Page 79 of Under the Laird’s Promise

She stared at him, the words striking harder than she expected. “Wed?” she echoed, almost breathless. “That was never the agreement,” her voice wavered. “This was meant tae be a pretense. A bargain. Naething more.”

“Aye, it was.” He ran a hand through his hair, restless, then stepped closer again, his gaze locked on hers. “But I’ve had enough of pretending. I willnae stand here and act a though I can walk away from ye when this is done.”

She searched him, waiting for the teasing edge, the strategy—but there was none.

His voice dropped, rough with feeling. “I want ye. Nae just like this. I want ye as me wife. Nay more pretendin’ between us.”

“And if I refuse?” she asked softly. She still feared the word marriage, what that would mean for her future, her independence, her freedom to make choices.

His jaw tightened, but his answer came without hesitation. “Then I’ll still want ye. But I’ll nae force yer hand.” A pause. “It has tae be yer choice.”

The honesty of it unraveled something in her.

All that time, she had told herself it wasn’t real. That it couldn’t be.

But standing there she was no longer sure she wanted it to be false. Because she knew what her feelings were for him, even if she didn’t know how to combine them with the concept of marriage.

“We’ve made a mess of things,” she whispered.

“Aye,” he said quietly. “We have.”

Another heartbeat passed.

Then she stepped closer, closing the distance between them.

“Then we’ll have tae make it true,” she said. “By begging ye tae touch me again.”

"Nay. I––" He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "I care about yer reputation. About daein’ this right. About making certain that when we finally come taegether, there's nay question of legitimacy or propriety." His expression turned fierce. "But until then, ye can't ask me that. Because me control only extends so far, and yer standing there looking at me as though ye want me tae devour ye isn't helping."

Despite the ache of unfulfilled desire, Maighread found herself smiling. "I suppose I can wait. If I must."

"Ye must. We both must." He gestured to the door, though his eyes never left her. "Now go. Before I forget every good intention I have and show ye exactly what would happen if ye begged."

She moved toward the door slowly, reluctantly. At the threshold, she paused and looked back at him.

He stood by the desk, tension radiating from every line of his body. His hands gripped the edge of the wood as though anchoring himself in place.

"Soon," she said softly.

"Soon," he agreed, his voice rough with promise.

Maighread slipped into the corridor, closing the door behind her. She leaned against the wall for a moment, her heart racing and her skin flushed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The gathering had been called hastily, a small affair meant to reassure the household after the day's attack. Tavish stood near the hearth in the Great Hall, nursing a cup of ale he hadn't touched and watching Maighread from across the room.

She moved through the assembled guests with practiced grace, her manner composed despite the violence they'd survived mere hours ago. She spoke to council members, nodded at servants, smiled at anxious villagers who'd come seeking reassurance. Every inch the laird's daughter. Every inch the woman who would lead that clan.

And every time their eyes met, she smiled slightly.

It was subtle. A barely-there quirk of her lips that no one else would notice. But Tavish saw it, felt it straight through his chest to settle low in his belly. Because he knew exactly what that smile meant.

She was remembering. Same as him.

The taste of her mouth. The feel of her hands clutching his shirt. The way she'd looked at him when she'd asked what would happen if she had begged.

Tavish took a long drink of ale, trying to cool the heat that threatened to show on his face. They'd agreed to wait. To be proper and careful until the betrothal was legitimate. But standing there watching her move through the room, knowing what lay between them, made waiting feel impossible.