Chapter 18
William caught up with him in the corridor outside the council chamber.
They fell into step easily, boots echoing in time on the stone floor as they made their way through the keep.
“Well… that could have gone worse,” He said lightly.
“Aye. Could’ve thrown one of them through the window,” Rhys muttered.
William smirked. “But nay war? After all the fightin’ ye did to get all of them on yer side about attackin’ Murdock. Ye’re gettin’ soft.”
“Say that again and I’ll show ye soft.”
They rounded a corner and Rhys pushed open the door to the study. William followed, casually dragging his fingers along the bookshelves before finally speaking again.
“So… that’s it then? Nay war?”
“Nay war.”
William nodded slowly, then turned to face him, leaning one shoulder against the wall. “Ye always did want peace more than you let on.”
“I want what’s necessary,” Rhys corrected. “That isnae always war.”
William didn’t respond right away. His gaze drifted across the room, to the fire, to the maps, and then subtly back to Rhys.
“Good to see Finn back,” he offered.
Rhys grunted in agreement.
“And the Lady Amara? She’s farin’ well?”
Rhys shot him a look.
William shrugged innocently. “Just makin’ conversation.”
“She’s nae yer concern.”
William lifted his hands. “Dinnae say she was. Myles just mentioned he wasnae needed as her shadow last night when I caught him in the barracks corridor last night.”
Rhys’s jaw clenched.
William smiled faintly. “Should I assign a shadow to her again today? Just in case? Myles or meself, perhaps?”
Rhys didn’t answer. He picked up the small pewter paperweight from the desk and lobbed it toward the door.
William stepped out and shut it just in time. The loud bang of metal against wood echoed through the study.
And then, silence.
Rhys let out a long breath and looked down at the war table, the visage of Amara’s dress pooling around the curve of her hips still haunting the corners of his vision.
It was well after luncheon when he heard her footsteps. Unhurried and steady, as if she belonged. The door creaked open, and she stepped into the room, and Rhys felt the room tilt ever so slightly.
The dress was simple in cut, but the effect was anything but. Pale blue linen with faint embroidery at the seams. She looked... devastating.
Not just beautiful.
Commanding.
A vague sense of familiarity hit him then. The cut of the shoulders, and the silver ties at her elbows. It might’ve belonged to his late wife once. One of the gowns she’d tucked away when she was still learning what it meant to be laird’s wife.
Had they kept it?
Likely Nina had. Utility, after all. Waste was waste, and he kent his late wife well enough to ken she would’ve said the same.
Still, the sight of it now on Amara, tailored by time to fit her body like the gown had waited years to be worn again made something tighten low in his belly.
“Ye said to meet ye here?” she asked, voice even.
He swallowed that feeling and nodded toward the table. “I did. Ye found me. Come.”
She moved to his side, eyes scanning the maps, lips parting slightly as she took it all in.
“These were yer plans?” she asked. “To assault me faither’s keep?”
“They were,” he said. “Before Finn returned.”
He felt her eyes lift, searing heat all over his body, but he kept his gaze fixed on the table.
“And now?” she asked, gently.
“Now they’re just lines on parchment.”
Amara nodded slowly, then reached down and tapped one of the eastern routes with her fingertip. “This one’s useless.”
He quirked a brow. “Useless, is it?”
“There’s nay longer a passable trail here,” she explained. “The bridge washed out two winters ago. Hasnae been rebuilt.”
He stared at the map, then looked up at her. “And ye thought to tell me this now, why?”
She met his gaze evenly. “Because I trust ye.”
He grunted. “Trust me to nae use them?”
“If ye use them or nae, that would be yer choice and right as a laird and clan who has been gravely wronged by another.”
“If I were to attack Murdoch Keep, would that trouble ye?”
“I think it might, but it also might nae. I’m nae sure. Are ye askin’ me if ye can attack me family’s keep, or are ye tellin’ me that ye are?”
Quick and honest.
“I’m undecided,” he lied, to see her reaction. “Finn has returned, but nae without some very serious injuries. He’s in good hands and will survive, but ye are right – I do feel wronged. I’m well within right to attack.”
Her mouth curved. “Aye, ye are…”
That startled a laugh from him. “Aye, but I cannae attack it if ye are in it.”
Amara only shrugged, but the mischief in her eyes glinted like sunlight through smoke.
They pored over the maps together for the next half hour.
He expected her to lose interest, to nod politely and feign care.
But she didn’t. She leaned in. Asked sharp questions.
Challenged him. Suggested an alternate flanking maneuver through the orchard walls, where the foundation was weakest from years of erosion.
It was a good idea. One that hadn’t occurred to him.
He hated how much he liked it.
“Ye ever studied siege warfare?” he asked, glancing at her sidelong.
“Nay,” she said. “But I paid attention. And I remember what frightened me faither.”
Rhys folded his arms, watching her with something like respect.
Maybe more.
Then the sky darkened.
The storm rolled in fast. Thunder cracked overhead, and the wind slapped the shutters against the stone like warning drums. The candle flames jumped.
Amara flinched.
He noticed.
“Storm’s close,” she said, glancing toward the window.
Rhys moved to latch the shutters, and when he turned, she was staring through the rain-streaked glass, her face unreadable.
“Me maither loved storms,” she murmured. “Said they were the world’s way of cleaning itself. Whenever one rolled through, she’d light candles in every room. Said the house should glow while the sky howled to show it just how unmovable it was.”
Rhys said nothing, sensing the memory went deeper.
“One night,” a soft chuckle escaping before she continued, softer now, “we were caught in it. Me faither had just begun his climb toward power, but that night… he was just a man to me. He pulled us both under his cloak, and we laughed, soaked to the bone. Me maither kissed his cheek. And for a few minutes, I believed they were in love. Now storms only remind me of his ire.”
She turned to face him then. Her arms folded loosely at her middle. “’Tis a strange thing, isnae it? How storms can bring out the best and worst in people.”
Rhys crossed the space between them.
“Aye,” he said. “They can.”
He didn’t touch her.
Didn’t speak again.
They stood in the silence as the wind howled outside for a while.
The storm had dulled into a soft, steady patter against the glass.
She turned from the window, heart still tight from the memory she’d shared.
The caress of her mother’s laughter still clung to her skin, warming it slightly.
The moment was so distant from her now, it felt borrowed.
But Rhys didn’t move. He stood just behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him even without a touch.
“What will ye do now,” she asked quietly.
He didn’t answer right away. She turned slightly to face him, her voice a little stronger. “If ye arenae attacking Murdoch Keep… what then?”
His jaw twitched. The faint flicker in his eyes betrayed him.
“But ye now ken what ye will do if ye decide to attack, then. And I’ve just helped ye.”
Rhys clicked his cheek, gaze unreadable. But he didn’t respond. He stepped toward her instead, and the question dissolved on her tongue.
He was so close to her now.
And suddenly, none of it mattered. His presence settled her warring mind like a balm. Her breath slowed, and her worry eased.
She dropped her eyes to the rug between them.
I havenae expressed me wishes well… such a mess of feelings – If he attacks, though, then what?
Sure, her father deserved retribution. For what he did to her. To Finn. To their people. But if she played a part in that destruction, even indirectly, that would mean she was just like him.
The thoughts coiled tight inside her chest.
Rhys’s fingers brushed hers. Just the barest of graze. Her breath caught, but before she could say anything more, he pulled away and nodded toward the door.
“I’ll walk ye back.”
Amara nodded, feeling a new sense of need to feel his lips against hers.
Their journey back to her chambers was silent. Their arms brushed once in the narrow corridor, but neither of them commented.
He paused beside her door when they reached it. “Rest well, lass,”
She looked up at him, suddenly at a loss for words.
“Ye as well,” she murmured.
He didn’t reach for her or close the distance between them or kiss her as she had hoped he’d do. He just smirked and walked back down the hall, toward the door just beside hers.
She slipped inside, her heart thudding.
The fire in her hearth burned low, but Nina had clearly been there. The bed was turned down, basin refreshed, and the air smelled faintly of roses.
Amara undressed in silence, moving slowly. Anything to stop her mind from spinning.
She climbed into bed and lay on her back, staring at the ceiling.
She waited.
And waited.
When an hour passed and still no sound came from beyond her door, she got up. Tiptoed to the door and pressed her ear against the thick oak.
Nothing.
Not even the creak of his door.
She exhaled and returned to bed.
Not ten minutes later, she was up again. Her bare feet padding across the rug, nightgown whispering at her ankles, and she pressed her ear to the door again.
He’s right next door… and yet… he’s nae comin’.
Feeling foolish, she gave up.
She slipped back under the blankets, curled into the corner of the bed like a child, and let herself ache.
Amara ached not just for his touch, but for what it had meant. She knew very well, plain as the nose on her face, she couldn’t leave him.