Page 117 of Under the Laird’s Promise

"Get some rest. Ye'll need yer strength."

"So will ye."

"I'll sleep when ye dae."

They parted at the base of the stairs, his fingers trailing down her arm before releasing her completely. Maighread climbed to her chamber, her body heavy with exhaustion but her mind surprisingly calm.

Two days. In two days, she would marry Tavish MacBain. The thought terrified and thrilled her in equal measure.

She undressed slowly, then slid between the sheets. Sleep came quickly, dragging her under into a dreamless dark.

When she woke the next morning, there was another note on her bedside table.

Good morning, wife-tae-be. Try nae tae terrify too many servants today. —T

She laughed despite herself, warmth flooding through her.

Two days.

She could manage two days.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The messenger arrived at dusk, mud-splattered and breathless. Keir received him in the main hall, dismissing the servants with a sharp gesture.

He listened to the news.

"When did ye hear this?" Keir asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

"This morning, me laird. One of our informants inside MacEwan Castle sent word immediately."

"And ye're only now bringing it tae me?"

The messenger paled. "I rode straight through, me laird. Didnae stop except tae change horses."

Keir crumpled the letter in his fist. Two days. Maighread MacEwan would marry Tavish MacBain in two days.

"Get out," he said.

The messenger fled.

Keir stood alone in the hall, rage coiling through his chest like smoke. He forced himself to breathe slowly, to think clearly. Emotion was weakness. Control was power. His mother had taught him that from childhood.

But control felt impossible when everything he'd planned was collapsing.

He crossed to the window, staring out at Sinclair lands stretching into the distance. Good land. Prosperous land. But not enough. It would never be enough as long as MacEwan territory remained separate, unconquered, outside of his grasp.

Maighread was supposed to be his. The Council had practically promised her to him. The betrothal had been all but arranged before she'd left for the Lowlands. Everyone understood the logic: Sinclair strength combined with MacEwan resources. A natural alliance.

Except she'd refused. Politely at first, then firmly, then with outright defiance.

And now this. Marriage to some MacBain bastard who'd appeared out of nowhere and claimed her like she was yet unclaimed.

The audacity of it burned.

Keir's hands curled into fists against the stone windowsill. He'd been patient. Respectful, even. He'd waited for Angus to see reason, for the Council to pressure her, for circumstances to force her hand. He'd orchestrated the attacks carefully, making sure she understood the danger she faced without him.

And still she'd chosen someone else.