Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
"Double the patrols on every approach. I want men stationed at the village boundaries and rotatin’ watches through the night."
Tòrr's voice cut through the great hall like a blade, sharp and absolute. The ride back from the festival had been tense, silent save for the thunder of hooves. Now, surrounded by his warriors and elders, he looked every inch the Highland laird—commanding, furious, and utterly in control.
"How many were there?" Elder Malcolm demanded, his weathered face grave.
"Three that we saw," Daemon answered, still dusty from the road. "All dead.”
"Munro's men," Tòrr continued. "They admitted tae followin' his orders. Planned tae use the festival chaos as cover tae abduct me wife."
A ripple of anger moved through the assembled men.
"Bold," Michael said quietly. "Attackin' durin’ a clan gatherin’. That's a declaration."
"Aye. Which is why we respond in kind." Tòrr's hands clenched at his sides. "I want search parties sent out at first light. Scour every inch of our lands fer any other men who might be lurkin'. If ye find anyone suspicious, bring them tae me alive. I'll question them meself."
"And if they resist?" Captain Fraser asked.
"Then ye have me permission tae dae what's necessary." Tòrr's voice was flat. "But I want at least one alive if possible. I need tae ken if this was an isolated attempt or part of somethin' larger."
"What about the borders?" Elder Gregor leaned forward. "Should we close them? Bar entry?"
"Nay. That would signal fear, and I'll nae give Munro that satisfaction." Tòrr's jaw tightened. "But increase scrutiny on anyone crossin'. Unknown faces get questioned. Unknown business gets investigated. Anyone who cannae provide a good reason fer bein' on MacDonald land gets turned away."
"That'll slow trade," Malcolm warned.
"I daenae care. Me wife's safety is worth more than trade routes." Tòrr turned slightly, his eyes finding Liliane. Something softened in his expression, just for a moment. "Is there anythin' else ye need from me before I see tae her wound?"
The men exchanged glances, clearly reading the dismissal for what it was.
"Nay, me laird," Fraser said. "We'll begin preparations immediately."
"Good. Daemon, Michael, stay. The rest of ye, go. I want those patrols doubled by nightfall."
The hall emptied quickly, warriors moving with purpose toward their assigned tasks. When only his brothers remained, Tòrr's shoulders sagged slightly, exhaustion finally showing through his armor of command.
"She needs the healer," Michael said gently, stepping forward. "That cut should be cleaned proper and dressed."
"Aye." Tòrr moved to Liliane's side, his hand finding the small of her back. "Come, lass. Let's get ye tended to."
"I can walk meself."
"I ken. But humor me." His voice dropped lower. "I need tae ken ye're safe. Need tae see it with me own eyes."
The raw honesty in his tone made her throat tight. She nodded and let him guide her toward the tower stairs.
The healer's chamber was warm, fragrant with dried herbs hanging from the rafters. The healer directed Liliane to sit on the low stool by the hearth while she prepared her materials.
"I'll need good light," the older woman murmured, lighting additional candles. "And privacy would be best. Sometimes wounds are easier tae tend without an audience."
Tòrr, who'd been hovering near the door, straightened. "I'm nae leavin'."
"Me laird."
"I said I'm nae leavin'." His tone allowed no argument. "I'll stay until I ken she's been properly cared fer."
The healer's lips twitched, almost smiling. "As ye wish. But try nae tae pace. Ye'll make me nervous."
"I dinnae pace."
"Ye're pacin' now."
He stopped mid-stride, scowling. "I'm nae."
"Whatever ye say, me laird." Moira turned her attention to Liliane, carefully removing the makeshift bandage. "Let's see what we have here."
The cut stung as Moira cleaned it with something that smelled sharp and medicinal. Liliane tried not to flinch, but her fingers curled into her skirts.
"Brave lass," Moira murmured. "Ye've seen worse than this, I'd wager."
The healer worked in silence for a moment, applying a salve that cooled the burning.
"There. The cut's clean. Should heal proper in a few days, though ye'll need tae keep it covered and dry.
" She glanced at Tòrr. "I'll leave the dressin' with ye, me laird. Change it mornin’ and night.
Use fresh salve each time. Tend her gently.
" The healer's eyes were knowing as she gathered her supplies.
"I'll be in the main hall if ye need me. "
After she left, silence settled over the chamber like snow. Tòrr stood by the window, his back to Liliane, his shoulders rigid with tension.
She stood, moving toward him carefully. "Tòrr, look at me."
He turned slowly, and the expression on his face made her breath catch. Fury and fear and something deeper, something that looked almost like anguish.
"I should have been there sooner," he said, his voice rough. "Should have followed ye intae the inn immediately instead of lettin' ye go alone."
"Ye couldnae have kent what would happen."
"I should have kent. Should have anticipated it." His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Yer faither sent men durin’ a festival, durin’ a celebration meant tae bring the clan together. That takes plannin’. Coordination. He's been watchin' us, waitin' fer the right moment."
"And ye stopped them."
"Barely. If ye hadnae screamed, or if I'd been even a minute later… " He stopped himself, jaw working. "I cannae stop thinkin' about what might have happened."
"But it didnae happen. I'm here. Safe. Because ye came fer me." She reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing his sleeve. "Because ye fought fer me."
"Of course I fought fer ye. Ye're me wife."
"Nae. It's more than that." She moved closer, drawn by something she couldn't name. "Ye were terrifyin’. The way ye moved, the way ye killed them without hesitation. I should be frightened of ye."
"Are ye?" The question came out barely above a whisper.
"Nay. I'm nae frightened." She looked up at him, seeing the blood still dried on his knuckles, the tension coiled through his entire frame. "I'm... I daenae ken what I am. Confused, maybe. Overwhelmed."
"By what?"
"By ye." The admission felt like stepping off a cliff. "By how violent ye can be one moment and how gentle the next. Ye killed three men and then touched me face like I was made of glass. I've never seen anythin' like it. Never felt anythin' like it."
He was very still, watching her with those intense green eyes. "What are ye sayin', lass?"
"I'm sayin'..." She drew a shaky breath. "I'm sayin' that when ye held me face and checked me wound, I felt safe. Truly safe. Fer the first time in years, maybe. And I dinnae ken what tae de with that."
"Ye dinnae have tae dae anythin' with it." His hand came up slowly, carefully, to cup her uninjured cheek. "Just let it be. Let yerself feel safe."
"It's nae that simple."
"Isnae it?"
"Nae. Because feelin’ safe means trustin'. And trustin' means..." She pulled back, wrapping her arms around herself. "It means lettin' someone see things I've kept hidden. Things I've never told anyone."
"Then dinnae tell me." But his voice was gentle. "Ye dinnae owe me yer secrets, Liliane."
"Maybe I want tae tell ye. Maybe I need tae." She turned away, staring at the herbs hanging from the rafters. After about a minute she spoke again. "When I was fifteen, me maither died."
The words came out flat, factual. As if she were discussing the weather rather than the worst day of her life.
"I kent she was sick," Tòrr said quietly. "Ye mentioned a fever."
"Aye. A fever that took her in three days." Liliane's hands trembled slightly. "But she was already weakened. Had been fer years. Her body just... it couldnae fight anymore."
"Ye said… weakened how?"
The question hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. Liliane closed her eyes, the memories rising like tide water, her mother's bruises, always explained away as clumsiness. The way she'd flinch at sudden movements. The careful way she'd move some mornings, as if her ribs ached.
"Me father has a temper," she said finally. "And me maither bore the brunt of it fer years. Every time he was angry, every time something went wrong with the clan or his plans, she paid the price."
Behind her, she heard Tòrr's sharp intake of breath.
"He beat her," she continued, her voice steady despite the tears burning her eyes.
"Nae every day. Sometimes months would pass with nay incidents.
But when his temper flared, when he needed someone tae blame.
.." She wrapped her arms tighter around herself.
"She'd wear long sleeves tae hide the bruises.
High collars tae cover the finger marks on her throat.
And she'd smile and tell everyone she was just clumsy, just prone tae accidents. "
"Christ, Liliane."
"I tried tae stop him. Once." The memory was bitter, sharp.
"I was fifteen. He had her against the wall and I, I grabbed a fire poker and told him tae let her go. He just laughed. Took the poker from me like I was a child playin’ with toys.
Then he locked me in me chamber fer three days so I couldnae interfere. "
"And yer maither?"
"She told me never tae dae it again. Said it only made things worse when I fought him.
That he took his anger out on her more and that he'd take his anger out on me next, and she couldnae bear that.
" Liliane's voice cracked. "So I stopped.
I watched and I said naethin' and I hated meself fer it every day. "
She felt rather than heard Tòrr move closer, his warmth at her back.
"The fever came in winter," she continued. "She'd been more fragile than usual that year. More bruises, more days spent in bed. When the sickness took hold, her body just... gave up. The healer tried everythin', but there was nothin' tae be done. She died three days after the fever started."
"Liliane." Her name was barely a whisper, rough with emotion.
"But now..." She took a step back, pressing her hands to her face, trying to hold back the tears. "Now he's failed tae reclaim me. His plans are ruined. His alliance is broken. And when men like him fail, they need someone tae blame. Someone tae punish."
"Nessa," Tòrr said grimly.
"Aye. Nessa." The tears came now, hot and unstoppable. "She's there with him. And I'm here. And I dinnae ken, I dinnae ken if she's safe. If he's hurt her already. If he's done somethin’ worse. I cannae protect her."
Arms closed around her, strong and steady, pulling her against a solid chest. She stiffened for just a moment before the dam broke completely and she sobbed into Tòrr's shirt, years of fear and grief and helplessness pouring out.
"I've got ye," he murmured against her hair. "I've got ye, lass. Let it out."
"I cannae lose her. She's all I have left. If he hurts her because of me, I willnae fergive meself."
"He willnae. I willnae let him." Tòrr's arms tightened. "I swear tae ye, Liliane. On me life, on me clan, on everythin' I hold sacred. We'll get her out. We'll bring her here, where she'll be safe."
Fresh tears spilled over, but these felt different. Lighter somehow. Like the weight she'd been carrying might finally have someone to help bear it.
"Thank ye," she whispered.
"Dinnae thank me yet. We havenae gotten her out." His forehead dropped to rest against hers. "But we will. I promise ye that."
They stood there for a long moment, wrapped in each other, the chamber quiet save for the crackle of the hearth. Liliane felt something shifting inside her, some wall she'd built brick by brick over years of protecting herself finally beginning to crumble.
She'd told him everything. The worst parts of her past, her deepest fear.
And instead of using it against her, instead of dismissing it or telling her to be practical, he'd simply held her.
Had promised to help. Had made her feel, for the first time in years, like she wasn't carrying that burden alone.
"Tòrr?" Her voice was small, uncertain.
"Aye?"
"When ye checked me wound earlier, after the fight..." She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "Yer hands were covered in blood. Their blood. But ye touched me face so gently. Like I might break."
"Ye looked like ye might break. Like one wrong move would shatter ye completely." His expression was impossibly soft. "I've killed men before. Done violence when necessary. But the thought of hurtin' ye, even accidentally..." He shook his head. "I'd rather cut off me own hand than cause ye pain."
"I believe ye." And she did. That was the terrifying part. "I believe ye mean that."
"Because it's true." His hand slid down to rest over her heart. "Whatever happens next, whatever we have tae dae tae get yer sister tae safety, ken that I'm with ye. Completely. Ye're nae alone anymore, Liliane. Ye'll never be alone again."
The words settled into her chest like stones; heavy, permanent, impossible to ignore and it made her cry.
She'd spent years building walls to keep people out, to keep herself safe from the kind of pain her mother had endured.
But standing there, wrapped in Tòrr's arms, feeling his heart beat steadily beneath her palm, those walls felt less like protection and more like prison.
Maybe, just maybe, it was time to let them fall.