Page 45 of Under the Laird’s Promise

He stood there as darkness gathered, the parchment burning against his palm through layers of paper and rage. Around him, the gathering continued its slow dissolution—children being herded toward home, men stumbling toward beds or bottles, women wrapping leftover food in cloths fer the journey back to their cottages.

Normal. Peaceful. Everything this message threatened to destroy.

Maighread appeared at his side, her presence a warmth he hadn't realized he'd been seeking. "What did it say?"

"Naething important." The lie tasted foul.

"Tavish."

"Leave it, lass." He folded the message again, creasing it with more force than necessary. "It's handled."

"Ye're lying tae me." Nay accusation in her voice, just fact stated plainly. "After everything we've said about honesty between us, ye're standing here lying tae me face."

His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. "Some things are better left alone."

"That's nae yer decision tae make." She moved closer, lowering her voice though the nearest person was ten paces away. "We agreed nay secrets. Nay hiding things that could affect our safety."

"This daesnae affect ye."

"Everything about Keir affects me. Ye ken that." Her hand found his arm, gripping tight. "What did he say?"

The weight of her touch, the trust implicit in her demand fer truth, nearly broke him. He could show her the message. Could let her read Keir's veiled threats and thinly disguised accusations. Could share the burden of knowing their charade was being scrutinized from every angle.

Or he could protect her from it. Keep this particular poison to himself.

"He's questioning the betrothal," Tavish said finally, choosing his words with care. "Wondering if it's genuine or just strategy tae keep him at bay."

"That's all?"

No. That wasn't all. But the rest—the implications about his departure, the suggestion that his presence endangered him, the barely concealed promise of violence—those parts he'd carry alone.

"That's enough, isn't it?" He met her gaze, willing her to let it drop. "He's watching. Waiting fer us tae slip up."

Understanding flickered across her features. "Ye're nae telling me everything."

"I'm telling ye what matters."

"Tavish—"

"Please." The word escaped before he could stop it, rough and raw. "Just… trust me on this. Some things I need tae handle meself."

She studied him for a long moment, grey eyes searching his face for cracks in the armor he'd hastily assembled. Finally, she nodded once, though her expression suggested the conversation wasn't over, merely postponed.

"Fine. But we will discuss this later, when there aren't fifty people watching us pretend everything's normal."

"Agreed."

She released his arm and stepped back, the loss of contact immediate and visceral.

"I'll be along shortly." He needed air. Space. Time to think through options that all seemed equally terrible.

Maighread hesitated, clearly wanting to say more, then turned and walked toward the tables where her cousin was directing servants. Tavish watched her go, the message burning a hole through his palm.

He waited until she'd disappeared into the crowd before moving, his feet carrying him away from the gathering and toward the quieter passages of the castle. The corridors were dim, lit only by torches spaced too far apart, and he welcomed the shadows. Let them hide the fury twisting his features, the fear he refused to acknowledge clawing at his throat.

In a small alcove that smelled of old stone and older secrets, he stopped. Pulled out the message again. Read it once more by flickering torchlight, each word etching itself deeper into memory.

The implications were as clear as spring water and twice as cold. Keir blamed Tavish's presence for ruining his plans. That by staying, by continuing the charade, he was painting a mark on his back. He had already stopped him from returning home to formalize their union. Now he had to remove him in order to reach is goal.