Page 37 of Under the Laird’s Promise

"It is." His hand rose again, this time actually touching her face, fingers gentle against her cheek. "And I'm just as scared, if that helps."

Her eyes fluttered closed. "It daesnae."

"Nay?"

"Makes it worse. Because if ye're scared too, then it must be real."

"Aye." His thumb brushed her cheekbone. "It must be."

She leaned into the touch for just a heartbeat before stepping back. "We cannae dae this. Nae now. Nae with the gathering in two hours and half the castle watching our every move."

"When then?"

"I dinnae ken." She smoothed her skirts, composure sliding back into place like armor. "After the gathering. After we've survived today without incident. Then maybe we can talk about… this."

"That's a promise?"

"That's all I can offer right now."

Fair enough. He nodded, backing to a respectable distance. "Then let's finish yer lesson. What else dae I need tae ken?"

Relief and disappointment warred across her features. "Right. Yes. Um." She gathered the parchment from the table. "Games. There will be competitions. Archery, stone toss, wrestling. Ye're expected tae participate but nae tae dominate. Let some of the younger men win occasionally."

"Let them win? That's humiliating."

"That's politics. Ye want them tae like ye, tae see ye as one of them instead of an outsider lording over everyone." She met his gaze. "Can ye dae that? Can ye lose gracefully?"

"Depends on the game."

"Tavish."

"I'll try. How's that?"

"It'll have tae dae." She moved tae the door, pausing with her hand on the latch. "One more thing. Dinnae make it weird."

"Wouldnae dream of it."

She rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. "Meet me in the main corridor in an hour. Dinnae be late."

"When have I ever been late?"

"This morning."

"That was different."

"How?"

"I wasnae properly motivated yet." He caught her hand before she could leave, pressing a quick kiss tae her knuckles. "Now I am."

She fled, and he watched her go with satisfaction warming his chest.

An hour later, Tavish stood in the main corridor as instructed, freshly washed and wearing his finest doublet. The fabric felt constrictive after days in simpler clothes, but Maighread had insisted on proper attire.

She appeared from the opposite direction, and his breath caught.

She'd changed intae a gown of deep blue wool that brought out the silver in her grey eyes. Her hair was braided intricately, woven with ribbon that matched the dress. She looked every inch the Lady of the Clan, and something fierce and possessive surged through him at the sight.

Mine.