Chapter 21
Amara watched the flames in the hearth as the fire cracked and licked at a new log of birch. Eyes wide. Mind reeling.
The tavern’s music had long faded, but the hum of it still seemed to press behind her ears like the ghost of a headache. Laughter, clinking mugs, the smell of spilled ale and woodsmoke — all of it still lingered.
But more than that... it was him.
Rhys.
The way he looked at her when the others weren’t watching. The way his voice had deepened just for her. His body close, but not too close. It felt as if he was holding back, and she was the only thing tethering him to the earth.
A fresh gown had been laid across the foot of the bed. Steam now curled from a basin of water next to her. Nina had been through, of course. Quiet and precise, like always. But Amara couldn’t even recall the sound of the door. Couldn’t recall saying thank you. Everything was blurry.
She hadn’t spoken a word since Rhys kissed her cheek.
Her fingers moved mechanically as she peeled off her dress, the fabric cool as it slipped down her arms. Her skin still tingled from the ale, from his breath near her ear, from the heat in his gaze when he thought she wasn’t looking.
But she was. She always was.
She stood there for too long, naked and lost, until the sting of the cooling air reminded her to move. One step forward. Then another. Then she lowered herself into the bath and exhaled a long breath, her spine curling slowly until her shoulders dipped beneath the surface.
The silence was not peaceful. It was oppressive. Louder than any din from the tavern, louder than Daisy’s squeals or Myles’s howling or the scrape of William’s sword on stone.
Her thoughts weren’t clear. They weren’t even thoughts, not really. Just pulses.
The water was scented faintly with rosemary and lavender, and it welcomed her like an old friend. She leaned her head back against the basin edge and let her thoughts drift.
He wanted me tonight. He basically said as much.
Well, he didn’t say it outright, but it was there. In every glance. Every pause. Every breath he seemed to hold around her.
She wanted him, too. And she wanted to know what it meant. But the wanting didn’t make sense. Not when she still didn’t know where she belonged. Not when she’d come here as a prisoner. Not when her own father had discarded her like a mistake.
She wrapped her arms around her knees and stared into the steam, the water rippling as her breath hitched.
No tears came. No clarity either.
Only firelight. Only Rhys.
And the echo of his voice saying her name in the dark.
A soft knock tapped against the doorframe, followed by the creak of worn hinges.
Nina didn’t step in fully.
“I left ye some warm bread and a honey pot as well on a tray just by yer bed,” she said gently. “And a bit of salted oatcake. Thought ye might need something to steady ye after a night out with them fools.”
Amara didn’t look up. She couldn’t. She just nodded, water lapping against her collarbones.
Nina hesitated, then added, “Whatever’s weighin’ on ye, miss… the fire and water kens how to best get through it. Let it do the work, aye?”
Amara blinked. Her throat tightened.
Then Nina stepped back, the door closing behind her with a soft click.
Alone again, Amara watched the fire flicker, her heart aching.
When Amara finally climbed into bed, her hair still damp and skin flushed from the heat of the bath, she lay facing the wall, eyes wide open. Waiting. Listening.
Hopeful that Rhys would come to her chambers again.
Nothing.
No footsteps. No door creak. No knock. Two nights in a row, nothing.
Still, she waited. Just in case.
Sleep claimed her sometime in the middle of her watching the fire fade. And when morning came, it was Nina’s voice, gentle and lilting, that roused her.
“Lady Amara?”
She blinked groggily, rolling over.
The fire had been rekindled. Sunlight filtered in through the narrow windows, warming the stone floor. A soft green day gown had been laid out across the bed. The scent of chamomile filled the room once again — a tray waiting near the hearth.
Amara rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”
“Midmornin’,” Nina said with a smile. “The laird said to let ye rest, but wanted ye ready by noon. He’s asked for ye to meet him in the courtyard, if ye’re willin’.”
Midmornin’? I guess the whisky and ale hit me harder than I thought…
“I’m willin’,” Amara murmured, sitting up.
“Aye, I thought ye might be.” Nina winked and turned toward the tray. “Now eat up. He’s had Cook prepare it himself. At least that’s what I was told.”
Amara’s stomach rumbled loudly, and Nina laughed.
“I’ll give ye some privacy.”
Once alone, Amara stretched and swung her legs out from beneath the coverlet. Her eyes fell to the tray.
Warm bannocks, soft cheese, honeyed pears, and a pot of tea. She smiled to herself as she poured a cup, already knowing what the note would say before she picked it up.
Thinkin’ of ye. See you soon. – R
She pressed the folded paper to her lips.
A knock at the door startled her.
Nina peeked her head in again. “Ye’ve another visitor.”
“Another?”
Before she could fully answer, Daisy darted in, face alight with delight.
“I’m comin’ with ye!” she announced.
Amara blinked. “Where?”
“To the courtyard,” Daisy said matter-of-factly. “Papa said I could.”
“Well, did he now?”
Daisy nodded vigorously. “Said ye could use a bit of supervision.”
Amara grinned. “I see.”
She reached for the teacup again and took a long sip. The Laird O’Donnell, it seemed, liked to set traps wrapped in tenderness.
Not that she necessarily minded being caught in one.
Nina helped lace up her gown and fasten her hair into a loose braid that hung over one shoulder.
The day dress was a soft green fabric, warm against the breeze that still crept along the stone floors.
When Amara emerged from her chambers, Daisy was already bounding down the corridor ahead of her like a puppy let off its leash.
“Come on!” the girl called back. “Ye’ll miss the sun!”
Amara followed, her boots whispering against the rugs, steps light despite herself. There was something different in her chest this morning. Something soft. Hopeful.
She was halfway through the corridor when a door opened on her left. It had been hidden and tucked between two carved pillars that she hadn’t noticed before.
A man stepped out and closed the panel behind him with practiced ease.
He was tall, with salt-streaked dark hair and a face weathered not with age, but with years of watching. A calmness hung about him, like still water before a storm.
“Lady Amara,” he said, bowing his head. “Forgive the surprise. I’ve a habit of usin’ the old paths.”
Amara blinked, startled. “I’m sorry. Do I ken ye?”
“Nay, but I ken ye,” he said kindly. “Leighton Baird. I serve on the laird’s council. I kent yer maither, once.”
Her breath caught. “Ye… did?”
The man nodded slowly, voice quiet. “Long ago. We were younger, and far more reckless with our words. Both of us were interested in a truce. Both of us had their laird’s ear. She was a kind soul. Stubborn as anythin’. But kind. She and me wife were close once.”
Amara’s hands folded in front of her. “Ye… ye were… friends?”
“Aye. Shared many a long afternoon and too much mead. She made her own handkerchiefs even after me wife gave her prettier ones. Always smelled of mint.”
A tremble moved through Amara. She didn’t feel sadness, exactly, but it was a deep and aching sense of missing her mother. The memory of her mother’s arms. The way she’d sing when she thought no one was listening.
“She sounds… just as I remember her,” she whispered.
“She was always consistent. And proud. Quite proud of ye, lass.”
Her throat tightened.
“If ever ye need a respite from all this,” he continued, stepping back toward the panel, “me wife and I would be honored to host ye. Tea and stories, whenever ye like.”
Amara nodded, barely able to speak. “Thank ye.”
Leighton tipped his head again and disappeared behind the door, which clicked seamlessly back into place.
For a long moment, she just stared at it.
Then Daisy’s voice called from the courtyard beyond, and Amara turned to follow.
She found him in the courtyard, just as he’d promised. Daisy at his side.
Rhys stood near the far archway, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the other tucked behind his back. The afternoon sun made his dark hair shine like coal and cast sharp shadows along the lines of his face.
He looked every inch the laird, and then he smiled.
Then he just looked like Rhys.
His eyes dropped briefly to her waist. “Ye look radiant.”
She flushed despite herself. “I try.”
“Come.” He offered his arm. “Let me show ye somethin'.”
She took it without hesitation. Daisy hummed and smiled, watching her father and Amara. “Where are we goin’, Da?”
“Well, Lady Amara and I are just goin’ on a long, long walk around the grounds. I was showin’ her all of the spots along the perimeter of the keep grounds where we might be vulnerable to an attack. Are ye nae comin’ with us?”
“Oh,” Daisy said, clearly disappointed. “I guess…” she concluded, rolling her eyes and shuffling her feet as she followed behind them.
Rhys led Amara and Daisy to the far end of the keep grounds, in an almost planned stop at the stables. The stablemaster waved Daisy over, and the gladly skipped toward him. “I’m just goin’ to check on the ponies, da! Come get me on yer way to supper!”
He laughed and waved after her, and the sound vibrated Amara’s very tight core.
Rhys guided them through the outer wall and along a path that curved gently around the base of the keep, past a low orchard and into a wood that smelled of pine and sweet earth. Birds darted overhead, their song tangled in the rustle of leaves.
Amara breathed it in. The smell, the quiet, the man beside her.
Rhys was quieter than usual, but it wasn’t the same guarded silence from days past. This felt easier. Looser.
They crested a hill, and he pointed toward the slope below.
“There’s a glen there where the deer lie in summer,” he said. “And a loch beyond it. Deep and cold.”
Her heart caught. “Oh, I… I think I’ve already found that.” Amara winced as if ruining a secret she hadn’t known he was about to share.
He turned to her with raised eyebrows and a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Ye have?”
“Aye. It was the day before last. When ye told me to explore the grounds… and I…”
“Explored the grounds,” Rhys allowed.
“Aye,” she said, still with a grimace.
“I daenae ken why ye have situated yer face as such. Would ye think I would be mad?”
“I mean, I think it was actually past the boundaries.”
“Nay, the keep grounds go until the village on the West, the other side of the loch ye found, and through the forest to the South and East. Ye havenae even begun,” he said, and he winked.
He winked? Actually winked!
“Well, I guess I havenae then. I only went past the pines and down a hidden trail to the loch. It felt like I shouldn’t be there. Like it was sacred.”
“Oh, this trail? Aye. It is,” he said, his voice lower now.
“Why is it sacred?”
“Me faither used to say the loch chooses who finds it. That it’s a place for reckonin’ and where hearts speak louder than words. I come here when I need clarity… or peace.”
She looked at him, thoughtfully.
“But if ye found it, then maybe it wanted to be found,” he continued.
“Finding it the other day… it was the freest I’ve felt in years.”
Their eyes locked.
Neither of them moved.
“Ye speak of freedom like someone who’s never kent it, and it makes me wonder just how cruel yer faither has been to ye,” he said at last.
“I… nay. He wasnae always this cruel. I’ve said before… ever since me maither,” she admitted.
“Aye, the feast.”
“Aye. The feast. It’s been… a very long while since I’ve felt such freedom.”
They stood in silence.
Then Rhys offered her his hand again. “Ready?”
She took it without question, and let him lead her past the glen and into a narrow ravine. He pointed out rock formations, half-buried ruins, and the foundations of what used to be an old signal tower that she hadn’t seen before.
Amara listened with genuine curiosity, asking questions, smiling when he made dry little jokes about failed clan projects and roofless longhouses.
He was smart. Not just in a tactical sense, but clever, and thoughtful. And he knew this land and his clan like it was stitched into his skin.
At one point, he stopped near a flat ledge overlooking a field of tall grass and tilted his head toward her.
“Ye were right, ye ken.”
“About what?”
“That plan ye suggested. Flanking from the northern ridge. Using the terrain.”
“Ye actually listened?”
“I always listen,” he said, voice quiet.
Amara’s lips parted, but nothing came out. Not for a long second.
Then she said, “So, what will ye do now? Now that ye’re nay longer attacking Murdoch Keep.”
He didn’t answer right away.
His jaw tensed slightly. “I’ll figure it out.”
“But ye now ken what ye will do if ye ever choose to attack it,” she said softly. “And I’ve just helped ye do that.”
“Aye,” he said, his eyes raking over her entire body. “Ye did.”
He didn’t say thank you.
He didn’t need to.
His hand reached for hers instead.
His fingers brushed her wrist, then slid upward, wrapping around her palm. His thumb grazed the back of her hand like a promise.
“I want to touch ye again, lass,” he said, voice low and rough. “And taste ye. And feel ye writhe under me mouth like ye did that night.”
Her stomach clenched, breath catching in her throat.
“But I willnae,” he added.
What?
“Nae until ye decide.”
“Decide what?”
“Whether ye will stay. Or go.”