Page 67 of Under the Laird’s Promise

"We are playing a part."

"Are we?"

Maighread looked away, her jaw tight. "We have tae be."

"Why?"

"Because—" She cut herself off, shaking her head. "Because it's safer that way."

"Safer fer who?"

"Fer both of us."

Tavish wanted to argue, to push until she admitted what they both knew. But something in her tone stopped him. She sounded tired. Scared, even.

So instead, he nodded. "If ye say so, lass."

They rode on in silence, leaving the village behind as the road wound through frost-tipped fields. The sun climbed higher, burning away the morning chill.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The road stretched ahead, winding through frost-kissed countryside that seemed peaceful enough to lull even the most vigilant traveler into complacency. Maighread kept her mare at a steady pace, flanked by Tavish on her right and their small escort riding a respectful distance ahead. The morning had been blessedly uneventful, the sort of quiet travel that let her mind wander back to things better left unexamined.

Things involving rumpled tavern beds and hands that lingered far too long.

She shook the thought away, focusing instead on the rhythmic clop of hooves against packed earth. The tension that had coiled tight between them since dawn had begun to ease, softening into something almost companionable. Almost.

"The village elders seemed receptive," Tavish said, breaking the comfortable silence. "More than I expected, honestly. Especially after that initial resistance."

Maighread glanced at him, grateful for the neutral topic. "Aye. Once they saw the grain stores and medical supplies, their tune changed quick enough. Hungry bellies make for short loyalties."

"Cynical, lass."

"Practical." She adjusted her grip on the reins, her fingers stiff from the cold. "But ye handled it well. That speech about unity and shared prosperity was effective."

"Flattery now?" A grin tugged at his mouth. "Careful, or I'll think ye actually like me."

"Dinnae push yer luck, MacBain."

His laugh rang out, warm and genuine. "There's the sharp tongue I've grown so fond of."

Despite herself, Maighread felt her lips quirk. The banter felt easier than it had any right to, given how close they'd come to destroying their arrangement entirely. Perhaps that was the trick of it. Pretend the night hadn't happened. Pretend her skin didn't still burn where he'd touched her.

Pretend she hadn't wanted him to continue.

"The women were watching ye," she said, steering her thoughts back to safer ground. "Did ye notice? Nae the elders. The younger ones. They were whispering about ye the entire time we distributed supplies."

"Were they now?" Tavish's tone turned amused. "Should I be flattered or concerned?"

"Both, probably. Ye made quite an impression when ye lifted those grain sacks single-handed. Very heroic."

"Are ye mocking me?"

"Observing." She kept her gaze forward, though she could feel his eyes on her. "But it worked in our favor. If the women approve, they'll convince their husbands tae support the match. That's how these things work."

"Clever lass."

"I learn quickly."