Chapter 6
Murdock didn’t sleep that night.
He stood at his chamber window, staring out at the dark landscape, his mind churning. The moon had finally emerged from behind the clouds, casting silver light across the hills and valleys that belonged to his clan.
Beautiful. Peaceful. But somehow, it all felt like a lie tonight.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw three faces.
Skye’s tears as she ran out of the room, her small voice echoing with accusations he deserved.
Leona’s quiet devastation when he’d told her to leave, the way she’d blinked back tears and straightened her spine with visible effort.
And beneath it all, threading through his thoughts like poison, was his father’s cruel smile from memories he’d rather forget.
“Ye’re too soft, boy,” his father used to say, usually right before delivering another lesson in cruelty. “Attachments make ye weak. Love makes ye foolish. Be grateful I’m teachin' ye this before it costs ye everythin'.”
Murdock’s hands clenched on the windowsill. The stone was cold beneath his palms, grounding.
Is that what he’d become? So hard, so determined to protect what was his, that he’d lost sight of what actually mattered?
Skye was lonely. He’d known it for months, but told himself it couldn’t be helped. His clan needed stability, needed a laird who made decisions based on logic and strategy, not emotion.
But at what cost?
And Leona…
He forced himself to stop that train of thought.
Leona was not his concern. She’d leave in the morning, find some other solution to her problems, and he’d never see her again.
Never smell heather and sweetness when she passed.
Never feel that jolt of awareness when her green eyes met his.
Never watch her gentle hands tend wounds or stroke a hissing cat with patient affection.
It was better this way. Safer. For both of them.
When dawn finally broke, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, Murdock was already dressed and heading for his study.
He needed work. Needed ledgers and reports and clan business to occupy his mind, to push away thoughts of a green-eyed lass who’d looked at his scars like they were something worth healing.
He’d barely settled at his desk, staring blankly at a column of numbers that refused to make sense, when the door opened without so much as a knock. Hamish appeared, carrying a tray of food and wearing a knowing look that made Murdock’s jaw tighten.
“Ye look like death warmed over,” Hamish observed, setting the tray down with deliberate care. His eyes swept over Murdock’s face, cataloging every shadow beneath his eyes, every line of tension in his shoulders. “I’m guessin' the lass kept ye up all night, though nae in a pleasant way.”
“Watch yer tongue,” Murdock warned, but there was no heat in it. Just exhaustion that seeped into his bones.
Hamish had known him too long to be intimidated by empty threats. He settled into a chair without invitation, fixing Murdock with a steady look that had seen him through countless battles and far too many poor decisions.
“What are ye goin' to do about her?”
“Nothin'.” Murdock didn’t look up from the ledger, though the numbers still made no sense. “She leaves today.”
“And goes where, exactly?” Hamish leaned forward, his expression turning serious. “Back to a man who’ll likely kill her for what she’s done? Back to a clan that will blame her for Keith’s death?”
“That’s nae me problem.”
“Nay?” Hamish’s eyebrow rose in an infuriating way. “Then why have ye been pacin' yer chambers all night? Why did I see ye standin' at the window at three in the mornin', lookin' like a man bearin' the weight of Scotland on his shoulders?”
Murdock’s hand stilled on the ledger. He should have known Hamish would be watching. The man saw everything, damn him.
“I was thinkin',” he said finally.
“About?”
“Clan business.”
“At three in the mornin'?” Hamish’s tone was dry as old parchment. “Try again, me Laird. And this time, maybe with something that resembles the truth.”
Murdock set down his quill with more force than necessary. “Fine. Ye want the truth? I was thinkin' about killing Ragnall Gilmore.”
That, at least, got Hamish’s attention.
His man-at-arms stared at him, his expression caught between surprise and concern.
“On what excuse?” he asked after a moment. “If ye got away with the first one, ye’re certainly invitin' war with the second. The whole Highlands will think ye’re making a habit of murderin' Gilmore men.”
“It’s nae like we cannae take it.” Murdock’s voice was cold. He’d fought wars before. Won them. “Our forces are strong. The clan is stable. If Ragnall wants to come for us…”
“But do ye want to go back to being that man, me Laird?” Hamish’s voice grew soft, serious in a way that made Murdock’s hands still on the desk.
“Bein' just a weapon? I remember the man ye were before Skye was born.
All rage and violence, with nothin' to live for beyond the next battle. Is that who ye want to be again?”
The words hit their mark, sinking into Murdock’s chest like a blade between the ribs.
He thought of Skye, of the way she looked at him with love and trust despite everything he was, everything he’d done.
Of the life he’d tried to build for her, away from the bloodshed and cruelty of his childhood.
A life where she could laugh and play and grow up without fear.
“Nay,” he admitted finally. “I daenae want that.”
“Then find another way to help the lass,” Hamish said quietly. “One that doesnae involve more death. Because killing Ragnall willnae solve anythin'. It’ll just make ye into the monster they all think ye are.”
Before Murdock could respond, before he could argue or deflect or do any of the things he usually did when Hamish got too close to the truth, movement outside the window caught his attention.
He turned, grateful for the distraction, and froze.
Skye was in the gardens below, chasing after something small and black. Nyx, he realized.
The damned cat.
His daughter was laughing, the sound carrying through the glass, bright and joyful in a way he hadn’t heard in months. Maybe longer.
How long had it been since he’d heard her laugh like that?
The cat darted between flowerbeds, playing an elaborate game of chase. Always staying just out of reach but never going far enough to actually escape. Leading Skye on, keeping her engaged, as if the creature understood exactly what the child needed.
Despite everything, despite the tension coiling through his body and the exhaustion weighing his shoulders, Murdock found himself smiling. The beast had charm; he’d give it that.
“She’s happy,” Hamish observed, coming to stand beside him at the window. “I havenae seen her this animated in ages.”
“It’s the cat,” Murdock said. “Just the novelty of it.”
“Is it?” Hamish’s tone suggested he thought otherwise. “Or is it something else?”
Murdock didn’t answer. Because he knew what Hamish was implying, and he didn’t want to acknowledge it. Didn’t want to admit that Leona’s presence, even for one night, had brought something to life in his daughter that had been dormant for too long.
The idyllic scene below was interrupted when Nyx suddenly changed direction, streaking toward a group of men approaching through the garden.
Murdock recognized them instantly. Members of his council, likely coming to discuss the upcoming harvest or some other matter of business that couldn’t wait until a more reasonable hour.
The cat, apparently lacking any sense of self-preservation, ran directly into the legs of Fraser, one of the more dour councilmen. The man had served Murdock’s father and had opinions about everything, from crop rotation to proper discipline for wayward children.
“This should be interestin',” Hamish murmured beside him.
To his credit, Fraser didn’t kick the creature away. Instead, he bent to pick it up, and Murdock saw Nyx’s typical reaction. A hiss and a swat, claws carefully sheathed, but the message clear: Daenae touch.
Fraser straightened, chuckling, and said something to Skye, who had caught up to them.
To Murdock’s surprise, his daughter’s face lit up with a wide smile.
She rose on her tiptoes and whispered something in Fraser’s ear, her small hands cupped around her mouth like she was sharing the most important secret in the world.
The man’s stern expression transformed into something warm, almost delighted. He beamed at Skye, then turned to the other councilmen and said something that made them all beam.
Since when did his councilmen beam?
A cold feeling of foreboding settled in Murdock’s stomach. “Christ,” he muttered. “What has she done?”
“Only one way to find out,” Hamish said, sounding far too amused for his liking.
Murdock was out of the study and striding through the castle before Hamish could say another word. His boots thudded against stone as he took the stairs two at a time, navigating the corridors with single-minded purpose. Behind him, he could hear Hamish following, not even trying to keep up.
He reached the garden just as Fraser and the other councilmen spotted him. To his growing alarm, they broke into wide smiles and began advancing on him with hands outstretched, looking for all the world like men about to congratulate someone on excellent news.
“Congratulations, me Laird!” Fraser boomed, grasping Murdock’s hand and shaking it enthusiastically before he could even process what was happening.
Murdock’s mind raced, searching for what could possibly warrant this response. Had they won a dispute? Received favorable terms on a trade agreement?
“What for?”
“Why, for yer upcomin' weddin', of course!” another councilman chimed in, his face split with a grin wide enough to show missing teeth.
The world seemed to tilt. “Me what?”