Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The last sack of grain thudded into old Morag's gnarled hands, and Maighread watched the woman's weathered face crumple with something too fierce to be simple gratitude. Relief, perhaps. Or the first breath after drowning.
"Bless ye, me lady." Morag clutched the burlap like it might vanish if she loosened her grip. "Bless ye and yer man both."
Yer man. The words skittered across Maighread's nerves, half pleasure and half panic. She nodded and moved on before her face could betray the chaos those two simple words unleashed.
Tavish materialized at her elbow, close enough that his warmth cut through the late afternoon chill. "Ye need water. Ye've been working since we arrived."
"So have ye."
"Aye, but I'm nae the one who looks ready tae collapse." His hand settled at her lower back, steady pressure that guided her away from the distribution line. "Five minutes. Drink something. Then ye can return tae saving the world."
The touch burned through layers of wool and linen, branding her skin in ways she'd stopped pretending weren't happening. "I'm fine."
"Ye're trembling." His thumb traced a small circle against her spine. "When did ye last eat?"
She couldn't remember. Breakfast had been interrupted by Malcolm's report on supplies. Lunch had vanished entirely in the chaos of departure. "I'll eat later."
"Ye'll eat now." The growl in his voice made something low in her belly clench. "Dinnae test me on this, lass."
Before she could argue, he steered her toward a makeshift bench someone had cobbled together from old cart pieces. His hands on her shoulders pressed her down with a firmness that shouldn't have made heat flood her cheeks.
"Stay." The command came soft but absolute. "I'll fetch food."
He disappeared into the crowd before she could protest. Maighread sat there feeling oddly bereft, which was ridiculous. The man had been gone all of thirty seconds.
Around her, the second village they were visiting hummed with renewed energy.
Children darted between adults' legs, their earlier hollow-eyed silence replaced by something approaching normalcy.
Women clustered near the grain distribution, voices rising in animated discussion.
Men gathered at the edges, watching Tavish's warriors with expressions that had shifted from hostility to cautious approval.
"That yer betrothed?" A girl of perhaps twelve approached, eyes wide and curious. "The tall one with the bonnie hair?"
"Aye." The admission came easier than it should.
"He's fearsome." The child's tone suggested this was high praise. "Heard him tell off those men who tried tae take extra grain. Didnae raise his voice once, but they near soiled themselves scrambling tae obey."
Maighread's mouth twitched despite her exhaustion. "Did they now?"
"Aye. And he helped old Fergus lift the heavy sacks when Fergus's back gave out. Just stepped in like it was nothing." The girl leaned closer, conspiratorial. "Is he good tae ye? He looks like it."
The observation landed harder than it should. "He's… kind."
"Kind's good. Better than cruel and handsome." The child nodded sagely, as if dispensing wisdom earned through decades rather than years. "Mama says kindness matters more than coin when choosing a husband."
"Yer mama's right."
"She is." The girl beamed. "I hope when I'm grown, I find someone who looks at me the way yer man looks at ye. Like ye're the only person in the whole world worth seeing."
Before Maighread could respond, Tavish returned carrying bread, cheese, and what looked like strips of dried meat. He crouched beside the bench, bringing those blue-green eyes level with hers.
"Eat." He pressed the food into her hands. "All of it."
The child giggled and scampered away, leaving them in their small bubble of privacy amid the bustling square.
Maighread tore off a piece of bread, suddenly ravenous now that sustenance sat within reach. "Ye're bossy."
"Aye." No hint of apology colored the word. "Get used tae it."
She ate in silence, acutely aware of how he watched her. Not hovering exactly, but present in a way that made her skin tingle and her pulse quicken. When she'd finished half the bread and most of the cheese, he finally relaxed his stance.
"Better?"
"Marginally." She brushed crumbs from her skirt. "Thank ye."
"Dinnae thank me fer keeping ye alive. That's basic sense, nae noble sacrifice." He settled beside her on the bench, close enough that their thighs pressed together. "That went better than I dared hope," she said.
His laugh rumbled low and warm. "Ye had doubts?"
"Always." She met his gaze. "But watching ye with that old woman, seeing ye with those young men… ye were good with them."
"Just daein’ what needs tae be done."
"Nay. It was more than that." She paused. "Ye made them feel seen. That matters."
They sat together watching the distribution continue, and Maighread marveled at how natural this felt.
How right, despite every rational argument against it.
A fortnight ago, she'd been desperate and alone, facing a future that looked like slow strangulation.
Now she sat beside a man who made her feel seen instead of managed, protected instead of controlled.
Dangerous thoughts. The kind that led to broken hearts and shattered illusions.
"Maighread." His voice pulled her from spiraling introspection. "Stop thinking so loud. I can practically hear yer brain spinning from here."
"I'm nae—"
"Ye are." He shifted, angling toward her on the bench. "What's wrong?"
Everything. Nothing. The terrifying realization that what had started as strategy was becoming something she couldn't control or contain. "Just tired."
"Liar." But he didn't press, just let the comfortable silence settle between them like a familiar blanket.
A commotion near the distribution wagons shattered the peace. Voices rose, sharp and contentious. Maighread straightened, instincts screaming warning.
Tavish was already moving, his hand finding hers and pulling her up with him. They crossed the square quickly, warriors parting to let them through.
At the wagon's edge, two men faced off over a single sack of grain. One gripped the burlap with white-knuckled intensity while the other tried to wrench it free, both shouting accusations that devolved into incomprehensible snarling.
"Enough!" Tavish's voice cracked across the square like a whip.
Both men froze.
He moved forward, positioning himself between the combatants with casual confidence that suggested he'd broken up hundreds of similar disputes. "What's the problem?"
"This bastard took me share!" The taller man jabbed a finger at his opponent. "I was next in line, and he shoved past like rules dinnae apply tae him!"
"Ye ken that's nae true!" The second man's face went purple. "I've been waiting longer than anyone here, and this fool thinks he can—"
"I said enough." Tavish's tone dropped lower, more dangerous. "Ye'll both shut yer mouths and let Lady Maighread sort this."
He turned toward her, and the entire square seemed to hold its breath. Every eye fixed on them, watching to see who held authority in this partnership.
Tavish stepped back. Nae dramatically, just a single deliberate pace that put him half behind her shoulder. His voice carried clear and calm across the watching crowd. "This matter belongs tae her authority, nae mine."
The silence stretched taut as bowstring.
Maighread felt the weight of those stares, felt the test implicit in this moment. She could fumble this, could prove every doubt Dougal's faction harbored about her fitness to lead. Or she could handle it with the confidence her father had spent years cultivating.
She moved forward, spine straight and chin high. "Who was here first?"
The taller man opened his mouth, but several voices from the crowd spoke before he could.
"Donald was next." An old woman pointed at the second man. "Been waiting since midday while others came and went."
"Aye," another confirmed. "Callum only just arrived and tried tae skip the line."
Maighread turned to the taller man, the one called Callum. "Is this true?"
His jaw worked, fury and shame warring across his features. Finally, he nodded once, jerky and reluctant.
"Then Donald gets his share now. Ye'll wait yer turn like everyone else." She kept her voice firm but nae cruel. "We've grain enough fer all who need it. Nay cause fer fighting over scraps."
Callum's hands fisted at his sides, but he stepped back without argument. Donald clutched his sack, relief evident in every line of his weathered face.
The crowd relaxed, tension bleeding away into murmured approval.
Maighread turned to find Tavish watching her with an expression that made her chest constrict. Pride, certainly. But something else beneath it, something warmer and infinitely more dangerous.
"Well handled," he said quietly, for her ears alone.
"Ye made that possible." The admission came before she could stop it. "By stepping back. By letting them see I can manage without ye hovering."
"Ye never needed me hovering. Ye're stronger than anyone gives ye credit fer." His hand found hers again, fingers lacing together in full view of everyone watching. "Including yerself."
The words settled deep, taking root in places she hadn't known were barren.
Distribution continued without further incident. By the time the last sack had been claimed and the wagons stood empty, sunset painted the sky in shades of copper and gold. Exhaustion dragged at Maighread's bones, but satisfaction buoyed her spirits.
They'd done this. Together. Proved that MacEwan strength hadn't died with her father's failing health.
"We should find the headman," Tavish said, scanning the dispersing crowd. "Let him ken we're leaving five warriors and what tae expect from them."