at his feet. At least, she imagined that’s what it must look like to him. Being around him was so much harder now that she knew what it felt like to kiss such a man. To be held in his arms.

A glorious feeling, but her dignity was more important. It had to be.

“Good day, my lord.”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said bluntly.

Halfway through the door, there was no use denying it.

“Aye.”

“Why?”

Surely he knew. She saw no benefit in discussing it with him. Or referring in any way to the stolen hours they’d shared in the hunting lodge.

“You have much to deal with of late,” she said, averting her gaze.

And I have precisely nothing of value to do.

Cristane kept that thought to herself.

“You are well?”

Well? Nay, Cristane was not well. Her heart had been torn in two, though she could hardly say so.

“Aye, my lord.”

Surely he knew she lied.

“I did not wish to offend you, Cristane.” He took a step forward as he said it, and she took a step back. She could not do this. It was too soon. She could still remember the feeling of his hands on her. His lips against hers.

She turned to leave, but he caught her hand and held it, making her breath lodge in her throat.

“Ride with me?”

Cristane laughed, thinking he jested, but his face lacked any humor.

She forced herself to pull her hand away. “Because our last ride went so very well?”