Chapter 14 #2
"Liar." But her voice held warmth instead of accusation. "Come on. Kathleen's saved us some food before the vultures pick everything clean."
She held out her hand, and after a heartbeat's hesitation, he took it. Let her fingers lace with his, let the contact ground him in ways the cold stone hadn't managed.
"Tavish?" Her voice went soft. "Whatever that message said, whatever Keir's planning… we'll handle it. Taegether."
The promise in those words, the absolute certainty, made something crack open in his chest. "Aye. Taegether."
Morning arrived too early and too bright, sunlight streaming through gaps in shutters like accusations.
Tavish woke with his ribs protesting and his head fuzzy from too much ale and too little sleep.
Dreams had plagued him—variations on Keir's message, on choices unmade and consequences unfolding in terrible spirals.
He dressed quickly, needing movement to silence the thoughts still churning. The training yard called to him, promising the kind of physical exhaustion that might quiet his brain for a few blessed hours.
The yard was already occupied when he arrived, half a dozen MacEwan warriors running through drills with varying degrees of competence. They paused when they spotted him, conversation dying to awkward silence.
"Morning," Tavish offered, moving toward the weapons rack.
Grunts of acknowledgment, nothing more. The tension was thick enough to chew.
He selected a practice sword, testing the weight. Decent balance, though the edge needed work. "Anyone up for sparring?"
One of the younger men stepped forward—Callum, if Tavish remembered correctly. Eager expression, movements that suggested more enthusiasm than skill. "I'll go."
They circled each other, the other warriors forming a loose ring to watch. Tavish kept his strikes controlled, testing Callum's defenses without overwhelming him. The lad had potential, just needed seasoning.
"Guard yer left side," Tavish suggested after a particularly sloppy block. "Ye're leaving yerself open."
Callum adjusted, improving immediately. They continued, the rhythm of combat familiar and soothing. Strike, parry, advance, retreat. Simple patterns that required focus but not thought. And that wouldn’t interfere with his healing wound.
Then a voice cut through the morning air, sharp and hostile. "What gives ye the right tae train on MacEwan land?"
The question came from an older warrior, grey threaded through his beard and suspicion carved into every line of his face. Tavish recognized him vaguely—one of Dougal's men, always lurking at the edges of gatherings with disapproving glares.
"I'm betrothed tae Lady Maighread," Tavish replied evenly, lowering his sword. "That gives me the right."
"Betrothed." The man spat the word like poison. "Convenient claim, that. Show up out of nowhere, make promises, act like ye belong when ye're nothing but an outsider using our lady fer yer own gain."
Heat flared beneath Tavish's ribs, but he kept his voice level. "Ye've concerns about the match, take them tae the Council."
"Maybe I will. Maybe I'll demand proof this betrothal isn't just a MacBain plot tae gain control of our lands.
" The warrior moved closer, aggression radiating from every tense muscle.
"Convenient, isn't it? Our laird dying, no male heir, and suddenly a MacBain appears offering marriage.
What's tae stop ye from taking control and handing everything over tae yer own clan once the vows are said? "
The accusation landed like a fist to the gut. Tavish's grip tightened on the practice sword, knuckles going white. "Ye want tae repeat that?"
"Ye heard me fine." A cruel smile twisted the man's features. "We all ken why ye're really here. Nae fer love of our lady, but fer MacEwan lands and resources. What's tae stop ye from betraying her interests the moment it suits yer clan's purposes?"
Tavish's vision narrowed, rage building so fast and hot it threatened to choke him. He could end this man. Could drop him in the dirt and make him eat every vile accusation. Could prove exactly how dangerous he was when properly motivated.
"Enough."
The word cracked across the yard like a whip, freezing everyone mid-breath. Maighread strode through the gates, her expression carved from ice and fury. She wore a simple day gown but carried herself like she was armored for battle.
"Me lady—" the warrior started.
"I said enough." She stopped three paces from him, radiating authority despite being half his size. "Ye will address me betrothed with respect or ye'll leave this yard. Those are yer only options."
The warrior's face went red, then white. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again like a landed fish.
"Guards," Maighread called without looking away from the man. "Escort this warrior from the training yard. He's done fer the day."
Two guards materialized from somewhere, gripping the protesting warrior by his arms and dragging him toward the gates. His curses echoed across stone until distance swallowed them.
She turned and walked away, spine straight and head high, leaving chaos in her wake.
The yard remained frozen for several heartbeats before activity slowly resumed. Wooden swords clattered, boots scuffed dirt, conversations started in hushed tones. But the atmosphere had shifted, crackling with new tension that tasted like ozone before a storm.
Tavish lowered his practice sword, the fight draining from his muscles all at once. Callum stood across from him, eyes wide and uncertain.
"That's enough fer today," Tavish said quietly.
"But we just—"
"I said enough." He returned the sword to the rack, his hands steady despite the emotions churning beneath his ribs.
Maighread's defense had been public. Absolute. The kind of statement that couldn't be walked back or softened with explanations. She'd chosen him over her own warrior's doubts, had wielded her authority like a blade to protect him from accusations that still rang in his ears.
And he had no idea what to do with that knowledge.
The other warriors gave him space as he crossed the yard, their gazes tracking his movement, but none brave enough to speak. He didn't blame them. The morning had gone sideways so fast even he was still processing it.