Chapter 20
Rhys’s feet turned down the corridor without a single thought to do so. He wanted to stay with Amara. He should have stayed with her, but here he was in front of Daisy’s door.
Probably already asleep... Need to check for meself.
Rhys knocked softly, not expecting a reply, nor did he get one.
He pushed open the heavy wooden door.
The fire in the corner had burned low, casting the room in soft orange shadows. Daisy was curled beneath the quilt, only her curls and one small hand visible over the edge.
She blinked at him blearily. “Da?”
“Aye. I just came to make sure ye were well and in bed,” he said, stepping inside and lowering himself onto the bench beside her bed.
“I’m fine,” she yawned. “Why’re ye still awake?”
He smiled faintly. “Could ask ye the same.”
“I was waitin’ on ye...”
The words pulled at something behind his ribs.
“Oh?”
She nodded, her curls bouncing. “I missed ye, Da.”
He let out a quiet chuckle. “I missed ye too, mo chridhe.”
“I ken,” she said simply. “Did Lady Amara go with ye?”
Rhys stilled. “Aye, she came with me. Billy and Myles too.”
Daisy looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. “She looks at ye like she cares. Nae just like she’s bein’ nice.”
His throat tightened. “She’s… a guest.”
“That’s what ye keep sayin’.”
There was a beat of silence between them, broken only by the soft pop of the hearth.
Then she whispered, “But do ye want her to stay?”
Rhys exhaled through his nose. “It’s nae just about wantin’ someone to stay, mo chridhe. It’s about what’s best for everyone.”
“But I want her to stay.”
He looked over at her, surprised by the firmness in her voice.
“She listens when I talk,” Daisy said. “Nae just hears me. Listens. And she’s kind. She plays with me, even when she’s tired. She helped me when I got hurt. She reads in funny voices when she tells me stories. And when I cry, she doesnae tell me to stop. She just hugs me and lets me.”
Rhys swallowed.
“She hums when she brushes me hair. Just like how ye said Ma used to do.”
The quiet confession hit him harder than a blow in the training yard.
“She does?” he managed.
Daisy nodded.
“I love her,” she said softly, like it was a secret she wasn’t sure she was allowed to share.
Rhys leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, head dropping into his hands.
“Daisy,” he said, voice rough. “This… it’s complicated.”
“Nay, it’s nae.”
He lifted his head.
The girl was looking at him with clear, stubborn eyes. “Ye tell me all the time, when I cannae decide between two dresses or what to eat, that ‘simple is best.’ That if I listen to me heart, I’ll know what’s right.”
Rhys stared at her, struck dumb.
She shrugged beneath the quilt. “So? Have ye listened to yer heart at all lately?”
His chest twisted.
“I think ye like her,” Daisy said, blinking sleepily now. “And I think she likes us. Even if she tries not to.”
Rhys reached out, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. “I’ve been tryin’, mo chridhe. Tryin’ to do what’s right.”
She yawned, turning onto her side. “Then maybe ye should try trustin’ yerself for once.”
Her eyes drifted shut. Within seconds, her breathing had evened.
Rhys sat there for a long time, watching the slow rise and fall of her shoulders.
He thought about the humming, the listening, and the hugs that Daisy talked about. The love.
He thought about the way Amara had looked at him tonight in the tavern, all heat and light and ache. The way she’d made him feel like the center of something fragile and real.
And the way he’d kissed her like he didn’t care if the roof collapsed around them.
His daughter saw it all. Even if she hadn’t seen anything.
But it was more than that. She understood it.
Rhys leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Daisy’s temple.
“I love ye, wee menace,” he murmured.
Then he stood, crossed the room without a sound, and closed the door gently behind him.
But her words followed him, echoing softly in the hall.
“Have ye listened to yer heart at all lately?”
The corridor to his study was humming.
Drunken laughter filled the shadows between torchlight. Muffled, but clear enough to make Rhys pinch the bridge of his nose as he reached the final turn.
Of course.
He didn’t even need to open the door to know that Myles stood just steps on the other side. And where Myles was at this hour, William was either cleaning up after him — or pouring more into his cup.
Rhys pushed the door open.
The scent hit first. Ale. Sweat. A bit of savories that one of them — or both — must’ve swiped from the kitchens on their way up. And pipe smoke.
William sat in Rhys’s armchair like it had been gifted to him by God himself, one boot kicked over the side, smoke curling from a long-stemmed pipe.
Myles was half-twisted on the floor by the hearth, legs spread wide, arms splayed, grinning up at the ceiling like it held secrets only he could hear.
“Ah!” Myles pointed lazily, half-missing Rhys by a good foot. “The Laird returns!”
Rhys closed the door behind him with a firm click. “Ye're still alive, I see.”
“Regretfully,” William muttered through his pipe, not looking up.
Myles sat up with a wobbly jerk. “Oi, be honest, we did grand tonight. I only insulted two ladies, and Billy only tried to marry one.”
“William. And she asked me first,” He mumbled.
“Ye two work fast considerin’ we weren’t there but an hour.”
“Och, that was before our first round, Rhys!”
Rhys folded his arms, leaning against the heavy oak table. “And so ye thought it best to bring the celebration back to me study?”
William finally looked up. “Where else were we to go? Myles’s room smells like sheep arse, and the great hall’s too quiet. Besides,” he gestured with his pipe, “we figured ye’d be back… Eventually.”
Rhys lifted a brow.
Myles smirked. “How was yer walk, then? Peaceful? Romantic? Filled with stolen glances and heartfelt sighs?”
“Ye’re full of shite.”
Both men chuckled. William spoke first. “He’s red in the face. That’s an aye if I’ve ever seen one, lad.”
Rhys ignored them both, moving toward the decanter of whisky on the far shelf.
“Ye ken,” William said, as Rhys poured himself a dram, “it’s a curious thing. Watching a man fall in love.”
“I’m nae —” Rhys started.
“— in love?” Myles finished for him. “Aye, and I’m a priest.”
“Please,” William muttered. “Ye’d set fire to the pulpit for a smile from that redheaded barmaid with sharp elbows.”
“I’d set fire to the whole bloody chapel for that woman,” Myles said solemnly, before bursting into laughter.
Rhys sat, glass in hand, and stared at them both.
William, ever the quiet one, gave Rhys a long look. “Ye’ve been different lately.”
“Different?” Rhys echoed.
“Aye. Smilin’ more. Growlin’ less. Daenae think we dinnae notice how fast ye bolted out of the tavern the second Amara yawned.”
“She was tired,” Rhys said.
“Aye, and ye're a gentle cradle rocker now?” Myles grinned. “Should we start callin’ ye Papa Bear?”
Rhys took a long, deliberate sip. “It was actually ye two oafs who got us kicked out, or do ye nae remember what’s just happened only minutes ago.”
“Minutes?” Myles said waving a stolen smoked sausage link
William tapped ash into the hearth. “Ye ken what I think?”
“Nay,” Rhys said flatly.
“I think ye like bein’ needed.”
Rhys stiffened.
William continued, quieter now. “Daisy needs ye, aye. But she’s always needed ye. Now there’s someone else. Someone that listens. That challenges ye.”
Rhys stared into his cup.
“Only question is — what’ll ye do if she leaves?”
Rhys didn’t answer.
Myles leaned back against the hearth, suddenly more serious. “She’s good for ye, mate. We all see it.”
Rhys blinked, “What? All?”
“I meant… just —” he used the half-eaten sausage to point between himself and William a few times before William cracked.
“For Christ’s sake, Myles. Eat the damn sausage and stop playin’ with it! Ye're distractin' from the point!” Their argument ensued with a typical hilarity that seemed to miss Rhys as he started to feel the weight of it settling on his chest.
Myles gave him a slow, crooked smile. “Well… she’ll stay.”
“How can ye be so sure?” Rhys asked, voice low.
William blew a long stream of smoke toward the fire, his eyes tracking the orange dance of the embers.
“Because, Rhys,” he said plainly, “ye’ve been in love with her since the second day.”
Rhys scoffed. “The second day?”
“Aye. First day ye were angry. Second day, ye were haunted. Third day —”
Myles counted on his fingers. “— he started mumblin’ to himself, pacing the corridors like a phantom.”
“I was thinkin’,” Rhys growled. “Her faither gave her up to his enemy! I dinnae have a plan for any of it!”
“Aye,” Myles said, taking another bite of his rapidly shriveling roasted onion. “Thinkin’ about how her hair smells and how her lips curve when she —”
“Watch it —”
William turned toward him, more serious now. “Ye’re scared. That’s all this is. And if ye’d admit that instead of glarin’ at yer whisky like it offended ye, or played the defense, then we might actually get somewhere.”
Rhys ran a hand down his face, the weight of too many nights without sleep pulling at his bones.
“She makes it hard to breathe,” he muttered. “I look at her and… there’s this ache, like I’ve been hollow for years and only just realized it.”
Myles whistled low. “That’s poetic shite, that is.”
William shot him a glare.
“Nay, nay —” Myles held up his hands. “I’m serious. I just wasnae expectin’ ye to say it out loud. I thought we’d have to trick it out of ye. Like bad ale.”
He went through the motion of tipping his own empty glass upside down for effect and William rolled his eyes.
Rhys looked down into his glass again. “I daenae ken what to do with it. With her.”
“Ye let whatever happens, happen,” William said simply. “Ye stop tryin’ to cage it… stop tryin’ to control it…”
Rhys shook his head. “And if she wants to leave? If she says she cannae stay?”
“Then ye let her go,” William said, voice softer now. “But ye do it kennin’ ye gave her a reason to stay.”
There was a silence then, one that settled between them.
Myles, mercifully, broke it. “I swear to the saints, if she leaves because ye spent too long broodin’ and nae enough time kissin’ her senseless, I will take up the mantle meself.”
William snorted.
Rhys rolled his eyes. “She’d eat ye alive.”
“Aye, well. What a way to go.”
William stood, brushing ash from his trousers. “Ye need to stop pretendin’ this is some game of war, Rhys. She’s nae an enemy. She’s nae a prisoner. Ye’ve made that clear enough. She’s a woman. And she’s lookin’ at ye and Daisy like ye both might be her home.”
Myles pointed with the half-eaten onion. “And she’s damned easy on the eyes. That never hurts.”
Rhys stood slowly, every muscle tight with something between tension and want. “Myles.”
William reached over and clocked Myles’s shoulder, hard enough to make him drop the bannock that had been folded around a piece of cheese.
“Oi! Watch it!”
“Can ye, for once, just nae act like a sodded fool?”
“What’s the fun in that? Ye never ken when I’m being’ serious because I’m drunk or because I’m sober.”
It was William’s turn to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Just — stop oversteppin’, for Christ’s sake, man.”
“Was I?” Myles looked sheepish, and both William and Rhys stared at him.
He stood then, crumbs falling to the floor. “What did I say?”
“Forget it,” Rhys said blandly. “I daenae ken what I’m doin’ here, or with her, and whatever this is, it’s nae helpin’”
“Aye, sure, but that’s the good thing about it all, ye ken? None of us ken what we’re doin’,” William said, heading for the door, pulling Myles along with him. “That’s life and that’s love. Ye do it anyway.”
Myles cast one last look over his shoulder as William dragged him out. “Just daenae be a fool and force her hand, Rhys. Because if ye do she’ll do the opposite, and ye’ll spend the rest of your life trying to forget the sound of her laugh. And I’ve heard it — it’s unforgettable.”
They both disappeared into the corridor, the door swinging shut behind them.
Unforgettable…
Rhys was left in silence, save the crackle of the fire.
He stared at the dancing flames, and for the first time in weeks… he let himself feel everything he’d been trying so hard to bury.