Margaret felt her chest tighten. It was not a sign of jealousy or inadequacy at comparison, because that wasn’t what he was telling her. He was not comparing her with anyone, especially not with his late wife. He was giving her the truth of his existence.
He had never spoken of her in such a way. He had never offered that part of himself, not even when he had told her the truth of that loss. Now, he did.
“I did nae expectyetae come intae me life,” he confessed.
The words carried a simple, unadorned truth, but they struck deeper than any declaration she had ever heard. His gaze held hers, unflinching now.
“And I didnae intend…” He exhaled in a quiet, controlled breath. “I didnae intend tae care whether ye stayed or went. It was meant tae be simple.”
A white marriage. A bargain. Naething more.
Margaret knew it. After all, she had agreed to it.
“And now?” she asked, though her voice was softer than she intended.
His hand tightened, just slightly, at her arm, as if in an effort to pull her even closer, sheltering her under his wing.
“Now,” he said, “losing ye would destroy me.”
The world did not shift. The sea did not still. And yet, for Margaret, everything changed. There was no hesitation in her and no doubt. All the fear she had carried inside of herself, all the uncertainty and the careful restraint she had learned since girlhood, all of it fell away in the face of that truth.
She did not think of her father, or the Masquerade, or what had been expected of her. All she could think about washim,the man before her, who had never meant to choose her and had done so anyway.
“I love ye.”
The words left her before she could temper them. She did not disguise them as anything less than they were. Yet, they still caught him by surprise. Margaret refused to look away, because she feared that might make him think that she had regretted divulging the truth of her feelings.
“I dinnae say it from duty,” she continued with a smile. “Nor from circumstance. I say it because it is true.”
Her fingers curled slightly against his chest, grounding herself in him.
“I choose tae stand by ye, Domhnall,” she whispered. “Nae because I must, but because I want tae.”
For a moment, he said nothing. And then, his hand moved, rising from her arm to her face. The gesture was soft and tender. His thumb brushed lightly against her cheek, smearing away a trace of soot she had not noticed. The touch lingered, as though he were learning the shape of her in a way he had not allowed himself before.
Margaret leaned into it without thinking, closing her eyes. He did not say the words back. She didn’t need him to. All she needed was for him to be by her side and to never let her go. That was more than enough.
The sun dipped lower still, casting the shore in gold and softening everything it touched, even the scars of what had been lost. And for the first time since she had stepped into that life not of her choosing, Margaret felt no weight in it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
It was several days later, and the afternoon carried a different kind of quiet. The castle had resumed its rhythm, though altered slightly, as though it, too, remembered the smoke and ruin beyond its walls.
Margaret was sitting by the tall window of the library, with a book open across her lap, though she had not turned the page in several minutes. Her fingers rested lightly against the parchment, tracing the faded ink as her thoughts moved elsewhere.
Then, with quiet resolve, she refocused. If she were to stand beside him not merely as his wife in name, nor even in affection, but in truth, then she would not do so idly. Domhnall did not rule through charm or appearance. He ruled through knowledge, precision, and control. And she would not be found lacking.
The book before her was not one she would have chosen a fortnight ago.
Maritime Levies and Coastal Trade Routes of the Western Isles.
It was dense, practical and entirely devoid of the elegance she had once associated with reading. And yet, she found herself drawn into it. Her gaze moved over the diagrams first: the mapping of sea lochs, the narrow passages where currents shifted treacherously, the markings denoting toll points and anchorage control. Notes had been added in the margins, which were sharp and unmistakably written by a man who did not waste ink on idle thought.
Domhnall’s hand,she smiled softly to herself.
This was his world, not the courtly intrigue she had been raised to navigate.
“If ships are rerouted through the inner channel…” she murmured softly to herself, her eyes narrowing slightly as she followed the line of ink across the page, “then the levy must be adjusted, else?—”
