Page 111 of Promised to the Forbidden Laird

Donaldina set down her basket and lifted the lid from the nearest hive. The colony stirred beneath her hands. A soft humming rose from within, not threatening, but alive. Bees moved across the frames in orderly paths, their small bodies dark and gold against the comb. Donaldina worked carefully, checking for damp, clearing away fragments of old wax and adjusting a frame that sat too close to its neighbor.

Each task followed another.

Lift. Examine. Clean. Replace.

There was comfort in work that obeyed reason.

Her thoughts did not. She remembered smoke catching in her throat, the lodge roof groaning above her, and Roy appearing through the fire as though flame itself had failed to understand that it ought to stop him. She remembered later, within the safety of Dun Ard, when the fear she denied for hours finally found her. She had not asked him to stay. He stayed, nevertheless.

Donaldina pressed her thumb too firmly against the edge of the frame. Honey welled from the damaged comb and spread warm and sticky across her glove.

“Careless,” she muttered.

“A rare condition.”

She turned, only to find Roy standing just inside the garden gate. He wore no cloak despite the cool morning. His dark hair stirred in the wind, and one sleeve of his linen shirt had been pushed up past his forearm. He must have come from the yard, for mud clung to one boot and the leather guard at his wrist bore a fresh scrape.

“How long have ye been standing there?” she asked.

“Long enough tae see ye scold honey.”

He came farther into the garden, though he stopped beyond the nearest hive. The bees circling Donaldina appeared to concern him less than they once had, but she noticed he still watched each one that drifted too near his face.

Donaldina turned back to her work before she smiled. Roy remained silent. She felt his gaze follow the movement of her hands as she lifted another frame. There was nothing possessive in his watching. He observed her as he observed a landscape before battle, with patience and an attention so complete it made concealment difficult.

“What?” she asked at last.

Roy leaned one shoulder against the stone wall.

“This is the only place ye seem entirely yourself.”

Donaldina’s hands slowed. “I am always myself.”

“Aye. But elsewhere ye are also Lachlan’s sister, mistress of Dun Ard, keeper of the stores and the woman half the council expects tae solve whatever trouble they have made before midday.”

“And here?”

“Here ye are a woman arguing with bees.”

She looked over her shoulder. “They are more reasonable than most councilmen.”

“I have met few creatures that are nae.”

The answer should have amused her. Instead, something gentler moved through her chest.

Donaldina replaced the frame and lowered the lid. Roy stepped forward before she could reach for the next box. Without asking, he lifted the basket and carried it beside her.

They moved to the newest hive. The wood still smelled faintly of fresh-cut pine beneath the wax and salt air. Donaldina knelt to inspect the entrance. Roy crouched beside her, close enough that his shoulder brushed hers. Neither moved away.

“The council spoke again this morning,” he told her.

The quiet change in his voice warned her before the words did. Donaldina brushed loose soil from the base of the hive.

“About Cormac?” she asked.

“About us.”

Her fingers stilled against the wood.