Page 73 of Here in Your Arms
He studied her face for a long moment, then said quietly, “Ye’ve lived the mystery ye once studied—and now that ye kenwhat it really is, it frightens ye. And ye dinna want to be here anymore.”
She gave a half-smile, sharp and seemingly self-aware. “That about sums it up.”
“That is nae why ye dinna want to be here,” he said, certain of it.
Rose opened her mouth, hesitated, then gave a small, reluctant nod. “You’re right—or half right, anyway. There’s a part of me that’s still curious, still hungry to understand how this world really works. But that part is buried under something bigger.” Her hands folded in her lap. “The truth is, I’ve never felt more out of place in my life. It’s not just that I don’t belong here—though clearly I don’t—it’s that I’m reminded of it, constantly. That I look like someone else. That I’m standing in Margaret’s shadow. Half the people here think I’m her ghost. The other half act like I’m some trick sent to unsettle them. Every step I take feels like a trespass. It’s exhausting.” Her lips twitched, though it was not quite a smile. “And it’s not like I haven’t been the outsider before. I did high school in the twentieth century with braces and headgear strapped to my face and this”—she gestured vaguely toward her scar—“reminding everyone how...different I was. I know what it’s like to feel unwanted. But this is worse. Here, I don’t just stand out—I’m a threat. Or a ghost. Or a lie.” She lowered her eyes. “Sorry,” she murmured. “You probably don’t care about any of that.”
Tiernan rose to his feet, slowly, the movement deliberate as he tested his balance. His shoulder ached—there was no avoiding that—but it was a familiar ache, dulled now to something manageable, something he could push past if he had to. Rose stood as well, as if his motion had stirred something in her too.
As he steadied himself on his feet, he motioned toward the chair she’d just left, a silent invitation for her to sit again, to stay. But she didn’t take it.
“I’m sorry for intruding,” she said, her voice soft and edged with uncertainty, “for lurking as I am. As I said, Agnes had me worried that you might come down with a fever.” She spoke quickly now, nervously, mayhap with some irrational worry that she’d said too much.
She moved again, coming toward him, picking up the part of the fur throw that had fallen off the bed and to the floor as he’d stood. When she straightened, they stood but a few feet apart.
Though neither said a word, it seemed an undeniable current pulled taut between them. His gaze, sharp and steady, settled on hers and held.
She didn’t look away, not at first. But slowly, as if drawn by gravity, her eyes slipped from his, drifting downward, lingering a breath too long on the line of his mouth.
Tiernan felt the effect of it like a spark against dry tinder. Her eyes on his lips made something shift in his chest and tighten in his gut. He felt suddenly too aware of the space between them. Of the firelight on her skin. Of the way her breath caught, just barely, as if she realized too late what she’d done. Her blue eyes snapped back to him.
“Dinna look at me like that,” he said, the warning quiet but rough, scraped raw at the edges. His voice betrayed what he tried to contain—the want, the restraint, the fine thread holding both in place.
Her throat moved as she swallowed, the breath catching in her chest. “Like... what?”
His jaw ticked, and when he spoke again, the words came through tightly clenched teeth. “Like ye want me to kiss ye again.”
She didn’t startle. Didn’t blush or laugh or brush it aside. She didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. Her brow lifted just slightly—almost in defiance—and then her gaze dropped, sweeping slowly over the plane of his chest, his bare skin still marked with bruises, his bandaged shoulder a stark reminder of the fight that had nearly been his end.
Her eyes came back to his.
“Are you leaving in the morning?” she asked, quieter now. “Going back to Druimlach?”
He nodded once, tightly.
Rose answered with her own nod, nervous again, he sensed.
“Then... maybe I do want you to kiss me again. Once more before you go.”
The impact of her words was louder in his ears than the sound of the storm, louder than his own heartbeat.
He reached for her, slow and careful, one hand brushing against her jaw, his fingers grazing just beneath her ear. She didn’t flinch but allowed herself to be pulled forward. Her eyes were fixed on his, wide and bright and waiting.
He lowered his mouth to hers, and when their lips met, it wasn’t fierce or rushed or demanding. It was slow and soft, reverent even. It wasn’t a claiming—it was a question, and her answer came in the way she leaned into him, in the way her hands rose to rest against his chest.
He knew it then, with absolute clarity, that he wasn’t strong enough to resist her anymore. He didn’t want to be. Whatever reason the gods or fate or the cruel pull of time had brought her here, he no longer had it in him to hold her at a distance. Not tonight, and not with her mouth against his, her body warm and willing and so achingly alive in his arms.
But then he knew, he was certain of one thing: this wouldn’t end with just a kiss.
And he no longer cared about the reasons why it should.
Chapter Seventeen
If anyone had asked her—days ago, weeks ago, even this morning—what she’d want most before leaving this time behind, she might have said something grand. To see Edinburgh Castle rise from Castle Rock in its earliest glory. To glimpse William Wallace in battle or exchange words with Robert the Bruce. To witness history where it happened, as it happened.
But none of that seemed to matter now, not here, in this room, at this moment.
Truth be told, she wasn’t interested in history at the moment, not the kind etched into monuments or recited in lecture halls. She wanted this. Just this. Something small and fleeting but somehow enormous. Tiernan looked at her as if she mattered in this world, the one that insisted she didn’t belong. His presence made the storm outside irrelevant. His kiss quieted the noise in her head at the same time it caused her pulse to race.
