Page 72 of Under the Laird’s Promise

"Tavish," she whispered.

"Aye, lass?"

"We should⁠—"

"M'laird!" One of the escort guards called out, shattering the moment. "We need tae move. If they regroup and come back with reinforcements, we'll be trapped."

Reality crashed back over them. Tavish forced himself to release Maighread's waist, his hands falling away reluctantly. She stepped back, putting proper distance between them, though her cheeks remained flushed.

"Ye're right," Tavish called to the guard. "Everyone mount up. We ride hard fer the castle. Nae stopping until we're behind those walls."

The escort moved into formation quickly, checking their weapons and securing the horses. Tavish turned and lifted Maighread into the saddle with ease. When she settled, gathering her reins, their eyes met again.

"Stay close tae me," he said quietly.

"I will."

"I mean it, Maighread. Ye dinnae leave me sight until we're safe inside the castle."

"I understand."

He wanted to say more. Wanted to tell her that the thought of losing her had nearly driven him mad. That seeing that mercenary reach for her had awakened something fierce and possessive in his chest that he didn't quite know how to name.

But the guards were watching, waiting. There was no time for confessions.

Tavish mounted his own horse, positioning himself at Maighread's side. Closer than strictly necessary. Close enough that their legs nearly brushed with each movement.

"Move out!" he ordered.

They rode hard, leaving the bodies behind. The forest blurred past as they pushed the horses to their limits. Tavish kept his attention split between the road ahead and Maighread beside him, watching for any sign she was struggling to keep the pace.

She rode well, her seat steady despite the speed. But he could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her knuckles whitened on the reins. The attack had shaken her, though she'd never have admitted it.

It had shaken him too.

The reality of what Keir was willing to do had become brutally clear. This wasn't just political maneuvering anymore. This was kidnapping. Forced marriage. Violence without hesitation.

And it would happen again.

Keir wouldn't stop. He'd keep sending mercenaries, keep orchestrating ambushes, until he either succeeded in taking Maighread or died trying.

Which meant Tavish had to be smarter.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The hoofbeats pounded a rhythm that matched Maighread's racing heart. They'd left the bloodied road behind, the bodies cooling in the forest shadows, but she couldn't shake the image of Tavish throwing himself between her and that mercenary.

The way he'd moved, fast and brutal, driven by something far beyond duty or obligation. She glanced at him riding beside her, his jaw set and his eyes scanning the treeline for threats. Blood still streaked his face, dried now into dark lines that made him look savage. Dangerous. Beautiful. The thought struck her so suddenly she nearly lost her grip on the reins.

When had that happened?

When had she stopped seeing him as merely convenient, a shield against Keir's ambitions, and started seeing him as… essential? The answer came swift and terrible: when she'd watched that blade arc toward him during the fight. When her heart had stopped beating until she saw him roll clear.

When the thought of his death had carved through her chest so sharply she'd tasted blood. She wasn't pretending anymore. The realization settled over her, heavy as winter frost. Everything had shifted.

Changed.

The betrothal that had started as desperate fiction had become something far more complicated. Something real. Maighread studied Tavish's profile, the strong line of his jaw, the way his hair caught the fading sunlight.