Chapter 17
Sleep refused to come.
Leona had lain in her chambers for hours, staring at the ceiling as the darkness gradually shifted to the gray light of predawn. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the faces from the gathering, the suspicion, the fear, the anger.
She’d become a problem to be solved. A liability. No matter how much Murdock had promised that nothing would happen, she couldn’t shake the certainty that the council would demand her departure. That they’d choose the safety of their clan over one stranger who’d brought nothing but trouble.
And they’d be right to do so.
The thought sat like a stone in her chest.
Finally, as the first hints of dawn touched the sky, Leona gave up on sleep entirely. She dressed quietly, pulling on a simple gown and wrapping her cloak around her shoulders. The castle was still, most of its inhabitants lost to dreams she could no longer claim.
She moved through the corridors like a ghost, her footsteps muffled by rushes on the floor. No guards challenged her.
Why would they? She wasn’t a prisoner. Not yet, anyway.
The cool morning air hit her face as she slipped through a side door, and she breathed it in deeply, letting it clear some of the fog from her mind.
The sky was painted in shades of purple and pink, the sun not yet risen but promising its arrival.
It would have been beautiful if her heart hadn’t broken.
Her feet carried her without conscious thought, following a path that wound through the castle grounds.
Past the kitchen gardens, past the armory, past the stables, where Thunder likely dozed in his stall.
The path led downward, toward a sound she hadn’t noticed before, the gentle lap of water against stone.
The loch.
It spread before her like a mirror, reflecting the dawn sky in perfect stillness. Trees lined its edges, their branches reaching toward the water as if in prayer. A wooden dock extended into the depths, weathered gray by time and the elements.
Leona walked to the end of the dock and sat, letting her legs dangle over the edge. The water was close enough to touch if she wanted, dark and deep and promising oblivion.
She wouldn’t, of course. Despite everything, despite the hopelessness sinking into her bones, she wouldn’t take that way out, wouldn’t leave others to clean up the mess of her departure.
But God, she understood the appeal.
“What am I going to do?” she whispered to the water, to the dawn, to whatever god might be listening.
The loch offered no answers. Just the gentle whisper of morning breeze across its surface, the distant call of a bird greeting the day.
She’d thought, for just a few brief hours, that she might have found something real here. Something worth fighting for.
Murdock’s arms around her in the forest, his mouth on hers, the way he’d looked at her like she mattered, like she was more than just a pawn in someone else’s game.
But reality had crashed down with brutal efficiency. She was still that pawn. Still a piece to be moved or removed as the players saw fit.
Leona wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite her cloak. Rufus would wake up soon. They needed to leave before the council meeting, before she had to face all those judgmental eyes and hear them declare her fate.
Better to make the choice herself, to return to Ragnall with what little dignity she had left.
It would be easier that way. For everyone.
The thought should have brought relief. Instead, it made tears prick her eyes, hot and shameful. She blinked them back, but one escaped anyway, trailing down her cheek to fall into the water below.
“Foolish,” she muttered to herself. “Ye’re a fool, Leona Gilmore. Thinkin' ye could have somethin' different. Somethin' good.”
Another tear fell. Then another. And suddenly she couldn’t stop them, couldn’t hold back the grief and fear and desperate longing for what might have been.
Her shoulders shook with silent sobs, her hands pressed to her face as if she could physically hold herself together.
She didn’t hear the footsteps approaching. Didn’t hear the quiet conversation happening on the path behind her. She was lost in her misery, in the crushing weight of everything she was about to lose.
“Da, look! Someone’s at the loch!”
The child’s voice cut through Leona’s grief. She jerked upright, quickly wiping at her face, trying to compose herself. But it was too late, the damage was already done.
“Skye, wait!” It was Murdock’s voice, deeper, tinged with warning.
But the little girl was already running, her small feet pounding down the dock toward Leona.
“What’s wrong? Why are ye sad?” Skye dropped to her knees beside Leona, her dark eyes wide with concern. She was still in her nightdress, a cloak thrown hastily over her shoulders, her hair tangled from sleep.
She looked so young, so earnest, that Leona’s heart clenched.
“I’m fine, lass,” Leona managed, her voice thick. “Just… just thinkin' about things.”
“Ye’re cryin'.” Skye reached out, her small hand touching Leona’s cheek where tears still glistened. “People only cry when they’re sad or hurt. Which one are ye?”
“Skye.” Murdock had reached them now, his expression unreadable in the early morning light. He looked like he hadn’t slept either, his hair disheveled, shadows under his eyes. “Leave the lass be.”
But Skye ignored him, her attention fixed entirely on Leona. “Tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I can help.”
The innocent offer made Leona’s chest ache.
How did you explain complicated adult problems to a little girl? How did you tell her that sometimes there were no good solutions, only choices between different kinds of pain?
“I have to go somewhere I daenae want to be,” Leona said finally, keeping her voice soft. “And if I daenae go, a bad person will hurt people here. Good people who’ve been kind to me.”
Skye’s face fell, comprehension dawning in her young features. “Is it because of the lie I said?”
“Nay, sweetheart.”
“I told them ye were Da’s betrothed, and now everyone’s angry, and… and…” Skye’s words tumbled over each other, panic rising in her voice. “It’s me fault ye have to go. It’s me fault that the bad person—”
“It’s nae yer fault,” Leona interrupted firmly, taking the girl’s small hands in her own. “Ye were tryin' to protect yer da, aye? Tryin' to help. That’s a brave thing, Skye. A good thing. The bad man is the one makin' trouble. The man has made the councilmen distrustful of me, nae ye.”
“But the councilmen daenae believe it now,” Skye said miserably. “They think Da lied to them. They’re angry and distrustful, and it’s all because of what I said.”
Leona glanced up at Murdock, who stood a few feet away, his jaw tight. Their eyes met, and she saw the same helpless frustration she felt reflected in his gaze.
How did you explain to a child that the world wasn’t fair, that sometimes good intentions led to terrible consequences?
“The councilmen are just worried about keepin' people safe,” Leona said carefully. “They have to make hard decisions. It’s nay one’s fault, truly. These things… they’re complicated.”
“It’s because ye daenae look like ye’re really betrothed!” Skye said suddenly, her eyes brightening with the revelation. “That’s why they daenae believe it. That’s why the bad man thinks he can take ye back.”
Leona blinked, thrown by the sudden shift. “What do ye mean?”
“Ye and Da,” Skye explained, as if it were obvious. “Ye daenae act like Aunt Ailis and Uncle Killian. When they’re together, everyone kens they’re in love. Nay one would dare try to take the aunts away because the uncles would…” She paused, searching for words. “Would do something bad to them.”
Despite everything, despite the weight in her chest and the fear coiling in her stomach, Leona felt a laugh bubble up. It came out half-sob, half-genuine amusement. “Is that so?”
“Aye!” Skye nodded enthusiastically. “We must convince them. When the councilmen and the bad man see that it’s real, they willnae do somethin' bad, right? They’ll ken ye belong to Da and Da belongs to ye, and then everyone will leave ye alone.”
“I assume nae,” Leona said slowly, not wanting to crush the child’s hope. “But Skye, it’s nae that simple.”
“I ken what ye must do!” Skye clapped her hands together, practically bouncing with excitement.
“And what is that?” Murdock’s voice cut through the moment, drawing their attention.
He’d moved closer, now standing just behind his daughter, one hand resting on her shoulder. His expression was still unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes. Curiosity, perhaps. Or wariness.
Skye turned to him, her face alight with childish certainty. “Ye must do what the aunts and uncles do together! So everyone kens ye’re really in love, and nay one would dare touch Leona.”
“And what exactly do the aunts and uncles do?” Murdock asked.
Leona thought she detected a hint of amusement beneath his careful tone.
“Well,” Skye said thoughtfully, “they hold hands. And stand close together. And Uncle Killian sometimes puts his arm around Aunt Ailis’s waist, like this—” She demonstrated with exaggerated gestures.
“And Uncle Killian always touches Aunt Ailis’s hair when he thinks nay one’s watchin'. And they smile at each other. Nae normal smiles, but special ones. The kind that make their eyes all soft and warm.”
Leona felt heat rise in her cheeks. The girl’s observations were surprisingly astute for someone so young. She’d clearly been paying attention to the adults around her, cataloging the small intimacies that marked genuine affection.
“And ye think if we do these things, the council will believe we’re truly betrothed?” Murdock asked.
“Aye!” Skye nodded vigorously. “Because it’ll look real. It’ll feel real. And then the bad man will see ye’re protected, Leona. That ye have someone who’ll fight for ye. Someone who’d do somethin' very bad if anyone tried to take ye away.”
The innocent way she said “somethin' very bad” made Leona’s lips twitch despite herself.
Skye clearly didn’t fully understand the violence she was implying, but she grasped the essential truth that perceived protection, visible commitment, could be a deterrent.
“Skye,” Murdock said gently, “these are grown-up matters. Complicated things that—”
“I’m nae a bairn, Da,” Skye interrupted, her small chin lifting with determination. “I ken what’s happenin'. The councilmen think ye lied. The bad man wants to take Leona back.” She turned back to Leona, her dark eyes piercing.
“I daenae want ye to go,” she continued, her voice trembling slightly. “Ye’re kind. Ye tell good stories. Ye daenae treat me like I’m too young to understand things. And ye make Da smile.”
“Skye…” Murdock started, but his daughter wasn’t finished.
“So ye should do what I said. Act like ye’re really in love. Show everyone it’s real. Then maybe they’ll let ye stay. Maybe the bad man will go away and leave ye alone.” She grabbed Leona’s hand and Murdock’s hand, trying to put them together. “Please? Just try?”
Leona looked down at the small girl between them, at the hope shining in her young face. Then she looked up at Murdock, meeting his eyes across the space that separated them.
The dawn had fully broken now, golden light spilling across the loch and painting everything in shades of amber and rose. It touched Murdock’s face, highlighting the sharp angle of his cheekbones, the strength in his jaw, the weariness in his eyes.
He looked just like how she felt: exhausted, uncertain, caught between duty and desire.
“It’s a child’s solution,” Leona said quietly, more to him than to Skye. “It willnae change the problems we’re facin'.”
“Nay,” Murdock agreed. “It willnae.”
But he didn’t pull his hand away from where Skye had placed it near Leona’s. Didn’t dismiss his daughter’s suggestion outright.
“It might buy us time, though,” he added, his voice low. “If we present a united front at the council meeting. If we show them that we’re committed to this… arrangement.”
“A performance,” Leona said.
“A strategy,” Murdock countered.
“See?” Skye said triumphantly. “It’s a good idea!”
Leona felt something shift in her chest, not quite hope, but something close to it.
A possibility she hadn’t considered. What if, instead of running, instead of surrendering to the inevitable, she fought?
Not with swords or politics, but with the one weapon Ragnall hadn’t counted on: genuine connection.
Even if that connection was just beginning. Even if it was fragile and untested. Even if putting it on display felt like exposing something too tender, too new, to harsh scrutiny.
“Ye’d be willin' to do this?” she asked Murdock. “To stand before the council and… and pretend?”
Something flickered in his eyes—hurt, perhaps, that she’d called it pretend.
“I told ye last night, lass. Ye’re nae facin' them alone. Whatever happens, whatever they say, ye’ll have me beside ye.”
“But now ye’ll be beside her lookin' like ye want to be,” Skye interjected helpfully. “Nae like ye’re just bein' dutiful.”
Despite everything, the fear, the uncertainty, the very real possibility that this would all end in disaster, Leona laughed. It was a real laugh, not tinged with tears or desperation. Just genuine amusement at this remarkable child and her straightforward worldview.
“All right,” she heard herself say. “All right. We’ll try it yer way, Skye.”
The girl’s face lit up like sunrise over the loch. “Truly?”
“Truly.” Leona looked at Murdock again, searching his face for any sign of reluctance or regret. “If yer da agrees.”
“Da?” Skye turned to him, her eyes wide and pleading. “Please? Please say aye?”
Murdock was quiet for a long moment, his gaze flitting from his daughter to Leona and back again. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reached out and took Leona’s hand properly, not just letting it rest near his, but threading his fingers through hers in a gesture that felt both intimate and inevitable.
“Aye,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “We’ll do this together.”
Skye squealed with delight, throwing her arms around both of them in an enthusiastic embrace that nearly threw Leona into the loch. Murdock caught her with his free hand, steadying her, then pulled her closer to his solid warmth.
And there, on the dock in the early morning light, with a child’s joy surrounding them and their hands clasped together, Leona felt something she hadn’t felt in days.
Hope.
Maybe it was foolish. Maybe it would all end in heartbreak and disaster. But for now, she had allies. She had people who cared whether she stayed or left. She had Murdock’s hand in hers and his promise to stand beside her.
It wasn’t much, in the grand scheme of things. But it was something.
And sometimes, something was enough.