Chapter Nine
The apothecary had quieted at last.
Her mother had stepped out to fetch more herbs. Her father had gone to speak with a guardsman. Camden watched her like a hawk for several tense breaths before muttering that he would only be gone a moment, though she suspected he needed a moment to calm.
For the first time that morning, Beitris was alone.
She pressed the cool cloth to her cheek, fighting back the dull ache pulsing through her jaw.
Her lip still stung with every breath. Yet the pain was nothing compared to the hollow fear that lingered in her chest, fear of seeing Cormac again.
Fear of Keir or Liam getting hurt. Cormac would not hesitate to use whatever weapon he could reach for.
The door creaked and her breath caught.
Liam stepped inside.
His shoulders were stiff, jaw carved in stone, his entire body rigid. Something was wrong. Her gaze flew over him until stopping at his hands.
His knuckles were raw, split open, swollen, and streaked with dried blood.
Beitris’s heart lurched violently.
“Liam…” she whispered.
Something sorrowful flicked behind his eyes then he stepped forward. A slow, deliberate movement, as though unsure how close to her he should be.
Beitris rose despite the throb in her head. “Ye fought him.”
He didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
She reached for his hand before she could think better of it. Her fingers hovered over his bruised knuckles, not wanting to hurt him. “Ye did this because of me.”
His breath shuddered out. “He deserved worse.”
“Keir, where is he? Is he hurt? Taken away for killing Cormac?” she asked.
Liam shook his head, jaw tightening. “He didnae touch Cormac. Instead allowed me to punish the bastard.” He cleared his throat. “And he will nae dare to even look in yer direction ever again.”
A ball of heat formed in her chest, its comfort spreading through her entire body. She was safe.
Silence wrapped around them, a fragile, intimate thing. The kind that makes the air too thick, too warm. The kind that draws two people closer without thought. Beitris stood and reached for him. “Thank ye. I will nae be fearful of going out.”
“Beitris…” Liam whispered, the sound of her name almost breaking.
She didn’t ken who moved first.
Maybe it was him.
Maybe it was her.
But suddenly they stood with arms wrapped around one another. Neither daring to speak, nor wishing to make sense of what drew them.
Her heartbeat thundered. “Ye are hurt.”
“’Tis nothing,” he said softly.
She’d seen his bruised, bloodied hands. Perhaps a common occurrence for a warrior, however, it did look very painful.
She lifted her gaze and whispered, “Liam, look at me.”
He did.
Slowly.
As if looking at her cost him everything and gave him everything all at once.
Beitris reached up and touched the side of his face, her fingers trembling. “What of yer side? Is it painful?”
His broad shoulders lifted and lowered. It was not lost on her that they still remained with their arms loosely around each other. But she didn’t want to move away from him, from his warm strong body.
“No more than usual,” he said roughly, the corners of his lips curving just a bit.
His eyes fell to her lips, bruised, swollen, marked.
She felt the moment he lost control.
He cupped her cheek with a tenderness that made her knees soften, thumb barely brushing her skin, cautious of her pain. She leaned into him without thought, trusting him utterly.
“Ye should nae want a man like me,” he murmured, voice thick. “Ye deserve more.”
She pressed her fingers to his lips, silencing him.
A heartbeat passed.
Then two.
Then Liam’s resolve broke.
His mouth gently found hers, being careful of her cut.
She curled her fingers into the front of his tunic and kissed him back. Deeper and slower. Letting the longing she’d been fighting spill free. His hand slid to her waist, steadying her, holding her as though she were precious. Or as though he feared she might disappear.
His body trembled against hers.
He pulled away first, forehead resting against hers, breathing hard.
“Beitris…” he whispered again, voice wrecked. “I-I cannae say what I should.”
She didn’t ask.
She didn’t need to.
Her heart already knew the truth he was too terrified to speak.
She brushed her lips against his, so soft, barely there. “Then dinnae say anything. Just… stay a moment.”
He closed his eyes and exhaled a shuddering breath, pressing his brow to hers.
“A moment,” he agreed in a broken whisper.
And for that stolen stretch of time, the world, the pain, the fear, all fell away.
There was only him. Only her. And the lingering warmth of a kiss that meant far more than they dared to admit.
The door creaked open, shattering the fragile moment between them.
Liam drew back at once, though his gaze clung to Beitris as if reluctant to let her go.
Heat still lingered where his hands had touched her, her breath unsteady from the kiss they’d barely broken apart from.
Her knees weak, she lowered back to the stool.
Camden strode in, stopping short when he caught sight of the two of them. His eyes moved from her flushed face to Liam’s marked knuckles, and something like understanding flickered there.
“Keir told me what occurred,” Camden said, voice tight with restrained fury. “Thank ye for defending Beitris.”
Liam dipped his head in acknowledgment, though he never quite looked away from her. Then, as though some unseen tether pulled him, he turned and moved toward the door.
Beitris’s heart lurched. She didnae ken why, she only knew that some part of her wanted to rise, to follow him, to stay close to the warmth he carried with him. Instead, her legs gave way to sense, and she sank back onto her seat.
“I best go and see about my family,” Liam said quietly. “I am certain Effie has reached home already with all that transpired. My parents will be worried.”
He paused, looked to her.
“Be well.”
Then he was gone.
The words struck her like a pebble tossed into a deep pond, small yet rippling. Be well. What was she to make of that? Did he mean to return? Did he mean nothing at all?
She huffed softly under her breath, irritation and longing twined together.
Camden crouched beside her. “I’ll walk ye to the bakery. Ye need rest, and that tonic will soon make ye feel like yer legs are made of wool.”
She thought back to standing with Liam, how steady she’d felt with his hand on her waist, his breath brushing hers. She wasn’t sure that counted. Still, she nodded. “Aye, I would appreciate it.”
They stepped out into the street, and the cool air brushed her bruised cheek. Camden exhaled in a long rush, glancing sideways at her.
“Is there something between ye and Liam?” he asked bluntly. “He seemed verra keen to defend ye.”
Her heart fluttered, then clenched. What was there? Kisses. Heat. A moment that felt like it had shifted the world beneath her feet. And yet, not a single promise from him. Only the warning that she deserved more.
“Nae,” she said softly. “Only friendship. Perhaps he feels obligated since I tended him during his recovery.”
Camden’s look was anything but convinced. “Obligation?” He snorted. “Lass, the way he looks at ye, if that’s obligation, then the sun is cold.”
“That I doubt,” Beitris said, though her voice wavered with uncertainty. “Liam is nae a man who settles. And I would nae wish to be wife to someone who could never be satisfied with just me.”
Camden’s lips twitched, a knowing smile. “Men do change, ye ken. Especially the ones who think they never will.”
Before she could reply, her mother appeared in the bakery doorway like a gust of maternal worry, sweeping her inside with a flurry of questions and gentle scolding. Beitris scarcely had time to breathe before she was ushered into bed.
It was only then that the weight of the day descended fully upon her. Her limbs felt heavy, her eyelids drooping as the tonic tightened its soft hold. She curled beneath the blanket, breath slowing.
But even as sleep pulled her under, there was one thought that beat at her steadily, insistently. Liam had defended her in front of the entire village and Keir had allowed it. What did it mean?