Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
"Well, that was subtle."
Tòrr turned from watching Liliane's retreating form to find all three of his sisters staring at him with knowing grins. Michael wasn't even trying to hide his smirk.
"What?" he demanded. “Ye all look far too pleased with yerselves.”
"'What?'" Catherine mimicked his gruff tone. "Ye practically devoured her with yer eyes just then!"
"I did nay such thing."
"Ye absolutely did," Sofia said, though more gently. "And then ye touched her face like that." She gestured with her hands.
"Like a man touchin' his wife," Tòrr cut her off. "Which, last I checked, I'm allowed tae dae."
"Oh, aye, ye're allowed," Alyson agreed. "But maybe nae in front of an audience if ye dinnae want us teasin' ye about it."
"I was just removing a crumb." He stopped, realizing how defensive he sounded. "Christ. All of ye, listen well."
The sisters straightened, sensing his shift in tone.
"Liliane is adjustin' tae a marriage she didnae choose, in a home she daesnae ken, among people who are strangers tae her." His voice was firm. "The last thing she needs is ye lot makin' her feel more uncomfortable than she already is."
Alyson muttered, “Ye make it sound as if she’s fragile glass.”
"We were just teasin' her." Catherine defended.
"I ken. But she daesnae ken that yet. She daesnae ken if yer teasin' is friendly or mockery." He looked at each of them in turn. "I need her tae feel welcome here. Tae feel like this could be home. And that means ye help me, nae make things harder."
"We are helpin'," Sofia protested. "We included her in our games, shared berries, made her laugh."
"Aye, and that was good. Keep daein' that. But tone down the commentary about me and her." He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "She's skittish enough as it is."
Sofia hid her smile behind her slice of cake. “Ye sound like an old nursemaid.”
His glare snapped to her. “And ye’re nae too old fer chores, Sofia.”
The garden erupted in stifled laughter. Even Tòrr’s mouth twitched, though he quickly masked it beneath the usual hard line of his jaw.
"Alright," Alyson said quietly. "We'll be more careful."
"Thank ye." He moved to leave, but Michael's voice stopped him.
"A word, braither?"
Tòrr turned back to find Michael on his feet, expression unreadable. "Make it quick. I need tae go on patrol and find me wife."
"Walk with me."
They moved away from the sisters, toward the edge of the garden where a low wall overlooked the training yard. For a moment, neither spoke.
"Ye care about her," Michael said finally. Not a question.
"She's me wife. Of course I care about her welfare."
"That's nae what I mean, and ye ken it." Michael leaned against the wall. "Fer a marriage of convenience ye only proceeded with for politics, ye seem remarkably... invested."
"I'm invested in makin' it work. There's a difference."
"Is there? Because from where I stand, ye look at her the way Faither used tae look at Maither. Like she's the only thing in the room worth seein'."
Tòrr's jaw tightened. "Ye're readin' too much intae it."
"Am I? Ye wiped a crumb from her mouth with more tenderness than I've seen ye show anyone in years. Ye touched her like she was precious. Like she mattered beyond politics and alliances."
"She daes matter. Like I said, she's me wife and me responsibility."
"Responsibility." Michael's laugh was dry.
"Ye keep usin' that word like it explains everythin'.
But responsibility daesnae make a man's eyes go soft. Daesnae make him protective tae the point of warnin’ his own sisters fer teasin'.
Daesnae make him sacrifice sleep tae avoid pushin' her intae somethin' she's nae ready fer. "
"What's yer point?"
"Me point is that ye're fallin' fer her. Maybe have already fallen." Michael's voice was quiet but certain. "And I'm wonderin' if ye've realized it yet."
"That's the falsest thing I’ve heard today." Tòrr stopped, the denial dying on his tongue.
Michael shrugged. “Well, I just never thought I’d see the day ye’d be worried about a woman’s feelings.”
Tòrr’s brow lifted. “Her feelings affect the peace in me castle.”
“Aye,” Michael drawled. “And the peace in yer head, I’d wager.”
“Careful,” Tòrr warned, his tone deceptively calm. But he stiffened and was lost in thoughts.
How much did Liliane occupy his thoughts? How often did he find himself considering her comfort before his own needs? How thoroughly had she worked her way past every defense he'd built since his father died?
"Christ," he muttered.
"Aye. That's what I thought." Michael clapped his shoulder. “Just an observation I made.”
“Make fewer of them from now on.” Tòrr said brushing him off. He turned and strode out before anyone could read the flicker of unease behind his eyes. Because Michael wasn’t wrong.
He’d told himself this marriage was a matter of necessity, a way to disrupt Munro’s alliances, to keep power from the Pact. A move on the chessboard, nothing more. But now…
Now, when he caught the sound of her laughter through the garden, when he saw her talking with the sisters, sunlight catching the gold in her hair, his chest tightened in ways that had nothing to do with strategy.
He scowled, shaking the thought away. “Christ’s bones,” he muttered. “She’s gettin’ into me head.”
Tòrr stood in his study, quill and paper in hand, staring at them like they might bite. The letter from Munro sat heavy in his pocket, a constant reminder of threats he couldn't fully counter.
But maybe he could give Liliane something. A gesture. A way to show her he heard what she'd said about Nessa, that he valued her trust. Patrols would leave within the hour, but a matter still lingered in his mind, one he meant to set right.
He found her outside the healer's croft, bent over a cluster of lavender, breathing in the scent with her eyes closed. The afternoon sun caught in her hair, turning it gold, and for a moment he just watched her.
Peaceful. That's how she looked. Not the wary, defiant woman he'd bought at auction, but someone content.
Then he cleared his throat and stepped forward. "Liliane."
She straightened, turning toward him with that guarded expression sliding back into place. "Tòrr. I didnae hear ye approach."
"Ye were occupied." He moved closer, holding out the quill and paper. "I brought ye somethin'."
She eyed them suspiciously. "What is it?"
"Some parchment tae write tae yer sister. If ye want tae." He kept his voice neutral. "I ken ye've been worryin' about her. Thought maybe... if ye could send word that ye're well, it might ease yer mind."
Her eyes widened, shock replacing suspicion. "Ye'd let me write tae her?"
"Aye. It's nae much, but..." He shrugged, uncomfortable with the emotion in her gaze. "I ken how much she matters tae ye. Seemed the least I could dae."
"I—" Her voice cracked slightly. "Thank ye. That's... that's more than I expected."
"Aye, well. Dinnae get used tae it." But his gruff tone was undermined by the small smile tugging at his lips.
For a while she said nothing. Then her expression softened, and before he could prepare for it, she stepped forward and threw her arms around him.
He went still, more startled than anything, the embrace caught him so off guard he nearly dropped the paper.
Her body pressed against his, warm and solid, her face buried against his chest. The scent of her hair filled his senses, wildflowers and something warm, familiar.
Then his arms came up slowly, carefully, holding her like she might shatter if he squeezed too hard.
"Thank ye," she whispered against his shirt. "Truly. This means, ye dinnae ken what this means."
"I think I dae," he murmured, his chin resting lightly on top of her head. "Ye miss her. Ye worry. And I'm givin' ye a way tae ease that, even just a little."
She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with something soft and vulnerable in her eyes. "Why are ye bein' so kind tae me?"
"Because ye deserve kindness. Regardless of how this marriage started."
They stood there, close enough that he could count her eyelashes, close enough that one small movement would bring their lips together. The moment stretched, heavy with possibility.
Then the paper slipped from his hand.
They both reached for it at the same time, but Liliane was faster. As she bent to retrieve it, another paper fell from his pocket, Munro's letter, the wax seal that was broken clearly visible.
"What's this?" She picked it up before he could stop her.
"Liliane, wait."
“Me faither?” She'd already seen the seal.
Tòrr’s jaw tightened. “Give it here.”
Her fingers traced the wax, unfolding the letter, her eyes scanning the words. He watched the color drain from her face, watched fury and dread war in her expression.
"When did this arrive?" Her voice was dangerously quiet.
"A few days ago. I meant tae tell ye."
"A few days?" She looked up at him, betrayal written across her features. "Ye've been hidin' this from me fer few days?"
"I wasnae hidin' it, I was waitin' fer the right time tae tell ye."
"The right time? He's threatenin' tae annul our marriage! Tae appeal tae the king!" Her voice rose. "And ye didnae think I had a right tae ken immediately?"
“It’s none of yer concern,” he said curtly.
“None of me concern?” she repeated, voice sharp as glass. “He’s me faither! And ye kept this from me?”
He exhaled through his nose, every word measured. “Because it changes naethin’. He can write all he likes. The marriage stands. This is one of me ways of protectin' ye."
"By keepin' secrets? By decidin' what I should and shouldnae ken?" She crumpled the letter in her fist. "This threat at the end, 'younger blood payin' the price', that's about Nessa, isnae it?"
"Aye. I believe so."
"And ye didnae think tae tell me?" Her eyes blazed. "Me sister is bein' threatened, and ye kept it from me?"
“Enough.”
Her voice cracked into a plea. “Enough? Is that all ye can say?”
“What would ye have done if I had told ye? Ridden off in the night again? Handed yerself back tae him? I kent ye'd panic. Would try tae dae somethin' reckless.”
“I’d have been warned! I would have tried tae protect me sister! Instead, I find out like this? That's me responsibility, Tòrr, nae yers!"
"Ye're me wife now. That makes it me responsibility too."
"I dinnae recall askin' fer yer help!" She shoved the letter against his chest. "I dinnae recall trustin' ye with this!"
"Ye told me about her. Ye trusted me with that."
He turned away, scanning the yard where a few guards had started to gather near the stables and the yard drawn by her raised voice ready for a scene. “We’ll speak later. I’ve patrols tae see tae.”
“The hell we will,” she snapped, stepping in front of him. “Ye’ll nae walk away from this.”
"We need tae discuss this calmly."
"Dinnae tell me tae be calm!" But she saw the guards too, saw the scene she was making. "Fine. I’ll stay calm, but let's discuss it, right now. Tell me everythin'."
“Liliane,” he said in warning. "I will. But nae here, and nae when I need tae leave fer patrol in five minutes." He reached for her arm.
"Nay. Now." She planted herself directly in his path, arms crossed. "Ye're nae leavin' until ye explain yerself."
"Liliane, move."
"Nay."
"I'm givin' ye one chance tae step aside."
"And I'm givin' ye one chance tae tell me the truth. Right here, right now."
The standoff drew more attention. Michael appeared at the edge of the yard, eyebrows raised. The guards were definitely watching now.
“Ye’re makin’ a scene,” he said under his breath.
“Maybe that’s what it takes tae make ye listen.”
"Last warnin', lass. Move."
"Make me."
Wrong thing tae say.
In one fluid motion, he bent and lifted her over his shoulder, ignoring her shriek of outrage.
"Put me down!"
"If ye'd listened, I wouldnae have tae carry ye." he said, striding across the yard toward the stables.
“Because ye didnae talk!” she snapped, twisting to glare down at him. “Ye always handle me like a sack of grain!” She pounded her fists against his back. "Put me down this instant!"
"Nay."
"Everyone's watchin'!"
"Ye started the scene. I'm endin' it."
Her fist thumped his shoulder again. “Brute!”
“Ungrateful,” he shot back.
“Controllin’!”
“Reckless!”
Their exchange drew muffled laughter from the guards, though none dared speak aloud.
He reached his horse and swung her up onto it before she could escape. "And now we're goin' tae have that discussion. Somewhere without an audience."
He mounted behind her, his arms caging her in as he took the reins.
"Ye’re unbearable, ye ken!" she spat, trying to wriggle free.
"Aye, It's been mentioned before. But as ye can see, someone else’s opinion daesnae concern me at all." He spurred the horse forward, ignoring the guards' barely concealed grins. "Now hold still or ye'll fall."
"Good! Maybe I'll break me neck and solve both our problems!"
"Dinnae be dramatic." His arm tightened around her waist as she tried to throw herself sideways. "Christ, woman, are ye tryin' tae get hurt?"
"I'm tryin' tae get away from ye!"
"Nae happenin'." He urged the horse faster, leaving the keep and curious eyes behind. "So ye might as well settle down and save yer energy fer the argument we're about tae have."
"Has anyone told ye that ye are a tyrant?"
"Nay, but I believe I’m a husband who's tired of ye runnin' away every time things get difficult." he supplied. "Aye, that sounds about right."
She let out a frustrated scream that probably scared every bird within a mile radius. But she stopped fighting him, her body rigid with fury as they rode away from the castle.
He'd wanted to give her something good. The chance to write to her sister, a gesture of trust. Instead, he'd given her one more reason to hate him.
Perfect, just perfect.