Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
"Ye're smilin' in yer sleep."
Tòrr's eyes cracked open to find himself nose-to-nose with Liliane, her head was in the crook of his arm, her hair spread across his pillow, one of her legs tangled with his beneath the blankets. Her hand rested on his bare chest, fingers curled slightly against his skin.
Hmmm… ye are a bonnie lass, arenae ye? I could look at ye forever.
"I'm nae smilin'," he muttered, his voice rough with sleep.
Just haven’t slept this well or woken up this relaxed in ages.
"Ye were. Just now. Before I spoke." Her eyes were still heavy-lidded, unfocused. Then awareness hit, and she registered their position.
"Tòrr! What did ye dae?"
She scrambled backward so fast she nearly fell off the bed, grabbing a pillow and holding it in front of her like a shield. "How did we get so close?"
"I didnae dae anythin’. If anythin’ ye were the one curled up all over me.
But ye can relax. We were sleepin', lass.
Apparently neither of us is good at stayin' on our own side.
" He stretched, deliberately casual despite the lingering warmth where her body had pressed against his. "Mornin', by the way."
"Dinnae 'mornin'' me! Ye said ye'd stay on yer side!"
"I was on me side. Ye're the one who ended up halfway across the bed."
"I did nay such thing!"
"Lass, when I fell asleep, ye were practically hangin' off the edge over there. When I woke, ye were usin' me as a pillow." He grinned at her horrified expression. "Nae complainin', mind. Ye're surprisingly cuddly when unconscious."
"I am nae cuddly!"
"Tell that tae the drool on me chest."
Her hand flew to her mouth. "I did nay such thing."
"Aye, ye did. Just a bit." He sat up, enjoying her mortification more than he probably should have. "Though the pillow's nae much of a defense. I've already seen everythin' it's hidin'."
"Ye have nae!" But her face went scarlet anyway. “Stop! Stop teasin’ me. Tòrr!”
"I've seen ye in yer nightgown, which is fairly transparent, and I've felt ye pressed against me fer what I'm guessin' was most of the night. At this point, that pillow's just fer show."
She looked ready to throw the pillow at his head, but before she could, her expression shifted to something more guarded. "Why are ye tellin' me this?"
"Because I want ye tae understand somethin'." He swung his legs out of bed and stood, stretching muscles that protested less than they had in days. "Last night, we slept in the same bed. This mornin', we woke up tangled taegether. And naethin' happened that ye didnae want tae happen."
"What's yer point?"
"Me point is that ye can trust me. Even when ye're vulnerable, even when I could take advantage, I willnae." He moved toward the washbasin. "Though I'll admit the temptation was and is there."
"How reassurin'," she said dryly, but some of the tension had left her shoulders.
He splashed water on his face, reached for a cloth to wash under his arms and neck, before turning to face her. "We need tae talk."
"About what?"
"About the elders. About their demands fer proof of consummation."
Her knuckles went white around the pillow. "What about it?"
"They're pressin' harder. The only thing that can stop it is proof of consummation. Me councilmen are insistin' we provide evidence that the marriage has been completed proper." He kept his voice matter-of-fact. "They want the beddin' sheet."
"But we havenae done anythin’."
"I ken. Which is why I'm goin' tae give them one anyway."
She stared at him, confusion flickering across her face. "How?"
"How dae ye think?" He moved to where his dirk lay on the table. "Blood is blood. They willnae examine it too closely as long as there's enough of it."
Understanding dawned in her eyes. "Ye're goin' tae cut yerself."
"Aye. Quick slice, press the sheet tae it, problem solved." He picked up the blade, testing its edge with his thumb. "They get their proof, yer faither loses his grounds fer annulment, and ye get more time before we actually have tae dae it fer real."
"Wait." She set down the pillow and moved closer. "Where are ye plannin' tae cut?"
"Palm, probably. Easy enough tae explain away if anyone asks."
"That'll look obvious. A palm wound." She stopped, her face flushing.
He studied her, noting the way she wouldn't quite meet his eyes. "Then I guess the abdomen is better."
“Aye, it’s less obvious."
"Practical." He set the dirk down and reached for the hem of his shirt. "Though I'm startin' tae think ye just want another excuse tae see me without clothes."
"Dinnae flatter yerself."
"Why nae? Ye were certainly enjoyin' the view last night when ye thought I wasnae lookin'." He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. "Go on then. Tell me I'm wrong."
"Ye're insufferable."
"Aye, but I'm nae wrong." He picked up the dirk again. "Now, how deep are we talkin'? Because I'd rather nae actually injure meself if I can avoid it."
"Just shallow. Enough tae bleed but nae enough tae need stitchin'." She moved closer, her healer's instinct apparently overriding her discomfort. "Here. Like this."
Her fingers traced a line across his lower abdomen, just above his waistband, and he had to suppress his reaction to her touch. "That's the spot?"
"Aye. Quick slice, nae too deep, press the linen hard." Her voice had gone professional, clinical. "It'll bleed enough fer their purposes."
"Right then." He positioned the blade, then hesitated. "Ye might want tae look away fer this bit."
"I've seen worse."
"Suit yerself." He drew the blade across his skin in one smooth motion, sharp pain flaring as blood welled immediately. "Christ."
"Press the sheet tae it. Now." She grabbed the linen from the bed and thrust it at him.
He pressed it against the wound, feeling the fabric grow warm and damp. "How long?"
"Until it soaks through proper. They'll want tae see enough fer it tae be convincin'."
They stood there in awkward silence, Liliane studiously avoiding looking at anything below his neck while he held the increasingly bloody sheet to his abdomen.
"Ye ken," he said conversationally, "this is probably the strangest mornin' I've had me entire life."
"Aye, well. Ye're the one who bought a wife at an auction. Strange comes with the territory."
"There ye go again, remindin’ me. But I give it tae ye. That’s a fair point." He lifted the sheet slightly to check the stain. "How's that look?"
She glanced quickly, then away. "Enough. More than enough, actually."
"Good." He pulled the fabric away and examined the cut. Shallow, like she'd said, but bleeding freely. "Ye wouldnae happen tae have any of that paste ye made fer me ankle, dae ye?"
"Fer a cut ye just gave yerself tae fake deflowerin' yer wife? Nay, I dinnae have anythin' prepared fer that particular situation."
Despite everything, he laughed. "Point taken. I'll manage."
He pressed a clean cloth to the wound until the bleeding slowed, then pulled his shirt back on. The cut stung, but it was manageable. He'd had far worse in training.
"Right then." He picked up the stained sheet and folded it carefully. "Time tae satisfy the elders and their nosiness."
"Tòrr?"
He paused at the door. "Aye?"
"Thank ye." She gestured vaguely. "Fer nae actually... ye ken, forcin’ me tae dae it."
"Fer nae forcin' ye?" His voice was flat. "That's a low bar fer gratitude, lass."
"Maybe. But it's more than a lot of men would offer."
"Then a lot of men are bastards." He opened the door, then looked back.
"Get dressed. Breakfast will be soon, and if I ken me sisters, they'll want ye tae join them for whatever mischief they're plannin' today.
The kind that usually ends with someone muddy, someone cryin', and someone swearin' vengeance. It's how they show affection."
He left before she could respond, striding down the corridor until he found one of the guards stationed near the stairwell.
"Ye." He thrust the folded sheet at the startled man. "Take this tae Elder Malcolm. Tell him his concerns about the marriage can be laid tae rest and here's his proof."
The guard's eyes widened as he took the linen. "Aye, me laird. Right away."
"Good. Now go. Before I change me mind and tell the entire castle tae mind their own damn business instead."
The guard hurried away, clutching the sheet like it might explode. Tòrr watched him go, then leaned against the wall and let out a long breath.
One problem solved. Temporarily, at least.
But the letter from Munro still sat on his desk, the threat against Nessa still hung over them, and Liliane still looked at him like she was counting the days until she could escape.
But progress was progress. Even if that progress involved cutting himself to fake proof of something that should have happened days ago.
The things a man did for political necessity.
"Come on, Liliane! Ye're nae even tryin'!"
Catherine's voice echoed from somewhere in the courtyard, followed by Sofia's laughter and Alyson's shouted accusation that Catherine was cheating.
Liliane pressed her back against the cool stone of the outer wall, trying to catch her breath. Who knew that hide and seek could be this exhausting?
"I'm tryin' plenty!" she called back. "Ye're just too good at hidin'!"
"That's because we've been playin' this since we were wee!" Alyson's voice came from somewhere near the stables. "Ye'll get better!"
She'd been reluctant to join them at first. Four grown women playing children's games seemed ridiculous. But Catherine had begged, Sofia had encouraged, and Alyson had simply grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the keep before she could protest further.
And now, running through corridors and hiding behind walls, laughing at Catherine's terrible hiding spots and Sofia's dramatic protests when found, Liliane felt something she hadn't experienced in years.
Joy. Simple, uncomplicated joy.
"Found ye!" Catherine pounced from around a corner, making Liliane shriek with surprise.
"That's nae fair! I wasnae ready!"
"That's the point!" Catherine was breathless with laughter. "Come on, me sister’s still hidin' somewhere near the gardens."
They ran together across the courtyard, their skirts hitched up like children, not caring who saw them or what they thought. For the first time since arriving at Keppoch, Liliane felt... free.
"I'll check behind the outer wall!" she called to Catherine. "Ye search near the well!"
"Done!"
Liliane ducked around the corner of the keep, slipping into the narrow space between the outer wall and the storage buildings. Before she could take another step, though, she froze in her place.
Dear Lord…
Through a gap in the stones, she could see the forest beyond the wall. And in that forest, three men. They weren't moving toward the keep, weren't making any obvious threatening gestures. But they were there, watching, their plaids unfamiliar even from this distance.
Her heart began to pound for entirely different reasons than the game.
Scouts? Raiders? Her father's men?
The thought sent a chill down her spine. What if they’d come for her, to drag her back to Munro lands, to finish what her father had started? She could almost hear the ring of steel, the shouts, the chaos of that night in the forest. Her stomach knotted.
Would he truly go so far? Send men across the Highlands to reclaim the daughter he’d already sold?
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to breathe, to focus on the present. But her gaze darted toward the distant tree line all the same, searching for movement.
The wind stirred the heather, whispering like unseen footsteps, and every instinct screamed that danger might not be far behind.
"Liliane? Did ye find Sophia?"
She jumped at Catherine's voice, forcing her expression into something resembling normalcy as she turned to face her.
"Nay. She's nae here."
"Too bad. I thought fer sure she’d be here" Catherine paused, her eyes narrowing. "Are ye alright? Ye look pale."
"Fine. I just ran too hard. I need tae catch me breath."
"Ye sure? Because ye look like ye've seen a ghost."
"I'm certain." Liliane forced a laugh. "Just nae used tae all this runnin' about. We didnae play games like this at Foulis."
"Well, ye're at Keppoch now. We play games, we laugh, and we definitely dinnae stand around lookin' serious all the time." Catherine linked their arms. "Come on. Let's go find Sofia before she falls asleep in whatever hole she's crawled into."
As they walked back toward the gardens, Liliane's mind raced. Should she tell someone about the men? Tòrr should know, but what if it was nothing? What if she was just being paranoid?
But what if she wasn't?
"There ye are!" Sofia emerged from behind a hedge, covered in leaves. "I've been waitin' ferever!"
"That's because ye chose the worst spot," Alyson said, appearing from the opposite direction. "We all kent ye'd be in the gardens somewhere."
"It's nae about the spot, it's about the patience," Sofia countered. "Which none of ye have."
As they bickered and laughed, Liliane tried to join in, tried to recapture that feeling of joy from moments before. But her eyes kept drifting back toward the outer wall, toward where those men had been standing.
Watching, Waiting. But for what?