Chapter 33
Kristen stood with the lake at her side and the children’s laughter drifting across the water. Her pulse fluttered at her throat, and Neil’s words hung between them, heavy and bright.
“I want this. Us. Forever.”
Part of her wanted to step into his arms and pretend that the past five years could be folded away like a torn letter. The other part remembered every tear, every night she lay awake alone, every rule he set to keep her at a distance.
“How can ye change so suddenly?” she asked quietly. “One minute ye are telling me ye daenae need a wife or children, that love is a distraction; the next, ye are riding across the Highlands, saying ye want forever.”
She did not add, I believed ye the first time. He would hear it anyway.
“I have seen men swear one thing in the heat of the moment and forget it when life gets tough. I spent half me childhood watching me faither bring flowers in the morning and drink by nightfall. I cannae live like that again, Neil. I cannae open me heart just for ye to retreat the first time duty growls at ye.”
Doubt told her it would be safer to send him away.
But hope, stubborn and quiet, would not die.
Neil listened without a word. His jaw clenched. His eyes never left her face. When she fell silent, he let out a slow breath.
“Ye are right to doubt me,” he acknowledged. “I havenae earned yer trust. Nae truly.”
That simple truth disarmed her more than a dozen vows could.
“I was blind.” He swallowed thickly. “And a coward. Me faither taught me that love makes a man weak. I watched him hurt folks and tell himself it was better that way, because he cared from a distance. I swore I would never be him, but then I did the same thing. I shut ye out and called it protection.”
His gaze dropped to the grass for a moment, then rose again.
“The truth is, ye daenae make me weak, Kristen. Ye make me stronger. When ye stand beside me, I think more clearly. When ye smile at our people, they trust me more. When ye held me hand in the dark and told me where I was, the storm didnae swallow me whole.”
He raised his hand to her cheek. He did not touch her; he asked without words.
“Ye light the corners of me life I was content to leave in shadow,” he rasped. “I didnae see it at first, but I see it now. And I daenae want to go back to the shadows.”
The raw honesty in his voice stole her breath.
The water behind him caught the light and threw it in small, steady ripples at his boots. Far off, Maggie barked at nothing in particular, and Finn shouted something about the world.
Ordinary sounds. A simple life.
Kristen wanted that. She wanted it with him.
“I have loved folks who made me feel small,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Folks who tossed me aside when it suited them. And then ye arrived, glowering and distant, telling me what I couldnae expect from ye. I thought I hated ye for it.”
A tear spilled over, and she laughed under her breath while brushing it away with the back of her hand.
“Then ye went and saved me life. Ye let me pour out everything I felt in yer study. Ye let me shout at ye without punishing me for it. Ye loved the children when ye could have turned them away. Every time I said I was done with ye, me heart refused.”
She took a step closer. Only a breath remained between them.
“I daenae ken yet how to trust ye fully,” she said. “That will take time. Ye understand that?”
“Aye.” He nodded once. “I will wait as long as ye need.”
She searched his face for any flicker of impatience. Any sign of the old walls sliding back into place. But she saw only a tired man who had stopped lying to himself. His eyes were steady, and his mouth was set in resolve.
Her shoulders sagged, and the weight she carried shifted. It did not vanish, but it lightened enough to let the next words come out.
“I love ye, too.”
The words trembled between them, and for some reason, they felt big and simple. They felt like the truth she had been circling for months. The truth Murdock had wanted her to admit to herself.
Neil closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if the admission struck him in the chest. When he opened them, something fierce and tender burned there. He moved slowly, giving her the chance to step away. She did not.
He lifted his hand to her cheek and traced the trail of tears with his thumb. His palm warmed her skin.
Her breath caught, then steadied. He bent his head, and she rose on her tiptoes without thinking.
Their first kiss by the lake was soft and careful. A slow meeting of lips that carried sleepless nights and almost-kisses and sharp words and gentler ones.
He drew back first. Only an inch. She stayed close and touched her forehead to his. His breath feathered against her mouth.
The children were still playing by the shore. Maggie was still chasing imaginary foes. Water slapped against the stones and ebbed.
Kristen closed her eyes and listened to the new sound in her chest. It was not silence. It was not the old ache. It was something steadier.
For the first time in a long while, she felt more hope than fear.
Neil kept an arm around Kristen’s waist, afraid that if he let go, she would fade like a dream. She did not pull away.
The water lapped softly at the shore, and the breeze moved the grass in slow waves as small feet pounded over the turf.
“Ma,” Finn called. “Maggie found a frog.”
“Frog! Frog!” Anna cried, as if she had discovered treasure.
They skidded to a stop when they saw Neil’s arm around Kristen. Then Anna barreled between them and hugged their legs.
“Hugs,” she declared.
Kristen laughed. The sound shook a little, but it was real. She curled a hand over Anna’s head and bent to kiss her hair.
Finn hovered, his fingers worrying the hem of his tunic. “Can I join, too?” he asked.
“Aye,” Neil replied. His voice came out thicker than he liked. “Ye are part of this.”
Finn pressed into his side and held tight.
Skye hung back with a hopeful look. Neil loosened his hold on Kristen and opened his other arm. “Ye too, lass. If ye like.”
Skye stepped in, and the little knot of bodies grew.
Maggie shoved her head between Neil and Finn and wagged her tail so hard that it thumped all their shins. Kristen laughed again, her eyes twinkling.
Something loosened in Neil’s chest, and the weight he had been carrying for years lightened. He let out a rough breath that turned into a quiet laugh. The sound was easy for the first time in a long while.
“Right,” a voice called from the slope. “If ye are done squeezing each other half to death, the kitchens say there are fresh bannocks. I would hate for them to go cold.”
Murdock stood with his arms crossed over his chest. He tried for gruff and did not quite manage it.
Skye wriggled free at once and sprinted uphill. She shouted about frogs and hugs and bannocks all in one string, while Finn and Anna followed at a tumble. Maggie tore after them and barked simply for the joy of it.
Kristen squeezed Neil’s hand and then let go. She moved after the children with quick steps and a watchful eye.
Murdock came to stand at Neil’s side. For a moment, they both watched the small group crest the hill. Kristen looked back once and smiled. Then she set a steady pace for the castle.
“Ye remember how ye got her?” Murdock asked.
Neil cleared his throat. “Ye mean when ye dragged her to the wedding? How could I forget?”
“Aye. That.” Murdock’s gaze stayed on his sister.
“She didnae grow up knowing what love meant. Our faither twisted it. Our maither didnae have enough time to show us. But Kristen created the meaning of the word herself. She chose to be gentle. Kind. She loved with her whole heart. Foolish sometimes. Fierce always.”
He turned to Neil and fixed him with a hard look. “I brought her to ye because I thought ye might give her a better life. I was wrong for a long while. Ye hurt her, even if ye thought ye were protecting her.”
Neil did not flinch. “Aye, I did.”
“But I see something different now,” Murdock continued. “I am telling ye, man to man. Ye can never hurt her like that again. If ye do, I will come for ye meself.”
There was no anger in Neil’s answer, only a promise. “I never plan to. I wasted too much time thinking distance would keep her safe. I willnae make that mistake again.”
Murdock studied him, then gave a short nod. “Good. Now, come before the bairns eat every bannock and leave us crumbs.”
Inside, the kitchen was warm and loud. The table groaned with plates, and small hands reached for everything at once.
Anna hummed over her half-bannock, and Finn tried to cram a whole piece in his mouth.
Skye scolded him and then did nearly the same.
Kristen, on the other hand, moved between the children.
She wiped sticky fingers and cut small pieces and stole little bites for herself.
Every time Neil looked up, she was there, alive and laughing and real.
He ate because she pressed a bannock into his hand and told him he needed it.
He chewed and felt the simple weight of the food settle his stomach.
He watched Finn lean against his shoulder and wiped crumbs from Anna’s chin when she wriggled.
He caught Kristen’s eye, and she gave him a look that said they were both surprised to be standing there.
When the plates were empty and the children’s eyes grew heavy, Murdock declared it was time for naps and frog tales. He led the three of them away with a promise of stories, and Maggie trotted after, pleased with her herd.
Silence slid into the gaps they left. The fire popped. A draft touched the flagstones by the door.
Neil stepped up to Kristen, who stood with her hand on the door handle and a small smile on her lips.
“Kristen…”
She looked up, and he saw the question in her eyes.
“Back at the castle,” he said, “I dragged ye into me world. Me study. Me tower. Me rules.” His mouth twisted. “I would like to learn yers now.”
She blinked. “Me world?”
He nodded. “Show me yer favorite place in these lands. Where ye go when ye need to breathe. I want to ken it all. I want to stand there with ye.”
Color rose in her cheeks. “It is nothing special.”
“I doubt that,” he said.
She held his gaze for a beat, then cracked a smile. It was small and shy and true. “Very well then, me Laird. Come.”
She reached for his hand, and he gave it.