Chapter 18 #2
They wandered through the village's small market square, what passed fer commerce in a settlement this remote, looking for him. Most stalls had already closed fer the day, but a few lingered, selling odds and ends to those with coin to spare.
Maighread paused at one displaying small cakes glazed with honey and dusted with cinnamon. The scent transported her instantly to childhood, to summers spent visiting villages like this with her father, to simpler times when the world made sense and death felt impossibly distant.
"What is it?" Tavish appeared at her shoulder, following her gaze.
"Naething. Just..." She gestured vaguely at the cakes. "I used tae love these as a child. Would beg Da tae buy them whenever we visited border villages."
"Did he?"
"Always. Even when he was cross with me fer some mischief or another." The memory made her smile despite the ache beneath her ribs. "Said spoiling me with sweets was his privilege as me faither, nae something tae be withheld as punishment."
Tavish moved to the stall, exchanging quiet words with the vendor. Coin changed hands, and he returned carrying two of the small cakes wrapped in cloth.
"Here." He pressed one into her palm. "Consider it payment fer nae collapsing from exhaustion today."
The cake felt warm through the thin fabric. Maighread unwrapped it slowly, savoring the familiar scent that brought tears prickling behind her eyes. "Ye didnae have tae—"
"I wanted tae." Simple. Absolute. Nay room fer argument.
She bit intae the cake, and flavor exploded across her tongue exactly as she remembered. Sweet and spiced and perfect, a tiny piece of uncomplicated joy in a world grown far too complicated.
They found a bench tucked into a quiet corner where the evening crowd thinned to nothing. Maighread ate slowly, making the treat last while Tavish watched with an expression that made heat crawl up her throat.
"What?" she asked around a mouthful of honeyed sweetness.
"Just watching ye." Nae embarrassment colored the admission. "Ye light up when ye're happy. Whole face changes."
"I dinnae light up."
"Ye dae Like sunrise breaking through storm clouds." He leaned back, stretching long legs out before him. "It's bonnie tae watch."
The compliment settled warm beneath her ribs despite her best efforts tae dismiss it. "Ye're in a strange mood."
"Am I?" He considered that, head tilting. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just enjoying watching ye be yerself instead of performing fer audiences."
The observation struck deeper than she'd expected. "Is that what I dae? Perform?"
"We all dae. Politics requires it." His shoulder brushed hers, solid and grounding. "But right now, sitting here eating cake and talking about yer childhood… this feels real. Ye feel real."
"As opposed tae feeling fake the rest of the time?"
"As opposed tae feeling guarded." He shifted tae face her more fully. "I like when yer guard drops. When ye stop calculating every word and just… talk."
She should deflect. Change the subject. Rebuild the walls he was dismantling with casual observations and devastating honesty.
Instead, she found herself speaking. "Me maither used tae buy me cakes too, and we'd sit exactly like this, watching people go about their lives. She'd make up stories about them, elaborate tales of secret romances and hidden treasures."
"How old were ye when she passed?"
"Seven. Old enough tae remember her, young enough that the memories feel more dream than reality sometimes." Maighread finished the last bite of cake, savoring the bittersweet comfort. "Da never remarried. Said nay woman could replace her, so why bother trying."
"Sounds like he loved her fiercely."
"He did. Still daes, I think. Even after all these years." She brushed crumbs from her fingers. "I used tae envy that. The surety of it. Kenning someone loved ye enough that death couldn't diminish the feeling."
"And now?"
"Now I wonder if love like that exists outside fairy stories and bards' songs." The admission tasted bitter. "Or if it's just another performance we convince ourselves is real."
Tavish's hand found hers, fingers threading through hers with familiar ease. "Ye really believe that?"
"I dinnae ken what I believe anymore." Honest in ways she hadn't intended. "Everything feels uncertain these days."
"Nae everything." His thumb traced circles against her palm. "Some things are becoming increasingly clear."
The rough timbre of his voice made her pulse quicken. "Such as?"
"Such as the fact that I enjoy yer company far more than strategy requires.
That watching ye handle that dispute earlier made me want tae kiss ye senseless in front of everyone.
That I'm starting tae forget this is supposed tae be temporary.
" He paused, those blue-green eyes searching her face.
"That terrifies me almost as much as it excites me. "
Her breath caught. "Tavish—"
"Dinnae." He squeezed her hand gently. "Dinnae deflect or change the subject. Just… sit with it. Same as I'm sitting with it."
They remained there as twilight deepened, hands linked and hearts laid partially bare. Around them, the village settled intae evening rhythms, but inside their small bubble of privacy, the world narrowed tae just them.
Finally, reluctantly, they rose and made their way tae the headman's cottage. Business discussions followed, practical arrangements fer the warriors who'd stay behind. By the time they emerged, full dark had fallen and exhaustion dragged at Maighread's bones.
"We should head back tae the castle," she said, scanning the sky. "It's nae safe tae travel after dark, but we could make it if we leave now."
Malcolm appeared from wherever he'd been coordinating final details, his expression apologetic. "Me lady, the horses need rest. They've been worked hard today, and the road back is treacherous in darkness. We'd risk injury tae both mounts and riders."
Frustration flared hot in her chest. "How long tae rest them properly?"
"Till morning. There's a tavern here that rents rooms. Nae luxurious, but clean enough." Malcolm hesitated. "I've already secured lodging fer the warriors. Just need tae arrange fer ye and MacBain."
The implications settled heavy. A night in a border village. Away from the castle's protocols and watching eyes. Alone with Tavish in ways they'd carefully avoided.
"Dae it," Tavish said before she could voice concerns. "We'll manage."
Malcolm hurried off, leaving them standing in the darkening square.
"Ye certain about this?" Maighread asked quietly.
"Nae even slightly." But his hand found hers again. "But we're doing it anyway."
The tavern squatted at the village's edge, all rough timber and questionable stability. Inside, the common room buzzed with evening activity, voices rising in laughter and argument over ale that smelled faintly sour.
The innkeeper greeted them with a gap-toothed smile that faded as Malcolm explained their needs. The man scratched his balding head. "I've got one room. Just the one."
"One will suffice," Tavish said before Maighread could panic. "What's it got?"
"Bed. Washbasin. Working shutters." The innkeeper shrugged. "Nae much else. But it's clean and the roof daesnae leak except when it rains hard."
"Reassuring," Maighread muttered.
They followed the man up narrow stairs that creaked protest with every step. He stopped at a door near the corridor's end, producing a key that looked older than the building itself.
"Here ye are. There's water in the pitcher, fresh linens on the bed. Breakfast is served at dawn if ye want it." He handed over the key. "Anything else ye need?"
"We're fine," Tavish assured him.
The innkeeper departed, leaving them alone in the dim hallway.
Tavish unlocked the door and pushed it open, revealing a space barely large enough fer the bed, a small table, and a washstand. A single narrow window looked out over darkened fields. And the bed… sweet saints, the bed dominated the room, impossible to ignore.
"Well." Maighread stepped inside, acutely aware of how Tavish filled the doorway behind her. "This is cozy."
"That's one word fer it." He closed the door. "I'll take the floor."
"Ye're injured. Yer ribs—"
"Are fine. And I've slept on worse than wooden planks." He moved to the window, checking the shutters. "Ye take the bed. Nay arguments."
She wanted to argue anyway, but exhaustion made her bones feel hollow. "Fine. But if yer back gives out, dinnae blame me."
"Wouldnae dream of it." He tested the door's lock, satisfied it would hold. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow's another long day."
Maighread shed her cloak and boots, hyper-aware of every movement as Tavish spread his own cloak on the floor near the hearth. The fire burned low, casting dancing shadows across walls that felt far too close.
She climbed intae the bed fully clothed, pulling the blanket up tae her chin. The mattress smelled faintly of lavender and thyme.
Silence pressed thick between them, broken only by the fire's occasional crackle.
"Maighread?" Tavish's voice came rough in the darkness.
"Aye?"
"Can I tell ye something?"
Her heart hammered against her ribs. "Of course."
A long pause. Then, quietly: "Leadership terrifies me."
The admission landed like a stone in still water. "What?"
"Every decision feels like holding a blade over innocent lives. One wrong choice and people suffer." His voice carried strain she'd never heard before. "I ken how tae fight. How tae defend and protect. But leading? Actually being responsible fer people's survival?" A harsh exhale. "That scares me."
Maighread rolled onto her side, peering through the dimness at where he lay. "Ye hide it well."
"Aye. Years of practice." Bitter humor colored the words. "But it's there. Every time I make a choice that affects others, I feel that blade balanced on me palm and pray I dinnae drop it."
His raw honesty deserved equal vulnerability.
She drew a breath, preparing to offer platitudes about his capability and strength. Instead, truth spilled out. "Marriage has always felt like slow erasure tae me."
Silence. Then, carefully: "What dae ye mean?"
"I mean every match I've ever considered, every alliance proposed…
they all looked like futures where I'd exist only as leverage.
As a womb tae carry heirs and a face tae smile at political functions.
" Her fingers twisted in the blanket. "Never as meself.
Just as the lady, the wife, the maither.
All the roles that bury who I actually am beneath expectations. "
"Maighread—"
"I'm nae asking fer reassurance." The words came harder now. "Just being honest, same as ye were. This betrothal, this whole arrangement… sometimes I wonder if I've just chosen it because it is different, nae the real thing."
The floorboards creaked as Tavish shifted. "Dae ye really believe that?"
"I dinnae ken." She stared at the ceiling, throat tight. "But I'm terrified I'll wake up one day and discover I've vanished intae being a wife, and all the parts that made me meself have disappeared completely."
More silence, heavier this time.
Then Tavish spoke, his voice carrying conviction that cut through her spiraling fears.
"I'd never let that happen. Never erase ye or diminish what makes ye extraordinary.
" A pause. "But I understand the fear. Understand why ye'd worry, given everything society tells us about marriage and women's roles. "
"Thank ye," she whispered. "Fer nae pretending those concerns are foolish."
"They're nae foolish. They're real." His voice gentled. "Now get some sleep. "
Maighread closed her eyes, listening to the fire crackle and Tavish's breathing even out intae something approaching rest.