The chamber was steeped in shadows, lit only by a single cluster of candles that guttered on the table. Their flames bent with every draft that found its way through the old stone, flickering gold against the tapestries and spilling across his face. The air was thick with wax, smoke, and something heavier—the weight of words left unsaid.

You stood near the wall, the carved wood cool against your back, watching him. He had shed the outer layers of his armor, but the leather straps still hung across his chest, half-undone, as though he couldn’t decide if he was preparing for war or for rest. His hair was damp from the rain, dark strands plastered to his temples. He looked tired, but in that bone-deep way that came from carrying more than a body should—laird, warrior, leader.

And yet, when his eyes found you, all that strength seemed to falter.

He took a step closer, the boards creaking beneath his boots. Candlelight caught in his gaze, softer now, almost hesitant. The space between you seemed charged, humming like a bowstring drawn too tight.

Your breath caught when his hand lifted; hovering, trembling as if he meant to touch your face. At the last moment, he pulled back, flexing his fingers at his side. The heat of what almost was lingered, cruel and sweet.

“Ye ken I’m where I ought not be,” he breathed, voice hushed, heavy with the struggle of denial. The cadence of his voice wrapped the truth in longing. “If yer father—my advisor even guessed…”

He stopped, swallowing hard, jaw clenching as though the rest of the thought might undo him. The silence stretched, broken only by the slow drip of wax down the candle. You wanted to answer, to break the spell with reason or with rebellion, but the truth sat heavy in your chest, dangerous and undeniable.

When he finally leaned in, his breath ghosted against your hair. He didn’t kiss you, didn’t dare. Instead, his words brushed against your ear like a secret meant for the fire to keep.

“God help me, bonnie… I can’t keep from wanting ye.”

The moment snapped as soon as it was born. His own words seemed to strike him like a blow, pulling him back into the harsh gravity of reality. His jaw locked, eyes widening with the barest flicker of regret, of fear. Not of you, but of the truth now spoken between you. He stepped back suddenly, boots scraping against the floor, the distance opening like a wound.

Without another word, he turned sharply on his heel and strode from the chamber, the heavy door shutting behind him with a finality that rattled through the silence. All that remained was the flickering candlelight and the echo of what he dared admit only once.