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“What if I dae? She’s the only person who has ever gotten under my skin in such a way.” Noah ran his fingers through his hair, annoyed that Scott had pried out such vulnerability. “She has the lightest voice and softest eyes. It is like she is absolute innocence. But even if I pursue her and fulfill my desires to obtain her, what will that dae to her?”

“That is nae for ye to decide,” Scott said. “That is her choice. All ye can dae is present yerself to her as ye are and pray that she will accept all of ye as is. Tonight, preferably, so we can all get some rest.”

“And if she still willnae see me?” Noah asked. His heart ached as he realized it wasn’t Saoirse that he was truly mad at, it was himself. Her and Mary were both right about his temper and his temperament—they needed to change.

“Grovel.” Scott grinned. “And daenae send Mary to do yer apologizin’ this time or try to scare the lass into lettin’ ye through her chamber door.”

Noah furrowed his brow. “I still daenae see what was so wrong with sendin’ a message through Mary.”

“What ye did was show Saoirse how little ye think of her. Where was the remorse, eh? Ye cannae scold a woman and expect to just decree that she forgive ye. If Saoirse means anythin’ to ye, ye have to show her ye care. So… grovel. Get on yer knees andmakeher forgive ye, if ye catch my meanin’.”

Scott’s words rang through Noah like a bell, and not just because they conjured delicious images of Saoirse reclined on the bed, and all of things Noah wished to do to her. It was as if the truth pouring from Scott’s mouth was the most honest thing Noah had heard in a long time.

“It’ll be all right,” Scott said with a sturdy pat to Noah’s shoulder. “Women are easy to make amends wit’.”

“Any other woman and I’m certain that statement would be true. But this is Saoirse we are talkin’ about here.”

“All ye need to dae to get back in her good graces is show her some feelin’. Give her a lavish gift that proves to her that ye care.”

“And what kind of gift would ye give her?”

“Flowers.” Scott waved his hand around. “Ye have so many here, I’m certain that ye could find a bushel and personally deliver them to her.”

“Flowers? Is that all it takes?”

“It depends, are ye tryin’ to woo the lass or dae ye just want her forgiveness?”

“I want things to be… peaceful between us,” Noah answered finally. “I’ll tell ye what I daenae want, I daenae want the council to think I cannae control my own wife. If that means I have to gather up flowers, then so be it.”

“She’ll see right through that, if ye go to her with that in yer mind,” Scott warned. “Nae that I believe that’s the only reason ye want to make things right. Just go to her like ye really are sorry, which I ken ye are. Ye care. I can see it.”

“But I was never supposed to,” Noah whispered the confession like a secret. The weight of it scared him.

“Tell me,” Scott’s lips curved into a smile as he draped his arm over Noah’s shoulders, “when ye first saw Saoirse, what did ye think?”

Noah glanced to the ground as he recalled the wedding. His heart quickened and a sliver of a smile played on his lips.

“I felt nothin’,” Noah answered.

“Liar. And the worst part is, ye’re nae lyin’ to me, but to yerself. So, I suggest that if ye really, truly wish to salvage yer marriage, ye admit that ye were besotted with the lass the moment ye laid eyes on her.”

Noah pushed Scott from him and shook his head. There was no way he was going to admit anything like that, especially not to Scott and not here.

“Fine.” Scott threw his hands into the air. “Ye dae things yer way and let me ken how it turns out. But mark my words, one of these days, ye’ll nae be able to manage yer passion for that lass. Somethin’ will happen and that fire ye think ye have under control will rage within ye.”

Before Noah could say another word, Scott strode back into the Castle and left him alone in the courtyard. Noah felt the pressure in his chest as he glanced to the highest windows. His mind immediately wondered if Saoirse was looking out one of them. The thought of catching just a glimpse of her made his heart quicken.

This is a mess. My mind and heart are torn in two—one moment, I want to run to her, the next I’m scarin’ her. One moment, I want to kiss her, the next I’m yellin’ at her.Licking his dry lips, Noah walked through the darkness, wanting to put some distance between himself and the Castle.

Although there was a nip in the air, he didn’t mind the chill as he went to the opposite side of the courtyard. The slow walk did nothing to take his mind off Saoirse. Instead, memories raced—images of her riding in the carriage, fast asleep as she tried to mend her headache. She was like an angel in the seat, her eyes closed, and looking as peaceful as a dove.

I dae care for her. I want to make her happy, as she deserves. Perhaps if I kenned what her favorite flowers are, she might see me.

Strolling along a darkened path toward the gardens, a light caught Noah’s attention. He stopped and looked up to the window where the glow originated. Immediately, his heart stopped as he spied Saoirse there, with a comb in hand, brushing her locks. Seeing her so high up, he wished he were a bird so that he could roost on the sill and watch her whenever he pleased.

The sight of her in nothing but her shift thrilled him. Not even the dream he’d had could compare to the reality of this moment, her shapely silhouette more exquisite than he could’ve imagined. Watching her was a guilty pleasure, and her being so high and unattainable excited him in ways he couldn’t explain. Chewing on his lip, he saw her stare out of her window, prompting him to duck back into the dark. It was clear by her calmness that she had no clue he was even down there, observing her.

Ye deserve so much more than I’ve given ye, thus far. I hope ye ken that. And ken that I’m truly sorry for hurtin’ ye. I never meant to say the things I did.His throat tightened.If only ye kenned how broken I am and all that’s transpired before. Would ye see me differently? Would ye open yer door for me and hold me to yer bosom?


Tags: Lydia Kendall Wicked Highlanders Historical