Page 97 of Under the Laird’s Promise

"Tavish—"

"I ken what I'm saying, lass. I ken the risks and the complications and everything that comes with choosing tae stay. But I also ken that walking away from ye, from this, would be the worst mistake I could make." He reached out, his fingers finding hers. "So I'm nae walking away. I'm staying right here, beside ye, fer as long as ye'll have me."

Maighread's eyes glistened. "Ye dinnae have tae⁠—"

"I ken I dinnae have tae. That's what makes it a choice." He squeezed her hand.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Maighread's chamber felt too small, the walls pressing closer with each circuit she made across the floor. Rain lashed the windows, wind howling through gaps in the ancient stone. She'd been pacing for an hour now, her thoughts spiraling darker with every step.

He could have died today.

The image wouldn't leave her mind: Tavish and Keir circling each other, blades flashing, death lurking in every strike. One misstep, one moment of hesitation, and she would have watched him bleed out on those courtyard stones.

Because of her. Because she'd dragged him into this mess with a desperate lie that had become something far more dangerous.

She stopped at the window, pressing her forehead against the cool glass. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the grounds below in stark white. The storm matched her mood perfectly: violent, chaotic, relentless.

He shouldn't stay. The Council had offered him freedom, and she should insist he take it. Send him back to MacBain lands where Keir's schemes couldn't reach him. Where he'd be safe.

Even if the thought of losing him carved through her chest with vicious claws.

She moved toward the door. She'd find him immediately, and make him see reason. Force him to understand that staying there meant certain death eventually. That she couldn't bear having his blood on her hands.

Her fingers closed around the latch. She pulled.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, Maighread tried again, yanking harder. The metal refused to budge, stuck fast in its housing. She braced her foot against the doorframe and hauled with both hands. Still nothing.

"Brilliant," she muttered. "Absolutely bloody brilliant."

Thunder crashed overhead, shaking the very foundations. The storm was intensifying, turning from mere rain into something primal and furious. Wind shrieked through every crack, making the shutters rattle violently against their hinges.

She needed to get out. Needed to find Tavish before her courage failed and she convinced herself that keeping him close mattered more than keeping him alive.

Maighread threw her shoulder against the door. Pain bloomed hot across her collarbone, but the wood didn't shift. She tried again, ramming the solid oak with mounting desperation.

"Open, ye cursed thing!"

Footsteps pounded down the corridor outside. Heavy boots moving fast.

"Maighread!" Tavish's voice carried through the door, rough with concern. "Are ye all right?"

Her heart lurched. "The latch is stuck. I cannae get out."

"Stand back from the door."

She retreated three steps. A moment of silence, then Tavish's shoulder hit the wood with tremendous force. The door shuddered but held. He struck again, the impact resonating through the chamber. On the third attempt, the latch finally gave with a screech of tortured metal.

The door flew open. Tavish stumbled through, rain-soaked and breathing hard. Wind howled into the room behind him, carrying sheets of water that soaked the floor within seconds. He fought the door closed again, muscles straining as he forced it back into the frame.

They stood there, both breathing heavily, water dripping onto the stones between them.

Then Maighread laughed.

It started as a surprised huff, then built into something uncontrollable. The absurdity of it all: the storm, the stuck door, him bursting through like some hero from a bard's tale while looking utterly bedraggled.