"Nay."
"Matilda."
"I said nay."
The horse kept its patient rhythm beneath them. Somewhere ahead, leather creaked. One of the men murmured low to his mount. The whole company went on as though nothing at all was happening, which felt deeply unfair considering her private suffering had by now become biblical in scale.
Behind her, Ivar did not shift an inch.
That was almost the worst part. He did not fidget or sigh or pretend not to notice. He simply remained there, warm and solid and infuriatingly aware.
"Dae ye need tae?—"
"I said I'm fine."
"—relieve yerself?"
The words fell into the dark between them.
Heat climbed her neck so quickly she felt it in her ears. Thank God he was behind her and could not properly see her face.
"That is an absolutely inappropriate question."
His tone stayed maddeningly level. "Is it a nay or an aye?"
"It is an inappropriate question, and I'll thank ye tae stop talkin' about it."
"Because we can stop."
"I dinnae need tae stop."
"Yer back has gone completely rigid."
"Me back is always rigid."
"It isnae," he said. "Right now, it could be used tae build a bridge."
She stared ahead in frozen silence.
Annoyingly, the corner of her mouth threatened to twitch. She killed it at once. He did not deserve that victory.
"I am perfectly comfortable," she said.
"Aye." His voice carried the faintest trace of amusement now. "Ye look near blessed."
She breathed in carefully through her nose, then out again. Very slow. Very measured. Like a woman in full command of herself, and not one heartbeat away from throwing herself into a bush out of desperation.
Behind her, he still had not laughed. Had not pressed. Had not made it easy.
It was deeply irritating.
"We can stop," he said again, quieter this time. "It's nae?—"
"If ye finish that sentence, I will get off this horse and walk tae Mull."
As if to mock her, the horse stepped unevenly over a rut. Ivar's arm tightened just long enough to steady her, his forearm briefly hard across her middle before he loosened again.
"On that knee?" he asked.