Page 88 of Under the Laird’s Promise

"Naething worth discussing," he said instead.

"Liar." But her tone carried no heat. Just quiet certainty. "Ye're thinking too much. About what happened yesterday. About Keir. About all of it."

She wasn't wrong. But it wasn't the whole truth either.

"Aye," he admitted. "Among other things."

"What other things?"

You. Always you.

"Just… the future. What comes after we deal with Keir." He watched her hands move across his skin, strong and sure. "Whether I'm truly prepared tae stay here permanently."

"Are ye having second thoughts?"

"Nay. But that daesnae mean I'm nae questioning whether I'm the right choice fer this clan. Fer ye."

Maighread's hands stilled. She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. "Ye are the right choice. I wouldnae have claimed ye otherwise."

"Ye claimed me out of desperation."

"I claimed ye because I trusted ye." She returned her attention to his hand, her touch resuming its methodical work. "Even then, even in that moment of panic, some part of me kenned ye were someone I could rely on. And I was right."

The admission settled over him, warm and unexpected. "Ye shouldnae trust me so completely, lass. I'm still the same man who made catastrophic mistakes years ago."

"Nay. Ye're nae." Her fingers pressed into the swollen muscle, working the salve deeper. "Ye're the man who learned from those mistakes. Who carries the memory of them so he willnae repeat them. That makes ye wiser, nae weaker."

"Ye have more faith in me than I deserve."

"I have exactly the amount of faith ye've earned." She reached for the linen bandaging. "Now hold still while I wrap this."

Tavish watched as she wound the cloth around his hand, her movements slow and precise. Each pass of the linen felt deliberate, careful. She took her time, making certain the binding was secure but not too tight.

"Ye ken," he said quietly, "I'm starting tae think injuring meself might be worth it if it means ye will put yer hands on me this way."

Her fingers paused mid-wrap. She didn't look away from his hand, but he saw the flush creep up her neck.

"That's a dangerous line of thinking," she murmured.

"Is it?"

"Aye. Because if ye start hurting yerself deliberately, I'll have tae stop tending ye. And then where will we be?"

"With me injured and too stubborn tae seek help from anyone else?"

"Exactly." She finished the bandaging, tying it off with a neat knot. But her hands remained on his, cradling his wrapped palm between hers. "So perhaps dinnae go looking fer injuries just tae get me attention."

"What if I want yer attention?"

"Then ask fer it. Properly." She met his eyes finally, her expression open. Honest. "Ye dinnae need tae bleed fer me tae notice ye, Tavish."

The words hit him harder than any training blow. He turned his hand over in hers, his fingers brushing her wrist. "I'll remember that."

"See that ye dae." But she didn't pull away. Didn't break the contact between them.

They sat there for a long moment, hands touching, eyes locked. The healing room felt smaller suddenly. More intimate. As though the rest of the world had fallen away, leaving only her fingers against his wrist, his thumb stroking the delicate bones of her hand.

"Maighread," he said softly. "I need ye tae ken something."