The morning corridors are quiet except for the sound of my footsteps on stone. I'm carrying linens to the schoolroom, but my mind is elsewhere. On the bridge three days ago when his hand caught my waist and lingered, his fingers pressing into my side like he'd forgotten how to let go.
In the sitting room two nights ago when his hand lifted toward my face, trembling, his eyes dark and searching mine. In yesterday's garden when he laughed so hard he could barely breathe, covered in grass and dirt and looking at me like…
Like what?
Like I mattered. Like this mattered.
He didn't say it, but I felt it in every look, every touch that lasted too long, every moment he chose to be near me when he didn't have to be.
I'm smiling. I can feel it on my face, unbidden and dangerous. For the first time in months—maybe years—I'm letting myself believe I get to be chosen.
I'm passing the corridor that leads to Domnall’s study when I hear voices. Raised voices. His mother’s voice, sharp enough to cut.
"—that stupid maid of yours."
I freeze mid-step. My heart drops into my stomach.
"Mother, that's enough." Domnall's voice is quieter but strained.
"Enough?" Catriona's voice rises. "You think I haven't noticed the way you look at her? Yesterday in the gardens, rolling around in the mud like a common—"
"She's Isla's tutor."
"She's a distraction, an embarrassment! And you're making a fool of yourself." The contempt in her voice is thick enough to choke on. "I've tolerated this long enough. It ends now."
I should leave, should walk away, pretend I heard nothing. Instead, I press closer to the wall with shaking hands.
"You don't get to decide that." Domnall's voice has an edge now.
"Don't I?" A pause. "You think I don't know what you're doing? Parading her children through the gardens, spending evenings alone with her. The servants talk, Domnall, everyone sees it. You're humiliating this family."
"I'm not—"
"You are." Her voice goes cold. "And I will not allow you to throw away everything I've built for you because of some infatuation with a woman who…"
"Careful." The word is sharp.
Silence. Then: "Lady Elspeth arrives next week. The betrothal will be announced at dinner. You will attend, you will smile, and you will stop this nonsense before you destroy both your reputation and hers."
My chest is folding in on itself. I can't breathe properly.
The door opens.
I don't have time to move. Catriona steps into the corridor and sees me standing there. Three feet away, close enough that she knows I heard everything.
She looks at me with no anger but something colder. Her gaze travels over my face, my plain dress, the linens in my arms. Assessment, calculation, like she's measuring exactly how much damage I can do and deciding how to contain it.
She says nothing, not one word. She walks past me as if I'm furniture, as if I'm nothing.
My throat has closed, my hands grip the linens hard enough that my knuckles go white.
I force my legs to move into the study. Domnall is standing by the window, his back to me, hands braced against the frame.
"Domnall…"
"Not now." His voice is flat, empty.
"Please, I just need—"
"I can't talk to you right now." He doesn't turn around, doesn't look at me. "Leave."
The word hits like a slap. "But…"
"Leave, Mairead."
He walks to the other door—the one that leads deeper into the house—and leaves without looking back. Without explanation.
I stand there holding linens in an empty study, staring at the space where he was.
That evening, I'm enlisted to help with dinner service. A formal affair. Guests arriving in carriages, silk dresses and jeweled throats, servants moving through rooms like ghosts.
I'm given a serving tray and stationed by the wall. Invisible in my grey dress. My hands are steady as I pour wine and clear plates, but my chest feels hollow.
The dining room is all candlelight and crystal. Twenty guests around a table that could seat thirty. I recognize some faces from previous dinners—minor nobility, landowners, people whose names I've heard but never needed to remember.
Lady Catriona sits at the head of the table, immaculate in deep blue silk. Domnall is three seats down, jaw tight, barely touching his food.
A woman sits beside him—young, blonde, beautiful in the way of people who've never worried about where their next meal comes from. Lady Elspeth, I realize. I've seen her portrait in the gallery.
She's talking to him, leaning in slightly, her hand resting on the table near his. He's nodding, responding, but his posture is stiff.
Then his gaze lifts, finds me across the room.
We lock eyes.
Everything else blurs: the candlelight, the conversation, the woman beside him still talking, oblivious.
His expression shifts, something raw breaks through the careful mask he's been wearing all evening. Want. Pure, undisguised want. His eyes travel over my face like he's trying to memorize it, like he's drowning and I'm air.
The corner of his mouth lifts, barely. Not quite a smile—more like the ghost of one. But it's there, a silent acknowledgment of everything unsaid between us.
For a moment, I can see it in his face—the urge to stand. To leave this table full of silk and lies. To walk across the room and take my hand and just leave. Run. Disappear into somewhere his mother's voice can't reach and titles don't matter and we're just two people who chose each other.
My chest tightens. Because I want it too, want him. Not carefully, not sensibly. I've been carrying this want for days, telling myself it's impossible, that his mother will never allow it, that I'm a bastard tutor with three hidden children and he's…
He's looking at me like none of that matters. Like maybe—maybe—this could be something.
Lady Elspeth touches his arm. He blinks, the moment fractures. He looks away, back to his plate, his jaw tightening.
But I saw it—that flash of something real beneath the performance.
Catriona rises and the table goes quiet immediately, all eyes turning to her.
"Thank you all for joining us this evening." Her voice carries effortlessly. "I have an announcement that brings me great joy."
My hands stop moving. The tray feels heavier than it should.
"As many of you know, I have spent considerable time ensuring my son's future is secured. Tonight, I am pleased to share that an agreement has been reached."
She pauses for effect. "Domnall is to marry Lady Elspeth of House Ruthven."
I'm standing by the wall, the tray is shaking in my hands. One moment and it slips, glass shatters. Wine splashes across the floor in a dark stain that spreads like blood.
The table goes silent—heads turn, eyes find me.
My face burns. "I'm so sorry. I'll—"
Catriona doesn't even glance at me. Her gaze stays fixed on her guests, her voice cutting through the disruption as if it never happened. "As many of you know, I have spent considerable time ensuring my son's future is secured."
A servant materializes beside me, already moving to clean the mess. I stand there frozen, shards of glass at my feet.
"The wedding will take place this spring," Catriona says. "A union that will strengthen both our houses and secure the Morvaine legacy for generations to come."
The table erupts—applause, exclamations of congratulations. Someone raises a glass.
Domnall's eyes find mine across the room. He's not looking at the broken glass or the wine staining the floor. He's looking at me, his jaw is tight, his hands are gripping the edge of the table.
There's something desperate in his expression. Like he wants to stand, to cross the room and…
What? Fix this? Explain? Tell me this isn't what it looks like?
His lips part slightly, like he's about to speak even though I'm too far away to hear.
Lady Elspeth leans toward Domnall, her hand covering his on the table. The touch breaks whatever thread was holding us. He blinks, turns toward her. She's smiling, saying something I can't hear. He nods.
I'm still standing there—wine soaking into the hem of my dress, glass glittering at my feet.
Invisible.
The room is too hot, too bright. The candlelight is burning into my vision.
A guest stands to make a toast. I don't hear the words, my ears are ringing.
I look at Domnall, just once. Willing him to turn, to meet my eyes, to give me something—anything—that explains this.
He doesn't move, his gaze stays fixed on the table.
The toast ends, glasses clink, conversation resumes.
I pick up the tray and leave the room before anyone can notice I'm trembling.
In the corridor outside, I press my back against the wall. My vision is blurring, my throat is closing.
Three days ago, his hand was on my waist on a bridge. Two nights ago, he almost kissed me in his sitting room. Yesterday, he was laughing in a garden with my children.
Tonight, he's engaged to someone else.
And he won't even look at me.