Page 83 of Under the Laird’s Promise

They fell silent again, the fire crackling softly. Tavish was acutely aware of how close she sat. How easy it would be to reach over, to pull her into his lap and finish what they'd started earlier.

But he didn't move.

Neither did she.

They sat together in the quiet, sharing the companionship and the understanding that what lay ahead would test them both. Keir wouldn't stop. The Council would continue to question their match. The traitor in their midst remained unidentified.

But sitting there beside Maighread, Tavish felt something settle in his chest. A certainty he hadn't known he was seeking.

That was where he belonged. Not at MacBain castle, not traveling the Highlands. There. Beside that fierce, brilliant woman who challenged him to be better.

The fire burned down further, the room growing colder. Eventually, Maighread stirred.

"I should return tae me chambers," she said softly. "Before someone notices we're both gone."

"Aye."

But neither of them moved immediately. They remained seated, reluctant to break the moment.

Finally, Maighread rose. Tavish stood as well, following her to the door. She paused with her hand on the latch, looking back at him.

She smiled, then slipped through the door into the darkened corridor. Tavish watched her go, making no move to follow or call her back.

When she'd disappeared from view, he returned to the dying fire, sinking back into his chair.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Dawn broke cold and clear over MacEwan lands, painting the courtyard stones in shades of amber and rose. Maighread wrapped her shawl tighter as she descended the stairs from the kitchens, a small bundle balanced in her hands. Sleep had eluded her again, her mind too full of everything that had passed between her and Tavish. The solar. The quiet admission of fears. The certainty that had settled in her chest despite all the uncertainties surrounding them.

She'd finally given up on rest and sought the kitchens instead, helping the cook prepare the morning meal. It gave her hands something to do while her thoughts spiraled.

The courtyard was nearly empty at that hour, most of the household still abed. But she'd known where to find him. Tavish rarely slept well after violence, she'd learned. He'd be up with the dawn, working through the restlessness the only way he knew how.

She spotted him near the far wall, seated on a low bench with his blade across his knees. The whetstone moved in steady, rhythmic strokes along the steel, the soft scraping sound carrying in the morning stillness. He'd tied his hair back, and his shirt hung loose, unlaced at the throat.

Maighread's steps slowed as she watched him work. There was something meditative about the motion, the focused concentration on his face as he tested the edge with his thumb before returning to the stone. Beautiful, in a way she hadn't expected to find such a simple task.

He glanced up as she approached, his expression shifting from distant to warm in an instant.

"Morning, lass," he said. "Ye're up early."

"So are ye." She settled onto the bench beside him, not quite touching but close enough to feel his warmth in the chill air. "I brought ye something."

She unwrapped the bundle, revealing fresh bread still warm from the ovens and a steaming cup of tea. The simple meal wasn't much, but she'd wrapped it carefully, adding a pat of butter and a small dish of honey.

Tavish set the whetstone aside, his eyes on the food. "Ye didnae have tae dae that."

"I ken. But ye need tae eat, and I suspect ye've been out here since before the sun rose." She placed the bundle on the bench between them. "So eat."

A smile tugged at his mouth. "Bossy this morning, are ye?"

"Always." She tucked her shawl around her shoulders. "Did ye sleep at all?"

"A few hours. Ye?"

"About the same."

They fell into comfortable silence as Tavish broke off a piece of bread, spreading butter across it with economical movements. Maighread watched the courtyard slowly come to life around them. A stable boy leading horses to water. Guards changing shifts at the gate. Servants crossing from one building to another on morning errands.