Page 62 of The Highlander Steals a Virgin
They rounded a corner and Rhys pushed open the door to the study. William followed, casually dragging his fingers along the bookshelves before finally speaking again.
“So… that’s it then? Nay war?”
“Nay war.”
William nodded slowly, then turned to face him, leaning one shoulder against the wall. “Ye always did want peace more than you let on.”
“I want what’s necessary,” Rhys corrected. “That isnae always war.”
William didn’t respond right away. His gaze drifted across the room, to the fire, to the maps, and then subtly back to Rhys.
“Good to see Finn back,” he offered.
Rhys grunted in agreement.
“And the Lady Amara? She’s farin’ well?”
Rhys shot him a look.
William shrugged innocently. “Just makin’ conversation.”
“She’s nae yer concern.”
William lifted his hands. “Dinnae say she was. Myles just mentioned he wasnae needed as her shadow last night when I caught him in the barracks corridor last night.”
Rhys’s jaw clenched.
William smiled faintly. “Should I assign a shadow to her again today? Just in case? Myles or meself, perhaps?”
Rhys didn’t answer. He picked up the small pewter paperweight from the desk and lobbed it toward the door.
William stepped out and shut it just in time. The loud bang of metal against wood echoed through the study.
And then, silence.
Rhys let out a long breath and looked down at the war table, the visage of Amara’s dress pooling around the curve of her hips still haunting the corners of his vision.
It was well after luncheon when he heard her footsteps. Unhurried and steady, as if she belonged. The door creaked open, and she stepped into the room, and Rhys felt the room tilt ever so slightly.
The dress was simple in cut, but the effect was anything but. Pale blue linen with faint embroidery at the seams. She looked... devastating.
Not just beautiful.
Commanding.
A vague sense of familiarity hit him then. The cut of the shoulders, and the silver ties at her elbows. It might’ve belonged to his late wife once. One of the gowns she’d tucked away when she was still learning what it meant to be laird’s wife.
Had they kept it?
Likely Nina had. Utility, after all. Waste was waste, and he kent his late wife well enough to ken she would’ve said the same.
Still, the sight of it now on Amara, tailored by time to fit her body like the gown had waited years to be worn again made something tighten low in his belly.
“Ye said to meet ye here?” she asked, voice even.
He swallowed that feeling and nodded toward the table. “I did. Ye found me. Come.”
She moved to his side, eyes scanning the maps, lips parting slightly as she took it all in.
