Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Tavish MacBain had faced down raiders, survived border skirmishes, and once talked his way out of a blood feud with nothing but charm and audacity. None of that had prepared him for the feel of Maighread MacEwan's arms wrapped around his waist as she rode on his horse with him.
They rode in tense formation, Sinclair men surrounding his small party like wolves circling prey. The lass sat behind him, pressed close out of necessity. He could feel her trembling—for fear or cold, he couldn't tell. Probably both.
What in God's holy name had he gotten himself into?
One moment he'd been riding home from Grant lands, his sister Marsaili safely wed to Laird Alasdair. The next, he'd stumbled into an ambush, rescued a woman from Sinclair's men, and found himself claimed as someone's betrothed. Not just anyone's betrothed. Angus MacEwan's daughter.
Of all the lasses in Scotland, it had to be her.
Even now, with danger pressing close and lies thick as Highland mist, he couldn't quite ignore the way she fit against him.
The scent of rain in her hair. The determined set of her shoulders despite the fear he'd seen flash across her face.
She'd looked him straight in the eye and wagered everything on a complete stranger—either the bravest or most desperate woman he'd ever met. Possibly both.
And Christ help him, but something about that stirred heat low in his belly.
Greg rode ahead, shooting him looks that promised a lengthy interrogation later.
His other men kept their expressions carefully neutral, but Tavish could feel their confusion radiating like heat from a forge.
They'd left MacBain lands as a simple escort, seen Marsaili safely delivered to her new husband, and were meant to return home with nothing more exciting than sore arses from days in the saddle.
Instead, they'd return with their laird's brother betrothed to a woman he'd met less than an hour ago—engaged in clan politics that could start a war.
And Keir Sinclair rode at the head of their party, his posture too relaxed, his presence too controlled. That one was dangerous. Tavish had known it the moment he'd seen him standing over Maighread in the mud. The kind of man who smiled while plotting murder.
The kind of man Tavish's father would've told him to avoid at all costs.
Too late for that now.
He waited until they'd put enough distance between themselves and Keir's too-sharp hearing. Then he spoke low, pitched for her ears alone.
"Why would ye say something like that?"
Her arms tightened around him. The press of her body against his back was distracting in ways it shouldn't be.
She was filthy, exhausted, running for her life—and still, some base part of him was aware of her.
The curve of her waist. The way she fit against him. The trust implicit in how she held on.
Dangerous thoughts. Focus.
"I dinnae want tae marry Keir Sinclair." Her voice came rough, desperate. "He'll destroy me clan. Me people will lose everything. Please, just play along until we reach me faither."
Tavish's jaw clenched. He knew what she was asking. Knew the danger of it. Knew that Keir wouldnae simply accept it and walk away. Men like that never did.
He also knew what he owed Angus MacEwan.
Words that had haunted him ever since because he'd never been able tae repay them.
Until now, apparently.
"I'll help ye," he said quietly. "Temporarily. Only because I owe yer faither a debt."
"What debt—"
"We cannae talk here." He cut her off, aware of how sound carried. Aware of Keir riding not far ahead, watching. Always watching. "Nae where we might be overheard."
She fell silent behind him, but her grip didn't loosen.
Tavish urged his horse forward, his mind already racing through complications.
They'd have to sell this lie convincingly.
Would have to make Keir believe it long enough for…
for what? He didn't even know the endgame yet.
Get her to MacEwan lands safely. Face Angus and hope the man would play along.
And then… what? Actually marry her? Find her another match? Pray Keir gave up and went home?
None of those options seemed likely to end well.
And the lass herself was a complication he hadn't anticipated.
Beautiful, aye, even covered in mud and terror.
But more than that—brave. Clever enough to recognize an escape route when she saw one, desperate enough to take it.
The kind of woman who'd make a fine partner if circumstances were different.
If he deserved one. Which he didn't.
Greg glanced back again, his expression questioning. Tavish gave a slight shake of his head. Later. They'd deal with the explanations later, when Sinclair ears weren't listening.
For now, he had a role to play. Devoted betrothed. Protective husband-to-be. It shouldn't be hard to pretend. He'd spent years pretending to be someone worthy of his father's legacy, someone who wouldn't destroy everything he touched.
What was one more lie added to the pile?
But as Maighread's cheek pressed against his back and her breathing slowly steadied, Tavish had the uncomfortable realization that this particular lie might be harder to maintain than he'd thought.
He pushed the thought away. Focused on the road ahead, on keeping them both alive long enough to reach MacEwan lands.
But he'd made a promise. And whatever else Tavish MacBain might be—whatever mistakes stained his past—he kept his word.
Even if that word might get him killed.