Page 129 of Under the Laird’s Promise

Tavish stood on the battlements, inspecting the defenses with methodical care. The morning sun warmed his back as he and Greg moved along the stone walls, checking sight lines and structural integrity. There was no immediate threat, but a good laird maintained his fortifications regardless.

"The eastern wall looks solid," Greg observed, running his hand along the coping stones.

"Aye." Tavish pointed toward the approach below. "The terrain there is defensible if we ever needed it. Narrow passage, high ground on both sides."

"Good strategic advantage."

"It is." Tavish continued walking, his gaze sweeping across MacEwan lands stretching toward the horizon. Green hills, forests, the distant shimmer of a loch. Beautiful country. His wife's. The thought still sent something warm through his chest.

They moved along the battlements without urgency, stopping occasionally to assess maintenance work or discuss minor improvements. Tavish had learned long before that attention to detail kept a castle secure. Small cracks could become large problems if left unattended.

"How daes it feel?" Greg asked as they reached the northern tower. "Being married?"

"Right." Tavish leaned against the wall, considering the question seriously.

"She's good fer ye."

"She's everything."

They descended the stairs and continued their inspection at ground level, checking the gates and storage facilities. Nothing urgent demanded attention, everything was in good order. The castle ran smoothly, the people worked efficiently. It was a solid holding, and Maighread had maintained it well during her father's illness.

When they finally finished their rounds, the sun had climbed higher. Tavish felt satisfied with what he'd seen. All was well.

As they rounded the northern tower, Tavish's gaze drifted down to the gardens below. Movement caught his attention. Maighread stood among the hedges, wrapped in a dark cloak, her hair loose around her shoulders. She was looking up at the walls, searching.

Their eyes met across the distance.

Everything else fell away. The preparations, the coming battle, Greg's presence beside him. For one perfect moment, there was only her. Standing in the garden looking up at him, the morning light catching in her hair, his wife, his future, his entire world contained in one fierce, stubborn, beautiful woman.

She smiled. Small and private, just for him.

Tavish felt it like a physical touch.

"Go," Greg said quietly.

"What?"

"Go tae her. I can finish here."

"We need tae coordinate the⁠—"

"And we will. In an hour. Right now, yer wife is standing in the garden waiting fer ye, and ye look like a man being tortured." Greg clapped him on the shoulder. "Go. Spend time with her before everything goes tae hell. That's an order from yer oldest friend."

Tavish didn't need to be told twice. He clasped Greg's arm briefly in thanks, then headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time. The descent from the battlements to the courtyard felt impossibly long. When he finally reached ground level, he strode toward the gardens with single-minded focus.

Maighread waited near the entrance, her expression shifting from patient to delighted as he approached.

"Finished already?" she asked.

"Nay Taking a break." He caught her hand, threading their fingers together. "Come with me."

"Where?"

"Somewhere quiet. Away from all this chaos."

He led her deeper into the gardens, away from the bustle of preparations visible through the hedges. The paths wound between carefully tended beds, now mostly dormant in the late season. Stone benches sat at intervals, moss-covered and ancient. Tavish had explored those gardens during his time at the castle, searching for places where he could think without interruption.

Now he had a different purpose.