Page 41 of Wanted By the Wicked Highlander

“I have spent three years makin’ meself into somethin’ that couldnae be moved.” Alba’s voice was low. “Powerful men sat across that table from me, thinkin’ widowhood made me manageable. I looked every one of them in the eye until they understood their mistake.”

Her fingers curled slightly against her thigh. “I ran this Clan on will and preparation and a flat refusal to let anyone see a single crack in the stone.”

“And now?”

“Now there’s a crack.” The admission cost her something visible. “Five days, Philomena. He’s been inside these walls five days, and I can feel the masonry comin’ apart.”

Philomena did not tease this time. She reached over and took Alba’s hand, simple and steady. “That’s nae weakness, ye ken. That’s just bein’ a person.”

“It feels like weakness.”

“It feels like fear,” Philomena corrected gently. “Which isnae the same thing, however much ye’d like it to be.”

Alba let out a breath that was almost a laugh, almost not. “When did ye get so wise?”

“I have always been wise. Ye were simply too busy runnin’ a Clan to notice.” Philomena squeezed her hand once before releasing it. “What is it ye’re truly afraid of?” Alba was quiet for a long moment.

“Ewan frightened me on our weddin’ night,” she finally said. “Nae through violence, but I sat on the edge of his bed and understood that whatever I’d been before, I was smaller now.”

“And Sebastian?”

“He doesnae frighten me that way.” Her voice had gone very quiet. “That’s the terrifyin’ part of it.”

Philomena waited, saying nothing.

“He frightens me because when he looks at me, I feel it in places I spent three years makin’ certain nae living soul could reach.” The words came slowly, reluctantly. “Because I notice him. His hands. His jaw. The way he stands like he’s darin’ the room to test him.” She shook her head once, sharply. “I have been noticin’ him since day four. I didnae even realize it until it was already too late to stop.”

“And if ye stay?”

“If I stay, if I sign the papers and let the deadline pass and live beneath his roof while he looks at me the way he looked at me this afternoon…” Alba stopped. Her throat worked once. “I will lose meself, Philomena. Nae to cruelty. Nae to bein’ reduced to whatever’s required of me. To somethin’ I have no defense against, because I have never once needed a defense like that before.”

Philomena’s expression had gone unusually soft, all the teasing entirely gone from it. “Ye’ve never said that aloud before.”

“I have never let meself think it long enough to say.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The torches moved below, slow and steady, marking out the new shape of the courtyard.

“He’s quite handsome, though,” Philomena said casually.

Alba snapped her head around to look at her.

“For a brute,” Philomena added, her face perfectly blank. She kept her eyes on the courtyard. “Objectively. If one were assessin’ it objectively.”

“We are nae assessin’ it.”

“Of course nae.” A short pause. “His shoulders are extraordinary, though.”

“Philomena.”

“I am only sayin’ what’s visible from the window.”

“Then look at somethin’ else.”

“There’s rather a lot of him to accidentally look at, me Lady. He takes up considerable space.”

Alba pressed her fingers briefly over her eyes, blocking out the light.

“When Margaret’s carriage arrives,” she said, dropping her hand back to her lap, “ye’re welcome to come with me. I would want ye to come.”