Chapter One #2
But the walk was little more than an escape.
A way to slip from the courtyard before the guardsmen and warriors grew uncomfortable under the weight of what they didn’t ken how to say.
Once, they’d sought him out with questions, jokes, or boasts from training.
Now, their conversations stumbled, their glances skittering away as if his injury might leap across the space between them.
Their talk of drills and duties was no longer his world, and he had no desire to pretend it still was.
He would take his walk, because it allowed him to breathe away from the pity, away from the awkward silence, away from the reminders of everything he’d lost.
There was always the option of returning to Tokavaig.
As the miller’s son, Liam would never be without a roof or honest work should he leave the keep.
But the coins he could earn helping his father grind grain would be meager compared to what he once made as one of the laird’s trusted leaders.
Even now, serving as scribe, Alexander paid him the same wage he’d earned as a warrior.
A kindness Liam accepted but could not quite swallow.
Although his coffers were full, Liam was more frugal than ever.
Because every coin he saved would be needed on the day he would no longer be of use to the keep, a future he dreaded even as he prepared for it.
He followed the quieter corridor along the far end of the great room, his footsteps echoing off cool stone.
The kitchen lay empty save for the lone cat napping in the lingering warmth from the hearth.
Liam crossed to the long counter that stretched the length of the wall, wrapping a heel of bread in a square of cloth before tucking it into the leather pouch slung across his chest. A strip of dried meat followed, then a firm apple, its skin cool beneath his fingers.
Beside the kitchen entrance, a narrow door offered quick passage for servants hauling water. Liam slipped through it, stepping out into the courtyard and toward the promise of open air. He intended to walk into the woods, a small respite of solitude he allowed himself each day.
A faint chill clung to the breeze, but the world whispered of spring.
Tender blades of green pushed through the thawing earth, stubborn and bright.
The air carried the scent of pine and damp moss, undercut by the smoky sweetness of a bonfire burning closer to the main grounds, where several people gathered in easy conversation.
Only a handful of folks moved through this quieter corner, mostly servants hauling buckets from the well, their chatter soft and distant. No warriors with their curious glances.
Relief loosened his shoulders.
Turning away from the courtyard, Liam began his walk toward the forest. His gait was steady but uneven, each step a reminder of the injury that had carved a new, unwanted path through his life. Still, the trees beckoned, quiet, familiar, and blissfully free of prying eyes.
“Liam.”
The voice, soft, feminine, unmistakable skimmed down his spine like the brush of a feather.
“May I speak with ye?”
He kept walking, pretending he hadn’t heard her, hoping the forest ahead might swallow him whole in mercy. But her footsteps quickened, light and determined, closing the distance with far too much eagerness for his liking.
There would be no avoiding her now. Best to hear her out and quickly continue on his planned walk.
He stopped and turned.
Beitris.
The mere sight of her punched the breath from his lungs.
She had always been lovely, but somehow she seemed to become more so with each passing day, as though spring itself had chosen her as its favored blossom.
Her flame-red hair spilled past her shoulders in careless waves, catching the sunlight like embers stirred by a breeze.
A faint flush warmed her oval cheeks, freckles dusting her nose like a constellation he should not be admiring.
And her lips… they were soft and full, with that faint upward curve that made her look like she kept deliciously wicked secrets tucked behind them.
Her too observant bright blue eyes lifted to him beneath long dark lashes. “Ye are trying to avoid me.”
He raised a brow, attempting nonchalance. “If ye believe that, then why pursue me?”
A spark of irritation flickered in her gaze. “Pursue? Is that what ye call a person who cares about yer well-being?”
He didn’t answer. He could already guess the direction this storm was blowing.
“As ye ken, the laird has charged me with aiding in yer recovery,” she continued, folding her arms beneath her breasts in a motion that made his pulse lurch unhelpfully. “I take my duties seriously, and ye will not hinder me.”
His mouth went dry. Saints, she likely had no notion how that stance affected a man.
“Perhaps before last meal,” he said, striving for boredom while his heartbeat did its own frantic jig.
“No.” Her stubborn chin lifted. “It’s best to do it now. Get it over with. The healer insists on regular massages and fresh poultice.” She made a face as though remembering the foul smell of the stuff. “’Tis not my favorite chore either, but it must be done.”
He wondered if her distaste stemmed from tending a disfigured limb… or from hurting him with each touch. Either way, arguing would be useless.
“Very well.” Liam gestured back toward the doorway he’d just left behind.
The sooner this ordeal was finished, the sooner he could continue his escape into the woods.
The treatments helped, he’d never deny that.
His leg always felt looser, his hip more forgiving.
But time alone with Beitris? That brought a different kind of ache…
one he had no desire to examine too closely.
Not when wanting her was the most dangerous foolhardiness of all.