Page 90 of Under the Laird’s Promise

Eventually, the light began to fade. Maighread glanced at the sky, then back at the garden.

"We should return," she said. "Before someone comes looking fer us."

"Aye."

They walked back through the courtyard in companionable silence. At the entrance to the main keep, Maighread paused.

"Thank ye," she said. "Fer just listening."

"Thank ye fer showing me." He flexed his bandaged hand. "And fer this."

"Rest it properly."

"I will."

She nodded, then disappeared into the castle, leaving him standing in the fading light.

Tavish remained there for a moment, replaying the afternoon in his mind. The garden. The memories she'd shared. The trust implicit in taking him to such a personal space.

He returned to his chambers as evening fell, his injured hand throbbing but his mind clear. Clearer than it had been in days, actually. Understanding Maighread better meant understanding how to support her. How to be what she needed.

And he wanted to be what she needed. Wanted it with a fierceness that surprised him.

The hours passed slowly. Dinner came and went. Tavish ate in his room, reviewing the letter he'd written to Fionnlagh requesting reinforcements. Everything seemed in order, but he couldn't quite settle.

Finally, as the castle quieted for the night, he went searching for her.

He found Maighread in the solar again, seated by the fire with a book open in her lap. She looked up as he entered, surprise flickering across her features.

"Tavish. Is something wrong?"

"Nay. I just..." He moved into the room, stopping a respectful distance away. "I wanted ye tae ken something."

"What?"

"I remember every detail ye shared today. About yer maither's garden. About hiding in the apple trees and being terrible at embroidery. About the herb bed and the sweet fruit and how that space was yer refuge." He met her eyes. "Every word. Every memory. I remember all of it."

Maighread studied his face, her expression shifting from surprise to something softer. Searching. As though trying to determine if he was sincere or simply saying what he thought she wanted to hear.

Whatever she found in his expression must have convinced her, because her shoulders relaxed.

"Ye really were listening," she said quietly.

"I told ye. When ye speak, I hear ye." He took a step closer. "Always."

She set the book aside, rising from her chair. "That means more than ye might realize."

"I ken it daes. That's why I wanted tae make certain ye kenned."

What they had was real. Growing more real with each shared moment, each honest conversation, each quiet revelation.

And Tavish wouldn't trade it fer anything.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The afternoon light slanted through the narrow windows, turning the corridor into stripes of gold and shadow. Maighread had just left the accounts room, her mind full of grain stores and winter preparations, when three figures materialized from a side passage.

Council members. Malcolm, Dougal, and Ewan. All men who'd served her father for decades, their loyalty to the clan unquestionable. Their loyalty to her, however, remained conditional.