Chapter 22
Amara’s chest squeezed so tightly she could barely breathe.
She opened her mouth, ready to argue, but a crackle of leaves behind them snapped her attention away.
A buck stepped through the tree line, antlers like polished bone, coat gleaming copper beneath the sun. It froze, ears twitching.
Rhys didn’t move.
Neither did she.
The animal stared at them for a long moment before slowly disappearing into the trees again, silent as smoke.
When she looked back at Rhys, his gaze found hers once more.
And her decision, whatever it might be, suddenly felt like the most fragile thing in the world.
“I’ll nae rush ye or try to sway ye to stay, lass. I’ll nae be able to forgive meself if I did either.”
“Oh…” Amara said, her lips forming around the argument she had.
But… I think I want him to sway me to stay.
But Rhys spoke first. “Now, come, let’s go,” he said simply, a grin on his lips and looking to the sky before his eyes falling back down to hers. As if knowing what she was about to say.
They walked back in silence, and for once, it wasn’t uncomfortable.
Amara kept her steps steady. Even as her heart thundered wildly.
At the base of the slope near the outer gate, he turned to her.
“Would ye come ridin’ with me tomorrow?” he asked. “Daisy’s itchin’ to show off again, and I think she’d like the company.”
The casual tone didn’t mask the meaning underneath. He was asking her to be seen beside him again. Asking her to be close to him.
She smiled. “I’d like that.”
They stepped through the gate, the keep rising tall ahead of them.
Just as they crossed into the courtyard, a guard in O’Donnell colors strode up, quick and breathless.
“Laird,” he said, nodding toward Rhys. “Ye’re needed at the training yard. The new lads are in the ring, and the captain’s askin’ ye to take a look.”
Rhys sighed, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Now?”
“Aye, sir. They’ve already started.”
Amara looked up at him, brows raised. “Sounds like fun.”
He huffed a soft laugh. “Depends on the day.”
Then, glancing at her once more, he added, “I’ll likely miss supper.”
“I’ll manage,” she said, and meant it.
He lingered, just long enough for something unspoken to pass between them again, and then turned to follow the guard, disappearing through the archway.
Amara watched him go.
She hadn’t meant to follow.
Not at first.
But her feet moved of their own accord, and before long she was stepping into the shadow of the training yard, keeping close to the edge, eyes scanning for him.
He stood in the center of the ring.
Commanding.
A dozen men stood at attention, sweat beading on their brows. They looked like boys in his shadow. Rhys moved with ease, his cloak slung over a low wall, tunic sleeves rolled to his elbows. A staff was in his hand, not his sword, but it didn’t matter.
Two of the recruits were already squaring off against him, both panting, trying not to show their exhaustion. Rhys stood calm as a winter lake.
Then he moved.
Lord above… save me from these sinful thoughts…
Fast and lethal. Sharp as a cut of wind across the highlands.
He dodged a poorly thrown swing, spun, and brought his staff around in a clean arc, knocking one of them to the ground with a thud.
The second lunged, and Rhys blocked it with a single arm, then twisted the weapon in his grip and sent the lad sprawling.
It was over in seconds.
The yard erupted in whoops and cheers, though Rhys didn’t even so much as smile. He simply lowered the staff and stepped aside, giving curt instruction and letting the next set prepare.
Amara swallowed.
She remembered him in the forest, that first day. There was a storm in his stance as there was before, and the same ferocity in his eyes. But this was something else. This was a man born to lead. Born to defend.
And damn him for looking so devastatingly good doing it.
She couldn’t see much more from where she stood, and the next sparring group formed a wall of bodies that blocked her view. Her body was warm from standing in the sun, and her legs were starting to ache from the walk, so she turned quietly and made her way back inside the keep.
Her chambers were still warm when she returned, the fire stoked, the basin filled.
She stripped slowly and stepped into the water, sinking down until it covered her shoulders. Her mind was a mess. It was full of heat and questions, and the memory of Rhys’s voice as he told her what he wanted to do to her.
She hadn’t answered him. Not yet.
She wanted to.
But if I said it aloud… there’d be nay turning back.
Would that be so bad?
I could stay here… with him.
Once bathed, she dressed in a fresh chemise and pulled a robe over her shoulders. Her supper had been left on a tray. It was lamb stew, oat bread, and blackberry jam, and smelled heavenly.
She ate slowly at first, then realized how hungry she was and devoured the rest in short order.
Just as she was settling into bed, a knock sounded at the door.
Her heart jumped.
She stood quickly, smoothing her robe.
“Just a moment,” she said, breathless and hurrying to the door.
She wrenched open the heavy oak, and revealed Finn and Mabel waiting in the corridor.
Amara blinked. “Oh, hello!”
“Disappointed?” Finn asked with a knowing smirk.
Mabel gave him a light swat to the stomach. “Daenae tease her.”
Amara laughed, cheeks pink. “Nae disappointed. Just surprised.”
“Ye werenae at supper,” Mabel said. “We came to check on ye.”
“I had a full day,” she said honestly. “A good one.”
“Well,” Finn said, stretching, “Good. We’ll leave ye to rest. But we’ve plans for cards tomorrow, aye?”
“I’d like that,” Amara said, genuinely warmed by the gesture.
Mabel smiled, then looped her arm through Finn’s. “Rest well, dear.”
As they disappeared down the passageway, Amara smiled, noting how attractive the two of them looked together.
Could be a fun match… maybe I’ll mention it to Rhys next time I see him…
She slowly latched the door closed, crossed the room, and slipped beneath the coverlet, heart full and body worn. Thoughts swirling in warmth and need, but exhaustion winning out.
The grounds were still damp from the morning dew as he crossed the courtyard. The familiar clang of steel and the dry thump of bodies hitting earth rang well passed the training grounds long before Rhys stepped into it.
Young lads swung wooden swords with clumsy precision, sweat already darkening the backs of their tunics. William barked instructions from the sideline with his usual flair, making a show of every correction.
Rhys rolled his shoulders, arms still sore from the day before, not that he’d admit it.
Finn was already waiting for him, leaning lazily against one of the practice posts like he hadn’t nearly bled out just days ago. The bastard even had the gall to smirk.
His familiar voice called out, “Thought ye’d sleep the day away, cousin.”
Rhys glanced to his right as Finn pushed off the post and walked toward him in greeting. He was limping only slightly, with a grin stretched across his face. He looked better. There was some color that had returned to his skin, and his eyes had lost the glassy sheen of fever.
“Ye should be in bed,” Rhys said, eyeing him carefully.
Finn stretched his arms above his head. “Aye, but that’d be boring. And I’ve a point to prove.”
“Oh? That ye can limp in a circle without fallin’ over?”
Finn snorted. “That I can still take any of them down. Need to keep the young’uns in line.”
Rhys grinned. “Nae a single one of them would dare challenge ye, Finn. What’re ye on about?”
They walked together toward the ring, pausing at the fence. Inside, two of the younger lads were hacking away at each other like they were fending off wolves with broomsticks.
“They’re still green,” Finn muttered. “That one’s holdin’ the blade like it’s a trout.”
Both men paused to watch the lad. A chuckle ripped through Rhys’s resolve and Finn lightly jabbed an elbow into his side.
“They’ll learn,” Rhys replied, laughter still playing at the corners of his mouth and eyes. “Or they’ll bleed enough to learn.”
“Aye, and when they learn, they’ll become sure of themselves enough to challenge me… or even ye.”
“I fought them yesterday without any issue,” Rhys countered. “I doubt they’d request another round any time soon.”
“Ye always were a romantic.”
They watched in silence for a moment, then Rhys said, more quietly, “So. Ye gonna tell me how it happened?”
Finn didn’t look over.
“How what happened?”
“Yer escape,” Rhys said. “Ye were half-dead and riddled with bruises. I can guess they dinnae give ye a proper send-off.”
Finn’s grin dimmed just slightly. “I got lucky.”
“That so?”
“Slipped a guard, made a run for it. Hid in an old quarry for a day and a night. Caught the wind north.”
Rhys raised a brow. “Was there nay pursuit?”
“None that got close.” Finn’s mouth twitched. “What’s it matter? I’m here now.”
“It matters,” Rhys said, his voice hardening. “Because it wasnae just a message they were sendin’. They meant to break ye.”
Finn finally looked at him. “And yet, here I am.”
Rhys narrowed his eyes, but didn’t press. Not yet.
“Come on,” Finn said, stretching his arms again. “Let’s give the boys a show.”
“Nay, Finn, ye need rest nae a fight.”
“Thought ye might cry off,” Finn called. “Kent ye couldn’t stomach losin’ in front of the lads.”
Rhys snorted. “I’ve nay need to worry about losin’. Yer ribs are still bruised… and yer arm, man.” He pointed at the limb hanging in the cloth sling.
“All the more reason ye ought to go easy on me.”
Rhys stripped off his outer layer, rolling his sleeves back and flexing his fingers around the hilt of a wooden sword. “Ye think that’s how I earned their respect? Pity bouts?”
Finn straightened and rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck. “Nay. Ye earned their respect by bein’ a right brooding arse who never smiles and trains like he’s got demons to slay.”
“Demons daenae yield.”
“And neither do Murdoch daughters, apparently.”
Rhys froze mid-stretch.