Page 11 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

"One of the men," he said finally, his voice low and rough. "I kent his face."

She felt her stomach drop. "From where?"

"Armstrong's hold."

Her breath hitched. She sat back on her heels, hand still damp with his blood, heart thudding in her chest.

"He was there," Tav continued, glancing toward the trees as though the man might emerge from them again. "Years ago. Just a lad then. But I'd nae forget the eyes. Nae his,” he exhaled slowly, as if breaking out of a daydream. “He was there the night they beat me."

His voice stayed level, but there was a hollowness behind it. As if he were speaking from the mouth of some long-sealed cave.

Agnes reached for the stream again, needing something to do with her hands. Her pulse raced.

"Then ye think Armstrong sent them?"

Tav reached for his shirt, then seemed to think better of it. His ribs were still bleeding, though slower now. He rolled his shoulder, wincing. "It's a strong guess. But what I cannae understand is how."

She wrung out the cloth, frowning. "What d'ye mean?"

"How could they have kent it would be me who rode with ye. That wasn't planned till this mornin’. They couldnae have known."

She looked at him fully now. His brow was furrowed, eyes narrowed with the sharp glint of thought. He was trying to make sense of a game played in shadow.

"Maybe they didnae care who ye were," she said slowly. "Maybe the plan was always tae take me. And then force my faither tae send ye."

His eyes met hers. For a moment, neither of them moved. Wind stirred the trees overhead. The stream whispered below.

"That," he said, "would make sense. But it still feels wrong."

"Wrong how?"

He sat back, spine touching the tree trunk behind him. "It felt rushed. And clumsy. Like it was meant tae scare more than succeed. They had us cornered and still botched it."

Agnes nodded slowly. She felt the truth of it, even if she couldn’t name why. The whole thing had unspooled too fast. Too loud.

"So what now?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

Tav glanced at the darkening sky. "We ride back. We'll reach yer faither by midday tomorrow. Faster without the carriage."

She nodded. "And when we get there?"

"Then I’ll tell him what I saw. What I suspect. And he decides what comes next."

Agnes pressed the cloth to the wound one last time. The bleeding had mostly stopped, though the edges looked angry and raw. Her fingers brushed the ink over his skin again, tracing, unintentionally, a long, looping design curling down his side. She pulled her hand back quickly.

"Ye're all set now," she murmured.

He didn’t move.

Her gaze lingered. The sun caught the definition in his abdomen, every lean line of muscle. She knew she shouldn’t be staring. but her body was betraying her.

The heat that had simmered low in her chest since they had dismounted was now a steady burn, coiling low in her belly. She hated it. Hated how close he was, the way the sight of his bare torso had lodged itself in her throat like a swallowed ember.

"We should go," she said. The words came out thinner than she wanted.

Tav nodded. He reached slowly for his shirt, pain etched into every movement. She turned away as he pulled it back over his head, but the image of him bare and bloodied, beautiful and battered, stayed behind her eyes like an imprint.

He stood. Swayed once. She reached to steady him on instinct.