Page 89 of Under the Laird’s Promise

"What?"

"I listen tae ye more than anyone else. More than me braither, more than me closest friends. When ye speak, I hear ye. When ye advise me, I follow. That's… that's never happened before."

Her breath caught. "Tavish⁠—"

"I'm nae finished." He shifted his grip, his fingers lacing with hers. "Ye asked me if I had second thoughts about staying. The truth is, I cannae imagine leaving now. Cannae imagine a future where I'm nae beside ye, listening tae yer sharp observations and following yer lead on things I dinnae fully understand."

"That sounds suspiciously close tae a declaration."

"Maybe it is."

Maighread's eyes searched his face, looking for something. Certainty, perhaps. Or truth.

Whatever she found seemed to satisfy her, because she squeezed his hand once before releasing it and standing.

"Yer hand should heal quickly if ye dinnae strain it further," she said, her tone shifting back to something practical. "Which means nay training fer at least two days. Three would be better."

"Two days?" Tavish stood as well. "Maighread, I cannae⁠—"

"Ye can and ye will. Unless ye want tae risk permanent damage." She crossed her arms, her expression broking no argument. "I mean it, Tavish. Rest the hand or I'll have the healers confine ye tae yer chambers. We have tae be prepared fer what may be comin’."

He wanted to argue. Wanted to insist he'd be fine. But the stern set of her jaw told him it would be futile. And she was right.

"Fine," he conceded. "Two days."

"Three."

"Two and a half."

A smile tugged at her lips. "Deal. Now come. There's something I want tae show ye."

She led him from the healing room, through corridors he'd walked dozens of times. But instead of heading toward the main areas of the castle, she turned down a narrow passage that led outside. They emerged into a small courtyard tucked between the castle wall and what looked to be an old chapel.

Tavish had seen the space before in passing but never paid it much attention. Now, following Maighread through an arched gateway, he realized it opened into a garden.

Not a grand formal garden meant for entertaining. This was smaller, more intimate. Ancient fruit trees lined one wall, their branches gnarled with age. Stone benches sat nestled between overgrown herb beds. In the center, a small fountain burbled softly, half-hidden by trailing vines.

"This was me maither's garden," Maighread said quietly. "She designed it herself when she first came here. Said every lady needed a place ae think away from the demands of the household."

Tavish looked around with fresh eyes, seeing the care that had gone into the layout. The way the paths curved naturally, leading the eye from one quiet corner to another. The selection of plants, chosen for their fragrance as much as their appearance.

"It's beautiful," he said.

"It's neglected now. After she died, nay one had the heart tae come here." Maighread moved toward one of the benches, trailing her fingers along the stone. "I used tae come as a child. Hide among the apple trees. This was me refuge. The one place I could just… be meself without worrying about appearances or expectations." She turned to face him. "I havenae brought anyone here."

The significance of that wasn't lost on him. "Why bring me now?"

"Because…" She paused, seeming to search for words. "Because I wanted ye tae ken this part of me. The part that isn't Laird Angus's daughter or the woman fighting tae maintain control of her inheritance. Just… Maighread."

Tavish moved closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "I want tae ken every part of ye, lass. Not just the fierce leader or the clever strategist. All of it."

She smiled, soft and genuine. "Then walk with me. Let me show ye the garden."

They moved through the space slowly, Maighread pointing out features and sharing memories. The herb bed where her mother had grown medicinal plants. The bench where she'd taught Maighread to embroider, though Maighread had been terrible at it. The apple tree in the corner was the one that had produced the sweetest fruit, and young Maighread had climbed its branches despite stern warnings to stay grounded.

Tavish listened without interrupting, storing away each detail. The way her voice softened when she spoke of her mother. How her eyes brightened recalling childhood mischief. The fondness that colored every memory, even the bittersweet ones.

They remained in the garden for a long while, the afternoon sun slanting through the branches overhead. Tavish stayed close but didn't touch her, understanding instinctively that this sharing required space. Required trust that went beyond physical contact.