Page 109 of Under the Laird’s Promise

"Love, Faither. Real love. The kind that daesnae ask me tae dim me own light. The kind that stands beside instead of in front of." Her voice gained strength. "He treats me like an equal. Even when we argue, even when we disagree, he daesnae try tae diminish me. He just… stands firm and expects me tae dae the same."

"Sounds like a man worth keepin'."

"Aye." The admission felt monumental. "If he'll have me."

Angus laughed, a rough sound that turned into a cough. Maighread reached for the water again, but he waved her off.

"Lass, that lad would crawl through fire if ye asked. Dinnae pretend ye dinnae ken it."

"It started as a lie, Faither. A desperate gamble tae avoid Keir."

"And now?"

"Now I dinnae want it tae end." The words tumbled out. "I ken it's mad. But when I think about him leavin', about him goin' back tae his own lands and me bein' left here alone tae fight Keir and the Council…" She swallowed hard. "I cannae breathe right."

Her father reached out, his hand finding hers. His grip was weak, but steady.

"Daughter." Angus squeezed her fingers. "I've lived long enough tae ken when a man's committed, whether he's admitted it tae himself or nae. That lad isnae goin' anywhere unless ye send him away."

"The Council wants proof. They want..."

"Bugger the Council." The curse surprised her. Her father rarely swore. "This is yer life, Maighread. Yer future. Nae theirs." His voice roughened. "I'm dyin', lass. We both ken it. And when I'm gone, ye'll need someone beside ye who'll fight fer ye, nae just fer yer lands or yer title." He paused. "Is Tavish that man?"

She thought of him catching her when she'd stumbled. The way he'd looked at her in the tavern, hunger and restraint warring in his expression. How he'd whispered that she'd have to beg, then held himself back when she'd refused.

The way he'd listened when she'd told him about feeling erased by marriage. No platitudes. No dismissals. Just truth meeting truth.

"Aye," she breathed. "Aye, he is."

"Then ye have me blessin'." Angus smiled, his eyes glistening. "Marry the lad. Make it real. Build somethin' that'll last longer than clan politics and Keir Sinclair's ambitions."

Tears spilled down her cheeks. "Faither..."

"Dinnae cry, ye daft girl. This is supposed tae be happy." But his own voice wavered. "I'm proud of ye, lass. Yer maither would be too."

Maighread pressed her forehead to their joined hands, shoulders shaking.

"I miss her," she whispered.

"I ken. I dae too." He stroked her hair with his free hand. "But she'd be glad ye found someone who sees ye the way Tavish daes. Someone who willnae try tae cage ye."

She lifted her head, wiping at her eyes. "What if I'm terrible at bein' married?"

"Then ye'll be terrible taegether." He grinned. "Seems tae me ye're already halfway there."

Despite everything, she laughed.

"Ye'd be bored otherwise." Angus settled back against his pillows, exhaustion creeping into his features.

"Ye need rest…"

"I'll rest when I'm dead. Right now, I want tae see me daughter claim her happiness." He closed his eyes briefly. He yawned, his body sinking deeper into the mattress. "Now go. And send word when it's done."

Maighread stood, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Thank ye."

"Fer what? Givin' ye permission tae dae what ye were goin' tae dae anyway?" But his smile was fond. "Go on. Before I change me mind and lock ye in the tower."

She left the chamber, her heart hammering against her ribs.