Chapter 16 #2
The honest admission struck her speechless. She turned away, staring out over the loch to give herself time to think.
What would it be like to stay there? To learn from the healer, to practice healing among the clan, to build something meaningful with her skills? To wake up each morning in those chambers, with that man, and find it bearable?
But Nessa. Sweet Nessa, alone with Faither, waitin’ fer a rescue that might never come.
"It's a kind offer," she said finally. "Thank ye."
"But?"
"But naethin’. It's kind. That's all."
She felt him move closer, the warmth of his chest pressing lightly against her back. His breath brushed the side of her neck, sending a shiver racing down her spine. "Ye're plannin’ somethin’."
"I dinnae ken what ye mean."
"Ye get this look. Like ye're calculatin’ odds and measurin’ distances." His hand touched her shoulder, turning her gently to face him. "What are ye plannin’, Liliane?"
They had stopped on a narrow rise overlooking the valley below. The path wound sharply down through the pines, the scent of wet earth and heather thick in the cool air. Far beneath them, the loch gleamed like silver, rippled by the wind.
He shifted slightly, and the movement drew her attention to the strength in his arms as he adjusted the reins. The sun broke through the clouds for a fleeting moment, glinting off the copper strands in his hair. The sight tugged at something she didn’t want to name.
"Naethin’. I'm just... tryin’ tae understand what me life here could be."
"Could be? Or will be?"
She met his eyes, saw concern there, and watched it shift to suspicion before he schooled his expression into careful neutrality.
"I dinnae ken yet," she admitted.
Liliane waited for his response, but instead his gaze shifted past her, focusing on something in the distance. His expression changed instantly, all softness draining away.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Riders." His voice was sharp. "In the trees below."
She turned to look, following his pointing finger. At first, she saw nothing, then movement caught her eye, horses and men, moving through the forest parallel to the loch.
"Could be travelers," she suggested.
"Could be." But his tone said he didn't believe it. "Can ye make out their colors?"
She squinted, trying to see detail at such a distance. "Nay. They're too far."
"Exactly. Which means they're tryin’ nae tae be noticed." He moved to his horse, his movements suddenly urgent. "We need tae get back."
"But."
"Now, Liliane."
The command in his voice brooked no argument. She let him lift her onto the horse, and then they were riding hard back toward the keep, the peaceful morning shattered by an unnamed threat.
"Who were they?" she asked, having to shout over the thunder of hooves.
"I dinnae ken. But unidentified riders on MacDonald land means trouble." His arms tightened around her. "Hold on."
They burst through the gates at full gallop, Tòrr barely slowing before he swung down and reached up to help her dismount.
"Michael!" His voice rang across the courtyard.
His brother appeared from the practice yard, sword still in hand. "What's the matter?"
"Riders in the western forest. Unknown colors. Could be scouts." Tòrr handed him the reins. "Double the guards. I want patrols increased on all approaches. And send word tae the watch towers, any movement on the borders gets reported immediately."
"How many riders?"
"Maybe six. I couldnae really tell. Could be more hidden in the trees."
Michael's expression darkened. "Munro?"
"Maybe. Or Campbell. Or anyone else who's decided now's the time tae test our defenses." Tòrr turned to Liliane. "Get inside. Stay with me sisters until I ken what we're dealin’ with."
"I'm nae a child tae be sent away."
"Ye're me wife, which makes ye a target." His voice was hard, only slightly lower than a growl. "Get inside. Now."
The authority in his tone made her bristle, but the genuine concern in his eyes kept her from arguing. "Fine. But ye'll tell me what ye find?"
“Aye. When it’s safe.”
He touched her cheek briefly—warm, making time stop for one impossible moment. It was so unexpected she was still processing it when he turned away, striding toward the practice yard. She stood frozen, one hand rising slowly to her cheek, where the warmth of his touch still lingered.
"Michael!" She watched her husband turn predatory, calculating and cold. "Double the watch on the north wall. Get men tae the gate, I want eyes on every approach!"
His voice carried like thunder, cutting through the sudden commotion. "Move!"
"Aye, me laird!" Warriors responded as one, pouring from the training yard, buckling sword belts as they ran.
Steel rang against stone as weapons were drawn from the armory.
Hoofbeats echoed from somewhere beyond the gate.
Whether it was scouts returning or guards repositioning, Liliane couldn't tell.
Around her, the courtyard transformed. A guard ran past, nearly knocking into her. Another shouted something about the eastern path. The blacksmith emerged from his forge, hammer still in hand, looking to Tòrr for orders.
And at the center of it all stood her husband, every inch the Highland laird. His shoulders squared, his voice unwavering as he directed the organized chaos swirling around him.
"Ye heard me!" he barked at a warrior. "North wall, now!"
The man scrambled to obey.
Tòrr strode toward the practice yard, Michael falling into step beside him. Their voices carried back, clipped and tactical. "If they're scoutin', they'll test us before nightfall."
"Then we'll be ready. I want archers—"
Their words faded as they disappeared through the yard entrance, swallowed by the gathering of armed men.
Liliane lowered her hand from her cheek. Her heart was still racing, though whether from the sudden alarm or from that fleeting touch, she couldn't say.
The easy peace of the morning shattered completely. Where there had been warmth and laughter, now there was only cold efficiency. The same man. Two faces. Both real. Both unpredictable in their own way.
She forced herself to move, heading toward the keep's entrance where she could see Sofia standing in the doorway, worry creasing her brow.
But Liliane's mind was already turning. The festival was soon. Her last best chance for escape. But with riders sighted near their borders and Tòrr’s defenses rising, getting away would be harder than ever.
Unless the threat, whatever it was, provided the distraction she needed.
The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth, guilt and determination warring in her chest. But Nessa’s safety mattered more than her conscience. It always had.
She climbed the stairs toward the keep, the sound of distant commands echoing behind her, already thinking of new plans, new chances, new ways to turn chaos into opportunity.
Soon. One way or another, everything would change. She just had to survive until then.