Page 45 of Promised to the Cursed Laird

"I didnae ken—" His eyes had gone somewhere just past her shoulder, fixed with visible, deliberate effort on the wall, color rising fast along his jaw. "Elspeth said ye'd be dressing by now, I only meant tae leave a⁠—"

"Ye may turn around, MacKinnon, or ye may leave," she said, her own face flooding hot, though she made herself hold her voice steady through sheer force of will, refusing to let him see the full extent of how thoroughly this had unseated her. "Ye dinnae get tae simply stand there."

"I'm nae standing anywhere. I'm leaving."

Neilina watched him for another moment.

"If ye've something tae say, then say it."

His shoulders shifted.

"What?"

"Ye came in here for a reason." She shifted slightly in the water, and she could swear she heard him groan. "Ye've now announced ye're leaving twice and remained in exactly the same place both times. So, either go, or tell me what ye came tae say."

A breath left him, slow and controlled.

"Ye're discussing my worth tae the clan while I'm sitting in a bath ye've just walked in on. This seems a verra poor moment tae choose for that conversation."

"It's the only chance I've had since ye walked out of my study tae say a single word ye'd actually stay tae hear." He risked a glance, briefly, at her face rather than the wall, and held it there this time despite everything. "My council will always want the Accord secured. I cannae change what they want, only what I do about it. And what I've done, Neilina, from the postern gate onward, has never once been about securing anything for the clan. I told ye that on the battlements and I meant every word of it, whatever Baird chooses tae mutter about in a chamber I wasnae even present for."

"That's convenient. Ye werenae present for it."

"I wasnae, because a laird disnae sit in every room his council occupies, listening tae every grievance they air among themselves. That disnae mean I dinnae ken what they think, or that I havenae told them plainly, more than once, exactly what I’ve told ye." His voice had steadied now, the roughness giving way to something more certain. "Ye can be angry with me for what they said. Ye cannae be angry with me for lying when I havenae done it."

She held his eyes across the small distance of the room, water lapping softly at her collarbone, entirely too aware of how thoroughly he'd just refused to be dismissed, how he'd stood his ground even mid-humiliation rather than simply fleeing the room the moment propriety demanded it.

And that, somehow, was making matters worse.

Heat had already climbed into her face, but it did not stop there. It curled lower, spreading through her with a slow, treacherous warmth that made her shift beneath the water. She was aware of him everywhere now, his nearness, the roughness of his voice, the restraint in the way he held himself as though touching her were the one thing he had decided he would not permit himself.

She wanted him to.

The realisation came so suddenly that her breath caught.

She wanted those hands on her. Wanted him to cross the little distance between them instead of keeping himself carefully out of reach. And the more determinedly he denied himself, the more painfully aware she became of how much she wanted him to stop.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the tub.

She was burning beneath his gaze, and yet she could not make herself look away.

"Ye're verra stubborn," she said, though her voice had lost some of its steadiness, "for a man who's just walked in on a lady's bath."

"I've been called worse this week." A ghost of the old wickedness came back into his voice now, despite the color still sitting high on his cheekbones. "I'll take stubborn, if the alternative is ye believing I've been lying tae ye since the postern gate."

"I havenae decided yet whether I believe ye."

"Then decide slowly," he said, "and I'll wait, however long it takes, because I'd rather have yer honest doubt than yer false trust." He inclined his head, finally stepping back toward the door, though the wickedness stayed lodged in his eyes even as he retreated. "I'll leave ye tae Elspeth, and tae yer bath, and I'll see ye at dinner, where I promise tae behave myself considerably better than I have in the last five minutes."

"Ye didnae behave badly," she said, before she'd fully decided to admit it. "Ye only behaved verra thoroughly caught."

That won a short, startled laugh out of him. "Aye. That's fair." He paused at the door, glancing back once more, and whatever remained of his composure slipped, briefly, into something warmer, more open, more dangerous to the argument she was still trying to hold onto. "For what it's worth, Neilina, I've never once regretted a single thing I've told ye. I'll nae start regretting it now simply because my own council doesnae share the sentiment."

He left before she could find an answer for that, the door clicking shut behind him, and she sat in the cooling water a long moment afterward, her pulse refusing to settle, thoroughly furious with him and thoroughly unable, despite every effort, to hold onto the fury the way she'd meant to.

Insufferable man, she thought, and found she was fighting a smile even as she thought it.

The great hall was warm and loud by the time she came down, the whole household gathered for the evening meal, and Neilina took her seat beside him with far less certainty about her own feelings than she'd carried into the room the last time they'd dined here together.