Page 113 of Under the Laird’s Promise

Tavish pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was warm, a fire crackling in the hearth, but it couldn't chase away the scent of sickness that hung in the air. Angus lay propped against pillows, his face gaunt, his breathing labored. But his eyes were sharp when they fixed on Tavish.

"Lad," Angus said. "What brings ye here?"

Tavish closed the door and crossed to the bedside. He didn't sit. This required him to stand.

"I've come tae ask fer yer daughter's hand in marriage."

Angus went still. For a long moment, he just stared, assessing.

"Ye've already claimed her as yer betrothed," Angus said finally.

"Aye. But that was an arrangement. This is different. This is real." Tavish's voice steadied. "I want tae marry Maighread. Truly marry her. And I'm asking yer permission."

Angus studied him, reading him the way he'd read men his entire life. Then he nodded slowly.

"Ye have it. Me blessing. Me permission. Marry her."

"Thank ye."

"But ye must act quickly."

Tavish frowned. "How quickly?"

Angus shifted against the pillows, his breathing rougher. "Days, lad. Nae weeks. Nae months. Days."

"Why the rush?"

"Because I willnae be laird much longer." Angus's voice was blunt, matter-of-fact. "Me body's failing. I have weeks at most. Maybe less."

Tavish's chest tightened. "Angus⁠—"

"Listen tae me." The old man's gaze sharpened. "If I die before Maighread is married, this clan will tear itself apart. The Council will fight over who holds authority. Sinclair will use the chaos tae make his move. Everything will collapse."

"I understand."

"Dae ye?" Angus leaned forward slightly. "Because I need ye tae truly understand. Ye must marry her before I'm gone. Make it official. Make it binding. Give her the protection of yer name before there's naebody left tae enforce it."

"Then it will be done." Tavish's voice was firm. "I promise ye. The wedding will be arranged immediately."

Angus exhaled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Good. That's all I needed tae hear."

He extended his hand. Tavish clasped it, feeling the weakness in the older man's grip, the tremor in his fingers. But the handshake was sure. Binding.

"Thank ye," Angus said quietly. "Fer loving her. Fer protecting her. Fer giving me peace before I go."

"I'll nae fail her. Or ye."

"I ken ye willnae. And she really loves ye."

They held the grip for another moment, then Angus released him, sinking back against the pillows with obvious exhaustion.

"Go on, lad," Angus said. "Ye have work tae dae. Dinnae waste time sitting with an old man."

Tavish bowed his head slightly, then turned and left the chamber, closing the door quietly behind him.

Maighread stood in the solar, staring at the ledger in front of her without really seeing the numbers. The room was quiet, removed from the chaos of the Great Hall where the men still celebrated. She'd escaped there to think, to breathe, to process everything that had happened in the past weeks.

The door opened behind her.