Chapter 23
Murdock stood alone in his study, staring at the closed door through which Leona had just left.
His body still thrummed with unspent desire, his hands still remembered the feel of her skin, and his chest ached with the weight of her final words.
But that doesnae make it hurt any less.
He’d hurt her. Again. Despite every intention to protect her, to keep her safe, he’d managed to cause her pain in ways that had nothing to do with physical harm and everything to do with the parts of himself he couldn’t seem to give.
The council meeting could wait. Hamish would understand. But duty called, and Murdock had never been one to shirk his duties, no matter how much he wanted to chase after Leona and make this right.
He fixed his clothes, wiped his face with his hands, and strode out of the study with his jaw clenched tight enough to ache.
The council meeting was as unbearable as he’d expected. Fraser led the discussion, his concerns reasonable but grating. Malcolm argued for stronger defenses. Angus questioned the wisdom of the entire arrangement.
Murdock answered their questions with clipped efficiency, his mind half on strategy and half on dark hair and forest-green eyes.
When they finally dismissed him, the sun had moved considerably across the sky. He returned to his chambers, intending to find Leona, to attempt some conversation that might bridge the chasm between them.
But she wasn’t in the hall. Wasn’t in the courtyard. When he inquired after her, a servant told him that she had requested her meals be brought to her chambers and wished not to be disturbed.
She was avoiding him.
The realization shouldn’t have stung as much as it did.
That night, Murdock lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling and replaying every moment in his study.
The feel of her coming apart under his hands.
The way she’d looked at him with such desperate need and such terrible sadness.
The quiet devastation in her voice when she’d said his passion wasn’t enough.
Because I want yer heart, too.
He had a heart. It beat in his chest, kept him alive, functioned as it should. But giving it to someone? Letting them hold something so vital, so vulnerable? The very thought made his throat close up with a fear he couldn’t name.
He rolled onto his side, punching his pillow with more force than necessary. Two days until the wedding. Two days to figure out how to give Leona what she needed without becoming the monster he feared he would be. Two days that felt like both too much time and not nearly enough.
The next day passed in a blur of wedding preparations he had no interest in.
The staff bustled about with flowers and ribbons and other frivolous things that seemed absurd given the circumstances.
They were preparing for war as much as a wedding, but no one seemed to want to acknowledge that particular truth.
Skye was beside herself with excitement, chattering endlessly about the ceremony and the feast and how beautiful Leona would look. Murdock let her talk, finding some comfort in his daughter’s joy even though his chest felt hollow.
He didn’t see Leona at all that day. She remained sequestered in her chambers, and he lacked the courage to force a confrontation. What would he even say? That he was trying? That he wanted to be different but didn’t know how?
Empty words. She deserved more than empty words.
That night was worse than the first. Murdock paced his chambers like a caged animal, his mind churning with thoughts that led nowhere productive.
Finally, near dawn, exhaustion claimed him for a few restless hours of sleep, plagued by dreams he couldn’t quite remember but left him feeling more tired than when he’d closed his eyes.
The morning of the wedding dawned clear and bright, mocking his dark mood.
Murdock dressed in his finest clothes with mechanical efficiency, then made his way to the training yard. If he couldn’t sleep and couldn’t think clearly, he could at least work his body until the restless energy found an outlet.
Hamish was already there, as Murdock had known he would be. His man-at-arms had been with him for over a decade, knew his moods better than anyone, save perhaps Skye.
“Couldnae sleep either?” Hamish asked, tossing him a practice sword.
“Daenae want to talk about it.”
“Didnae ask if ye wanted to. Just saying that ye look like hell.”
Murdock grunted and took his stance. They’d danced this dance a thousand times. Hamish would prod, Murdock would deflect, and they’d beat the hell out of each other with practice swords until one of them yielded or collapsed.
The familiar rhythm was soothing in its own way.
They circled each other, trading blows that rang out in the early morning quiet. Hamish was good, always had been, but Murdock was better. Faster. Stronger. More ruthless in his execution.
Usually.
“I hear yer bride is hidin',” Hamish said conversationally as he blocked a strike. “Locked herself away these past two days.”
“She’s nae hidin'.” Murdock swung hard, forcing him back. “She’s preparin'.”
“Preparin' to run, perhaps?” Hamish feinted left, then struck right. “The maids say she’s barely eaten. Just sits by the window, starin' out at the horizon like she’s looking for an escape route.”
“She willnae run.” The certainty in Murdock’s voice was absolute. “She gave her word.”
“Aye, but is that enough?” Hamish pressed his advantage, driving him back toward the edge of the yard. “A woman marryin' ye because she gave her word rather than because she wants to?”
“What she wants is irrelevant.” The words came out harsher than intended. “Ragnall arrives in three days. The weddin' protects her. That’s what matters.”
“Is it?” Hamish’s sword slipped past Murdock’s guard, the blunt tip tapping his ribs hard enough to bruise. “Because it seems to me ye’re protectin' everyone except the one person who needs it most.”
“And who would that be?” Murdock reset his stance, but his focus was fractured now, his mind on Leona rather than the fight.
“Ye, ye stubborn bastard.” Hamish struck again, and this time, Murdock barely blocked it.
“Ye’re so busy buildin' walls to keep everyone out that ye’ve trapped yerself inside.
And now ye’ve found someone willin' to climb those walls, to meet ye where ye are, and ye’re pushin' her away because ye’re too afraid to let her in. ”
“I’m nae afraid.”
“Like hell ye’re nae.” Another strike, harder this time.
“I’ve ken ye since we were lads, Murdock.
I watched ye grow up under that man’s shadow.
Watched ye fight tooth and nail to be different from him.
And ye are different. But ye’re so convinced ye’ll become him that ye cannae see what’s right in front of ye. ”
“Which is?” Murdock blocked and parried, but his movements were sloppy now.
“A woman who loves ye despite yer broodin' and yer walls and yer stubborn refusal to believe ye deserve happiness.” Hamish’s next strike came fast and brutal, catching him off guard. The practice sword went flying from his grip, clattering across the stones.
Silence fell between them.
Murdock stared at his empty hand, then at Hamish, then back at his hand. In all their years of training together, Hamish had never disarmed him. Never even come close.
“Well,” Hamish drawled, lowering his weapon. “That’s a first.”
Murdock retrieved his sword, his jaw tight. “Again.”
“Nay.”
“I said again.”
“And I said nay.” Hamish planted his practice sword in the ground and crossed his arms. “Ye’re distracted. Unfocused. One more round and ye’ll get hurt for real, and I’ll nae have that on me conscience on yer weddin' day.”
“Me weddin' day,” Murdock repeated bitterly. “Where the bride can barely stand to look at me.”
“Can ye blame her?” Hamish’s voice was blunt. “Ye’ve given her passion and protection, aye. But ye’ve held back the one thing she actually wants. The one thing that would make all of this real instead of just a convenient arrangement.”
“I’m trying to keep her safe.”
“Nay, ye’re trying to keep yerself safe.
” Hamish took both swords and propped them against the wall.
“From feeling too much. From risking too much. From becoming yer faither.” He paused.
“But let me ask ye something, me Laird. Did yer faither ever stand in a trainin' yard on the mornin' of his weddin' day, worried sick about what his bride was feelin'?
Did he ever lose sleep over whether he was givin' her enough?
Did he ever once consider that maybe his way of lovin' was wrong?”
“Nay,” Murdock admitted quietly.
“Then ye’re nothing like him.” Hamish’s voice softened. “Yer faither never questioned himself. Never doubted. Never wondered if his love was hurtin' the person he claimed to cherish. But ye? Ye’re tearin' yerself apart over it. That’s nae the same man, Murdock. That’s nae the same kind of love.”
Murdock wanted to argue. Wanted to defend his position, his walls, his careful control. But the words stuck in his throat because maybe Hamish had a point.
Maybe he’d been so focused on not becoming a monster that he’d failed to see he was already something different. Something better.
He wanted to argue. Wanted to demand they continue until his body was too exhausted to think, to feel, to remember the way Leona had looked at him with such desperate hope and such crushing disappointment.
But Hamish was right. His head wasn’t in the fight. Hadn’t been since Leona walked out of his study two days ago.
He lowered his sword. “The maids picked a gown for her?”
“Aye. Skye helped. They say it’s beautiful.” Hamish’s voice softened. “They say she’ll be the bonniest bride the Highlands have ever seen.”
“She’d be bonnie whatever she wore.” The words escaped before Murdock could stop them, honest and unguarded.