Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
MacEwan Castle rose from the hillside like a scar on the landscape, grey stone against grey sky. Maighread's chest constricted at the sight of it. Home. Except it didn't feel like home anymore. It felt like a trap closing.
The gates swung open as their party approached. Guards lined the walls, watching the Sinclair men with undisguised hostility. Good. At least someone still remembered which side they were on.
They clattered into the courtyard, horses breathing hard after the long ride. Servants rushed forward. Maighread recognized faces, saw questions forming, saw shock when they noticed Tavish riding so close beside her.
She dismounted before anyone could help her, legs protesting after hours in the saddle. Mud still caked her cloak. Her hair had come completely loose from its braid, hanging in tangled waves down her back. She probably looked half-feral.
Perfect way to present her betrothed to the household.
Malcolm, her father's steward, stepped forward immediately. His weathered face remained carefully neutral as he bowed. "Me lady. Welcome home."
"Thank ye, Malcolm." She gestured toward Tavish as he dismounted beside her. "This is Tavish MacBain. Me betrothed. He'll need quarters prepared."
Malcolm's eyebrows rose fractionally, but he recovered quickly. "Of course, me lady. And Laird MacEwan requests yer presence. Immediately."
Her stomach dropped. "I shall go tae him now."
Keir dismounted, stepping forward uninvited. "Surely I should accompany Lady Maighread tae see her faither. As a concerned friend of the family."
"Laird MacEwan's instructions were specific," Malcolm replied firmly. "Lady Maighread only."
Fury flickered behind Keir's eyes, quickly masked. "I see. Then I'll await word."
"Yer patience is appreciated, me laird." Malcom bowed his head.
Maighread gestured to Tavish. "Come with me. Me faither will want tae speak with ye as well."
Beside her, Tavish stiffened slightly. Their eyes met for a brief moment. He knew there was no turning back.
"Lead the way," Tavish said evenly.
"Someone will show ye tae guest quarters, Laird Sinclair," Malcolm said. "And provide refreshment."
He turned away before Keir could protest further, gesturing for Maighread and Tavish to follow.
They climbed the spiral stairs in silence. Maighread's legs shook, though whether from exhaustion or fear, she couldn't say. Malcolm kept glancing back at Tavish, clearly bursting with questions he was too professional to ask.
Her father's chamber occupied the highest floor of the tower, where sunlight and fresh air reached most easily. Malcolm knocked twice, then pushed open the heavy oak door.
"Lady Maighread and Tavish MacBain, me laird."
"Send her in first." Her father's voice came weaker than she remembered.
Malcolm withdrew, closing the door behind her.
The chamber smelled of sickness. Herbs burning in a brazier, sweat-soaked linens, something sour underneath. Her father lay propped on pillows, his face gaunt and grey. He had clearly worsened in the weeks she'd been gone.
"Dearest Faither." She crossed to the bed quickly, taking his hand. His fingers felt like bird bones wrapped in parchment.
"I must tell ye something very important and we dinnae have much time Faither," she said quietly.
Silence stretched between them. Her father's expression shifted from confusion to sharp attention, and then he gestured for her to sit.
She perched on the edge of the bed and told him everything—the ambush, Keir's orchestrated "rescue," how she'd claimed Tavish as her betrothed in desperate panic.
Her father listened without interruption, his fingers tightening on hers whenever the tale turned particularly grim.
When she finished, he was quiet for a long moment. Then his lips twitched. "Ye lied tae Keir Sinclair's face."
"Aye." She swallowed hard. "And now we need this betrothal tae be real. At least real enough that Keir cannae challenge it."
Relief flooded through her at his reaction. Her father's steady gaze held no judgment—only assessment and understanding.
"Ye survived, me child" her father said firmly. "Ye saw the trap Keir laid and ye found a way out. Was it reckless? Aye. But ye're here, alive, and nae under Sinclair control. That's what matters."
Relief flooded through her. "So ye're nae angry?"
"Oh, I'm furious." But his eyes held warmth beneath the sternness. "Ye should have trusted me tae protect ye. Should have sent word instead of making desperate bargains with strangers. But what's done is done." He studied her face carefully. "The question now is what happens next."
"He's been… honorable, Faither. Kind, even. He's kept me safe, played his part, asked naething in return."
Her father nodded slowly. "That speaks well of him." He paused. "Bring him in. I need tae speak with him."
Maighread stood and opened the door. Tavish waited in the corridor outside, his expression carefully controlled. "Me faither wants tae speak with ye."
Tavish entered, his movements careful. When he reached the bedside, he bowed. "Laird MacEwan. It's been some years."
"Aye. Too many." Her father studied him intently. "Ye've grown intae a fine man, Tavish. Yer faither would be proud."
Something crossed Tavish's face. Pain, maybe. "I hope so."
"He would be. Now then." Her father gestured to the chair near the window. "Sit. Maighread's told me everything. I ken this betrothal is a fiction ye agreed tae out of obligation tae me."
Tavish sat, his broad frame making the furniture look child-sized. "Aye. She needed help. I gave it."
"And now Keir Sinclair is in me keep, watching this arrangement closely." Her father's gaze sharpened. "He won't accept defeat easily. Ye ken that."
"I dae." Tavish leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Which is why I'm telling ye now—if I'm going tae protect Maighread properly, this cannae be half-measured. Keir needs tae believe this betrothal is real. Completely real. And he needs tae be removed as a threat. Permanently."
Maighread's breath caught. "What daes that mean?"
"It means," her father said calmly, "that Keir Sinclair cannae leave this situation with any leverage over ye. Any claim. Any hope of forcing yer hand."
"How?" She looked between them. "He's too powerful tae simply dismiss."
"But nae too powerful tae defeat." Tavish's voice hardened. "Nae if we're smart about it."
Her father studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Aye. Dae what needs daeing. Ye have me full support."
Tavish rose. "I should leave ye tae speak privately. There's much tae arrange before taenight's dinner."
"Aye. Malcolm will see ye settled." Her father extended his hand. "Thank ye, lad. Fer all of it."
Tavish clasped his hand briefly. "I'll keep her safe. I swear it."
"I ken ye will."
Tavish left, closing the door softly behind him.
Her father reached for her hand again. "Ye've tied yer fate tae his now, lass. But Tavish is a good man. He'll honor this arrangement." He sighed, exhaustion creeping into his voice. "Go. Rest. Prepare fer dinner. We'll announce the betrothal publicly taenight."
"I understand." She stood, leaning down to kiss his forehead. His skin felt hot, feverish. "I love ye, Faither."
"I love ye too, lass. Even when ye're being spectacularly foolish." He smiled faintly. "Now go. And fer God's sake, find a clean gown. Ye look like ye've been dragged through a bog."
"I have been dragged through a bog."
"Then find two clean gowns."
She left him there, propped among his pillows, looking far frailer than any father should.
She'd barely reached her chamber two floors down before the door swung open.
"Maighread MacEwan, what in Christ's blessed name have ye done?"
Kathleen swept in, all righteous fury and flying brown hair. Her cousin was two years older, married to one of the MacEwan warriors, and possessed exactly zero patience for foolishness.
"Hello tae ye too," Maighread said tiredly.
"Dinnae 'hello' me." Kathleen planted her hands on her hips.
"The whole castle's buzzing like a kicked beehive.
Ye rode in with Keir Sinclair, a MacBain warrior, and mud covering ye from head tae toe.
Malcolm says ye're betrothed. The servants are taking wagers on whether it's real.
And I had tae hear all this secondhand like some common gossiper instead of from yer own mouth! "
Guilt pricked again. "I'm sorry. Everything happened so fast."
"Aye, I'm sure it did." Kathleen's expression softened slightly. She crossed to the washbasin, pouring water. "Come here. Let's clean ye up while ye tell me everything. And I mean everything."
Maighread sank onto the stool near the fire. "Where dae I even start?"
"The beginning usually works." Kathleen wrung out a cloth and began wiping mud from Maighread's face. "Why is Keir Sinclair in our courtyard?"
So Maighread told her. All of it. The ambush, the chase, Tavish's rescue, the desperate lie. Kathleen listened in silence, her hands never stopping their efficient work.
"Sweet Mary and all the saints," Kathleen breathed when she finished. "Ye really did that?"
"I really did that."
"And this MacBain warrior just… agreed?"
"He owes me faither some kind of debt. He wouldnae tell me what." Maighread closed her eyes as Kathleen started combing through her tangled hair. "But he agreed tae help. Fer now."
"Fer now." Kathleen tugged at a particularly stubborn knot. "And what happens when 'fer now' ends?"
"I dinnae ken. I havenae thought that far ahead."
"Clearly." The comb moved more gently. "What's he like? This Tavish MacBain?"
Heat crept into Maighread's cheeks. The question forced her to acknowledge what she'd been trying not to think about—how Tavish had looked standing in the courtyard, rain-soaked and deadly calm as he'd faced down those men. How safe she'd felt the moment his arm had wrapped around her waist.
"He's… honorable. Protective. Strong."
"And?"
"And what?"
"And is he handsome?" Kathleen's voice held amusement. "Because from what I glimpsed in the courtyard, he looks like he was carved from stone by a particularly talented mason."
"I hadnae noticed." The lie tasted bitter even as she spoke it. She'd noticed. God help her, she'd noticed everything—the breadth of his shoulders, the way his wet shirt had clung to his chest, those blue-green eyes that seemed to see straight through her pretenses.
"Liar." Kathleen moved around to face her. "Maighread. Look at me."
Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, meeting her cousin's knowing gaze.
"This is a huge risk ye're taking," Kathleen said seriously. "Fer both of ye. If Keir discovers the truth…"
"He willnae." But even as she said it, doubt gnawed at her. How long could they maintain this deception? How many contradictions before someone noticed?
"He might. And then what?" Kathleen gripped her shoulders. "What's yer plan if this falls apart?"
The question hit like a fist to the stomach. Because she didn't have a plan. She'd acted on instinct and desperation, dragging a stranger into her mess without thinking beyond the immediate threat. What happened to Tavish if Keir exposed them? What happened to his reputation, his clan, his future?
Guilt twisted sharp and cold in her chest.
"I… there is no plan." Maighread's voice came out small. "I was desperate. I am desperate. The Council wants me married tae Keir. Once Da dies, they'll force it. This was the only way I could see tae delay things long enough tae find another solution."
"Except now ye've dragged an innocent man into yer schemes."
"I ken!" Frustration boiled over. "I ken it was selfish and reckless and possibly the stupidest thing I've ever done. But I couldnae just… I couldnae let Keir win. I couldnae watch our clan disappear into Sinclair holdings. I couldnae marry a man who makes me skin crawl."
Kathleen's expression gentled. "I understand. Truly. But lass… what if this MacBain decides he wants more than a temporary arrangement? What if feelings develop?"
The question landed like a stone in still water, ripples spreading outward.
"That willnae happen," Maighread said firmly. "This is pure strategy. Naething more."
"Is it?" Kathleen studied her face. "Because the way ye describe him, the way yer voice changes when ye say his name––"
"Ye're imagining things."
"Am I?" Kathleen smiled slightly. "All right. I'll leave it. Fer now." She pulled Maighread to her feet. "Come. Let's find ye something suitable tae wear. If ye're announcing yer betrothal taenight, ye should look like a lass in love. Nae a drowned rat."
They sorted through gowns, settling on a deep blue wool that brought out the grey in Maighread's eyes.
Maighread's mind kept circling back to Tavish. His warmth when he'd held her last night. His solid strength. The way he'd fought for her without hesitation. The careful way he'd asked if she was hurt, like her wellbeing actually mattered to him.
"Ye're thinking about him," Kathleen observed.
"I'm thinking about dinner."
"Aye. Sure ye are." Kathleen secured the final braid. "There. Ye look almost respectable."
"Thank ye." Maighread stood, smoothing the gown. "Fer listening. Fer nae calling me a complete fool."
"Oh, ye're absolutely a fool." Kathleen hugged her tightly. "But ye're me fool. And I'll stand beside ye through whatever madness comes next."
Relief flooded through her. "I dinnae deserve ye."
"Nay, ye really dinnae." Kathleen pulled back, grinning. "Now come. Let's get ye a bath because then we must go announce yer completely legitimate betrothal tae the castle. And try nae tae contradict each other too obviously when Keir starts asking questions."
"I'll dae me best."
"That's what worries me."