Chapter 12
Theodore's gaze remained fixed on the door, half expecting Madison to return.
Minutes passed, and when there was still no sign of her his chest tightened.
He reached for his dram, but the burn did nothing to ease the hollow ache spreading through him.
Madison had walked out—no, fled—in front of everyone.
And while he'd defend her with his last breath, there was no stopping the gossip from spreading like rot through grain.
He exhaled slowly, dragging his fingers through his hair until it stood in rough disarray.
The hall had fallen quiet at first, shocked into silence.
Now the low hum of conversation crept back, but the mood had shifted.
No longer the vibrant chatter of a feast, but hushed speculation. Pointed glances. Pursed lips.
The unspoken question hung in every stare: What madness has seized our laird?
"Ye'd think the people would have somethin' better to do with their time than gawk at yer ugly face," Boyd said, dropping into the seat beside Theodore without ceremony.
Theodore's mouth twitched despite himself. "I must say, ye're a sight for sore eyes."
He waved the servant over. Before Theodore could speak, the young man had refilled his glass and poured whisky for Boyd.
"Well, I daenae ken about that." Boyd's grin was lopsided. "Suppose it depends on who's lookin'. If there's a pretty lass with eyes for only me, then I'll have to bid ye farewell."
Theodore studied his friend more closely. The flush in Boyd's cheeks, the loose-limbed sprawl. "What's got ye in such fine spirits?"
Boyd reached for his glass, but Theodore snatched it away. "I'm nae one for spoilin' a good time, but I need ye sober in the mornin'. We've a promise to keep."
"I've made nay such promise." Boyd slumped back in his chair, resigned. "But seein' as ye're me laird, I'll do yer biddin'."
Theodore nodded, then fell silent. His gaze drifted back to the door.
"Tell me," he finally said, voice low. "What makes a lass run off without a word?"
Boyd scratched his upper lip thoughtfully. "Did ye eat onions? I've been told if ye have foul breath, the ladies want nothin' to do with ye."
"I'm bein' serious." Heat prickled beneath Theodore's skin. "Madison ran out of here as if her feet were on fire."
"Might have to do with her head achin'." Boyd finished his water and slammed the cup down. "Bells were ringin' right before the meal, aye?"
Theodore's breath caught. The bells. Of course—the loud, jarring clang that announced meals across the island. How had he not thought of it? She'd been struck in the head during the hunt. The noise must have sent pain lancing through her skull.
Guilt twisted in his gut.
"The bells," Theodore said, voice tight. "Lower the tone. Have the pitch changed so they daenae ring so sharp."
Boyd's eyebrows shot up. "Do ye have any idea how much that'll cost?"
"I daenae care." Theodore's tone left no room for argument. "I'll nae have me wife in agony for every meal."
"So ye really plan to go through with the weddin', do ye?" Boyd shook his head, gaze wandering to a blonde lass across the hall.
Theodore ignored him and turned to the nearest servant—a slight lad who looked barely old enough to serve. "Ye. Fetch someone from the kitchens. The cook, if she's available."
The boy's eyes widened. He bowed so low his nose nearly touched his knees, then bolted for the servant's corridor as if the devil himself were on his heels.
Boyd's laughter rang out. "I think ye may have given that poor lad a spasm. Did ye see how he nearly lost his constitution? I daenae think I've ever seen anyone so eager to serve."
"Then maybe ye could take a pointer from the lad," Theodore said, his voice harder than he intended.
Boyd swallowed, the mirth draining from his face.
Theodore didn't soften. He didn't need to. Boyd knew when to stop.
A voice cut through the noise behind him. "Ye speak boldly for a man who cannae even keep his wife for a meal.
Theodore's vision went red. He shoved back from the table—hard. The entire surface tipped, roasted hens and platters crashing to the stone floor in a cacophony of shattering pottery and spilled ale.
The hall fell silent.
Theodore rose to his full height, his voice carrying to every corner of the room.
"Listen here, and listen well." Each word fell like a hammer blow.
"I'll nae tolerate any further foul words against the lass who is to be yer Lady.
Who mocks someone who's injured? Who strikes when someone is weaker?
" His gaze swept the crowd, meeting eyes that quickly looked away.
"What sort of clan would disgrace a young lass?
Ye'll all hold yer tongues from here on out.
The next one to say anythin' against her will lose it. "
He remained where he stood, shoulders coiled with tension. His words hung in the air like a dark cloud, smothering what remained of the feast's warmth.
Let them whisper.
They didn't see what he had. They'd never understand what the hunt had done to her.
He closed his eyes. For a moment, Madison's image flashed before him—not as she was tonight in her borrowed gown, but as she'd been when he'd caught her. Hollow-eyed. Bone-thin. Shadows beneath her eyes that spoke of sleepless nights running from monsters.
Theodore swallowed hard. He couldn't help her then. But he could help her now.
Madison had every right to fear. Life had been cruel. But he didn't have to be. Not to her.
Movement in his peripheral vision drew his attention. The servant boy had returned with a broad-shouldered, gray-haired woman, flour dusting her apron.
"Me laird," the boy squeaked. "I found Greta."
Theodore gestured her forward. The woman approached and bowed, eyes downcast.
"Me laird, ye wished to see me." Her voice trembled slightly.
"Aye." Theodore kept his tone even. "Madison—Lady MacLeon—she's left the hall."
"I heard." Greta's sharp eyes studied him.
"And what else have ye heard, squirreled away in yer corner of the castle?"
Greta twisted her flour-dusted hands. She glanced around as if hoping someone would speak for her. "Nothin' other than the lass probably needs somethin' to eat after everythin' she's been through."
The knot in Theodore's chest loosened. This woman—not the richest in the room, but perhaps the one with the biggest heart—understood.
"I'm glad ye said that." Theodore's expression softened. "The poor lass looked near ready to faint. She's been through enough, and I daenae want ye or anyone else causin' her trouble."
Greta's brow furrowed. "And ye think I'd cause her trouble?"
"What I want," Theodore said carefully, "is for ye to be available tonight. If the Lady comes for food—at any hour—I want ye to make her whatever she wants. Can ye do that for me? For her?"
"Aye." Greta nodded firmly. "I'll see the lass is well taken care of."
"And if she decides to test her freedom, she's nae to be stopped or bothered.
But I daenae want her wanderin' lost in the corridors either.
" Theodore leaned forward slightly. "Keep every fire lit tonight.
Every door open. Make this place feel as welcomin' as we can. Do ye think ye can help me with that?"
"Aye, me laird." Greta bowed. "I'll see the lass is tended to at all hours."
"She's nae a prisoner here, understand?" Theodore's voice dropped. "Though I'm startin' to think she still believes she is. I want that notion banished from her thoughts. If she walks the halls tonight, I want someone there—quietly, mind ye—so she kens she's safe."
Greta nodded slowly. "It'll be done." She hesitated.
"But… if I may say, me laird, ye'll need to be patient with the lass.
If she's as broken as ye say, she'll need time more than anythin'.
Feelin' free is different than bein' free.
The lass has ghosts hauntin' her, and I doubt the hunt is somethin' so easily forgotten. "
Her words struck deeper than she knew.
Boyd clapped a hand on Theodore's shoulder, breaking the moment. "I daenae ken what the problem is. She'll come around." His grin stretched wide. "Ye've got a way of wearin' folk down, and I doubt she's any different."
A dry laugh escaped Theodore. The whisky on Boyd's breath made him lean back slightly. "I'll take that as a compliment."
But as he glanced once more at the door Madison had fled through, Greta's words echoed in his mind.
Time. Patience. Freedom.
He could give her those things. He would give her those things.
Even if it took the rest of his life.