Chapter 7 #2
"Ye really can't." Greg's face swam above him. "Just hold still. Help's coming."
Tavish's vision blurred. The courtyard spun. Voices became distant, muffled, like he was underwater. He was going to pass out. Going to collapse right there, like some weak-kneed fool who couldn't handle a simple sword wound.
Then she was there.
Pushing through the crowd, her grey eyes huge and frightened. Her face pale as snow. She looked terrified, and something about that—about Maighread MacEwan being scared for him—made Tavish's chest tighten in ways that had nothing to do with his injury.
She dropped to her knees beside him, her hands hovering over his blood-soaked shirt. "Tavish." Her voice cracked on his name. "What happened? Where's he hurt?"
He wanted to tell her he was fine. Wanted to stand up and prove he wasn't as broken as he looked. Wanted to wipe that fear from her face.
"Ambush. Sword cut tae the ribs." Greg stepped back, letting her kneel beside him. "Deep but probably not fatal. He needs stitching and rest."
Her hands hovered over him, uncertain. Then her jaw set, determination replacing fear.
"Get him tae the healer's rooms. Now. Carefully."
Strong arms lifted him. The world spun sickeningly. He gritted his teeth against a groan.
"I've got ye." Maighread's face appeared beside his. "Stay conscious. Please. Just stay with me."
"Nae going anywhere, lass." The words slurred. "Too stubborn tae die."
"Ye'd better be."
They carried him through corridors, up stairs that made his vision blackout at the edges. Finally, into a chamber that smelled of herbs and something sharper. Medicinal.
A grey-haired woman was already there, laying out supplies on a clean cloth with practiced efficiency. She took one look at Tavish and pointed to the pallet.
"Put him there. Gently."
Strong arms lowered him onto the pallet. Tavish gritted his teeth against the jolt of pain.
The healer moved to his side immediately, her sharp eyes assessing. "Out. Everyone except Lady Maighread. I need space tae work."
Greg hesitated. "I should stay."
"Ye should leave." The healer fixed him with a look that brooked no argument. "Now."
They filed out reluctantly. The door closed. Suddenly it was just Tavish, Maighread, and the healer in the quiet room.
"Hold him steady," the healer instructed Maighread. "This shirt needs to come off."
Maighread moved to his side, her hands settling on his shoulders. "Sorry," she murmured. "This is going tae hurt."
"Dae what ye must."
Together, they worked the blood-soaked fabric away from the wound. Tavish hissed through his teeth as cloth pulled at dried blood, reopening parts that had started to clot.
Maighread's face paled as the full extent of the damage was revealed, but her hands stayed steady on his shoulders, keeping him grounded.
"How bad?" Maighread asked quietly.
"Bad enough." The healer gathered her supplies. "Hold him steady while I clean this. It's going to hurt."
Maighread moved to his side, her hands on his shoulders. "Ready?"
"Nay."
The healer poured something that burned like liquid fire into the wound. Tavish's back arched, every muscle going rigid. A sound escaped him that might have been a curse or might have been a scream.
Maighread's hands tightened on his shoulders, keeping him from thrashing. "I'm so sorry. Almost done. Just breathe."
He focused on her face through the haze of pain. The concern etched there. The fear she was trying to hide. The way her bottom lip trembled slightly before she caught it between her teeth.
She cares. The thought cut through the agony with unexpected clarity. This isnae just duty or obligation. She's genuinely frightened for me.
Something warm unfurled in his chest beneath the pain. Something dangerous that he didn't have the strength to examine right now.
"Keir's men," he forced out between gasps. "It was Keir's men. Dressed like bandits. But trained too well."
"I ken." Her eyes held his, storm-grey and fierce. "We'll talk about it later. Once ye're stable."
"Need tae talk now. Before—"
"Before naething." Her voice firmed, that stubborn determination he was coming to know so well. "Ye're nae dying. I won't allow it."
Despite everything, warmth flooded through him. She wouldn't allow it. As if death itself would bow to Maighread MacEwan's will.
"Bossy lass," he managed.
"Aye." The ghost of a smile touched her lips, there and gone.
The healer worked in silence, cleaning, stitching, binding. Every touch brought fresh agony. But Maighread never let go. Never looked away. Her hands stayed firm on his shoulders, grounding him, her grey eyes locked on his face like she could keep him conscious through sheer force of will.
She's beautiful like this, he thought hazily. Fierce and protective and absolutely terrifying.
Finally, blessedly, it ended.
"There." The healer stepped back. "He'll live. Needs rest and clean bandages daily. Nay strenuous activity fer at least a fortnight. And someone should watch him taenight in case of fever."
"I'll watch him," Maighread said immediately.
The healer's eyebrow rose. "That's hardly proper, me lady."
"He's me betrothed. It's perfectly proper." Her tone dared argument.
The healer looked between them, then shrugged. "As ye say. I'll leave supplies. Call if his condition worsens."
She gathered her things and left.
Silence filled the room. Tavish lay still, every breath sending fire through his ribs. Maighread sat beside him, her hand moving from his shoulder to clasp his hand—tentative, gentle.
"This is me fault," she said quietly, her voice thick. "I dragged ye intae this. Put ye in danger. And now ye're—"
"I'm alive." He squeezed her hand weakly. "
"But he attacked ye anyway."
"Aye. Which proves something we both need tae accept.
" Tavish forced himself to meet her eyes, to say what needed saying.
"He is worried, because once this becomes fully official, it becomes much harder fer him tae override.
He is thinking that I wouldnae risk me life unless the betrothal is real.
So, this isnae ending. Nae in a fortnight.
Nae even in a few months. Keir willnae stop until one of us is dead or ye're married tae someone else. "
Her face went very still. "What are ye saying?"
"I'm saying we cannae just pretend this betrothal away when it becomes inconvenient. I'm saying Keir tested me…" He swallowed hard. "When I left, he took that as proof the betrothal was real enough tae threaten. Real enough that he needed tae eliminate me."
"So he'll keep trying." Her voice was barely a whisper.
"Aye. He'll keep trying." Tavish's grip tightened on her hand. "Which means I cannae leave. Nae fer MacBain lands, nae fer anywhere. I need tae stay here, at yer side, where everyone can see we're truly committed tae this match."
"Fer how long?"
"Until we find a way tae remove Keir as a threat permanently," Tavish said carefully. "Or until..." He trailed off.
"Until what?" Her grey eyes searched his face.
Until this stops being pretend. Until these feelings I'm developing become impossible tae ignore. Until I cannae tell the difference between the lie and the truth anymore.
But he couldn't say that. Not when she was looking at him with such raw vulnerability. Not when his mind was fuzzy with pain and exhaustion and he couldn't trust himself to guard his words properly.
"Until we find a way tae stop this." She looked down at their joined hands. "Until then, we are bound. Nae just pretending fer a few weeks."
"Aye." His chest tightened. "This becomes real, Maighread.
The betrothal, the courtship, all of it.
We cannae afford any more half-measures or contradictions.
Everyone—the Council, the clan, Keir himself—needs tae believe we're genuinely committed tae marrying each other. Because if we got married, I’d become laird in yer stead.
The succession would pass tae me, and Keir loses all leverage. "
"That's…" She swallowed hard. "That's asking a lot."
"I ken." Exhaustion was pulling at him now, making his words slur slightly. "And if ye want me tae leave anyway, if this is too much—"
"Nay." The word came fierce and immediate. "Ye're staying. We're…" She took a shaky breath. "We're daein’ this properly. Whatever that means. We’ll take it step by step."
Relief and something warmer flooded through him. "We'll need new rules.."
"What kind of rules?"
"Ones we set together. About how close we get, what we share, what stays private between us." His eyes were drifting closed despite his best efforts. "But later. We'll figure it out later when I'm nae bleeding all over yer healer's linens."
"Rest now." Her free hand brushed hair back from his forehead, the touch achingly gentle. "We'll talk when ye're stronger. About the rules, about Keir, about... everything."
"Stay?" The word escaped before he could stop it.
"I'm nae going anywhere." Her voice softened. "I told the healer I'd watch ye. I keep me word."
That warm feeling in his chest intensified. She keeps her word. Just like I do.
"Maighread?"
"Aye?"
"Thank ye." His words were getting harder to form, darkness pulling at the edges of his vision. "For caring if I lived or died."
"Of course I care, ye daft man." Was that tears making her voice thick? "Now sleep. That's an order."
His last coherent thought before darkness claimed him was that somewhere between the lie and the truth, between obligation and choice, he'd started falling for Maighread MacEwan.
And he was in serious, serious trouble.