Page 59 of Under the Laird’s Promise

Silence. Then, carefully: "What dae ye mean?"

"I mean every match I've ever considered, every alliance proposed… they all looked like futures where I'd exist only as leverage. As a womb tae carry heirs and a face tae smile at political functions." Her fingers twisted in the blanket. "Never as meself. Just as the lady, the wife, the maither. All the roles that bury who I actually am beneath expectations."

"Maighread—"

"I'm nae asking fer reassurance." The words came harder now. "Just being honest, same as ye were. This betrothal, this whole arrangement… sometimes I wonder if I've just chosen it because it is different, nae the real thing."

The floorboards creaked as Tavish shifted. "Dae ye really believe that?"

"I dinnae ken." She stared at the ceiling, throat tight. "But I'm terrified I'll wake up one day and discover I've vanished intae being a wife, and all the parts that made me meself have disappeared completely."

More silence, heavier this time.

Then Tavish spoke, his voice carrying conviction that cut through her spiraling fears. "I'd never let that happen. Never erase ye or diminish what makes ye extraordinary." A pause. "But I understand the fear. Understand why ye'd worry, given everything society tells us about marriage and women's roles."

"Thank ye," she whispered. "Fer nae pretending those concerns are foolish."

"They're nae foolish. They're real." His voice gentled. "Now get some sleep. "

Maighread closed her eyes, listening to the fire crackle and Tavish's breathing even out intae something approaching rest.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The wind howled outside the tavern, rattling the shutters with such force Tavish wondered if they'd hold through the night. He shifted on the wooden floor, tugging the thin blanket higher around his shoulders. The boards beneath him felt harder with each passing moment, digging into his hip until discomfort bordered on pain.

"This is ridiculous," Maighread muttered from the bed above him.

"Aye, well, cannae say I'm enjoying meself either." He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling beams barely visible in the dying firelight.

Silence stretched between them, filled only by the storm's fury and the occasional creak of timber. He could hear her breathing, quick and shallow, could picture her lying there rigid as stone.

"Ye're shivering," she said after a long moment.

"'Tis cold."

"The floor must be freezing."

"Aye,” he couldn't keep the edge from his voice.

Another pause, longer this time. Then she sighed, the sound carrying exasperation and something else he couldn't quite name. "Just get up here before ye freeze tae death."

Tavish pushed himself onto his elbow, peering toward the bed. "What?"

"Ye heard me. I'm nae repeating meself."

He hesitated, every instinct warring with the rules they'd set. But his body ached, the cold seeped into his bones, and the floor offered nothing but misery. He stood, gathering his blanket, and crossed the small space.

The mattress dipped as he settled onto the far edge, maintaining as much distance as the narrow bed allowed. They lay back to back, the gap between them feeling wider than the entire room.

Minutes crawled past. The fire sputtered lower. His muscles refused to relax, every nerve aware of her presence mere inches away.

"This isnae working," Maighread whispered.

"Nae arguing there."

She shifted, and he felt the movement through the mattress. "We're both adults. We can share warmth without…."

"Without what?" The question came out rougher than intended.