Page 115 of Under the Laird’s Promise

"I ken. I ken that. But it daesnae make it easier." The tears came faster now, hot and unstoppable. "He should have years left. He should see his grandchildren. He should…"

She couldn't finish. The grief swallowed the words.

Tavish pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her completely. "I'm sorry, love. I'm so sorry."

Maighread buried her face in his shirt and sobbed. All the fear and pain and exhaustion she'd been holding back for weeks poured out in harsh, wrenching sounds. Tavish held her through it, one hand stroking her hair, the other firm against her back.

"I dinnae want tae lose him," she choked out. "I'm nae ready."

"I ken. Nobody ever is."

"He's all I have left. Me maither's gone. I have nay siblings. Just him. And now…"

"Ye have me." Tavish's voice was fierce. "Ye have me, Maighread. Ye'll always have me."

She clung to him, her fingers twisting in his shirt. They stood like that for a long time, her crying and him holding her, neither speaking. The fire crackled softly in the hearth. Outside, distant sounds of celebration drifted through the windows.

Eventually, the tears slowed. Maighread's breathing evened out, though she didn't pull away. Tavish's steady presence anchored her, kept her from fracturing completely.

"I'm sorry," she whispered finally.

"Dinnae apologize. Nae fer this. Never fer this."

She lifted her head, meeting his gaze. His eyes were dark with concern, his expression gentle in a way she'd rarely seen.

"We'll give him what he wants," she said quietly. "We'll marry quickly. I want him tae be there with me when I marry ye."

"Aye. We will."

The next day passed in a blur of activity.

Maighread woke early and immediately began issuing orders. The wedding would be small, she decided. Immediate family, close friends, essential council members. There wasn't time for anything elaborate, and given her father's condition, celebration felt wrong anyway.

Tavish found her in the kitchens mid-morning, consulting with the head cook about the wedding feast.

"Simple dishes," Maighread was saying. "Roasted meat, bread, cheese. Naething fancy. We dinnae need⁠—"

"We need enough tae feed everyone properly," Tavish interrupted. "Dinnae skimp because ye think it's inappropriate."

The cook looked between them nervously.

Maighread turned to Tavish. "I wasnae planning tae skimp. I was planning tae be practical."

"Practical is fine. Meager isnae." He glanced at the cook. "Prepare what ye normally would fer a feast. Dinnae hold back."

"Aye, me laird."

"He's nae—" Maighread stopped herself. Soon he would be laird. Or at least her husband, which carried similar authority. "Dae as he says."

The cook nodded and retreated to the ovens. Maighread shot Tavish an exasperated look.

Despite her irritation, warmth bloomed in her chest. This felt normal. Comfortable. Like they'd been partnering fer years instead of weeks.

They moved through the castle together after that, dividing tasks naturally. Tavish handled arrangements with his men and consulted with Greg about security. Maighread spoke with Kathleen about her dress and worked with the steward on guest accommodations.

In passing moments, they found each other. His hand brushed hers in a corridor. Her fingers lingered on his shoulder when she passed behind him. Small touches that steadied both of them.

That afternoon, Maighread returned to her chamber to find a note on her desk.