Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The road stretched ahead, winding through frost-kissed countryside that seemed peaceful enough to lull even the most vigilant traveler into complacency.
Maighread kept her mare at a steady pace, flanked by Tavish on her right and their small escort riding a respectful distance ahead.
The morning had been blessedly uneventful, the sort of quiet travel that let her mind wander back to things better left unexamined.
Things involving rumpled tavern beds and hands that lingered far too long.
She shook the thought away, focusing instead on the rhythmic clop of hooves against packed earth. The tension that had coiled tight between them since dawn had begun to ease, softening into something almost companionable. Almost.
"The village elders seemed receptive," Tavish said, breaking the comfortable silence. "More than I expected, honestly. Especially after that initial resistance."
Maighread glanced at him, grateful for the neutral topic. "Aye. Once they saw the grain stores and medical supplies, their tune changed quick enough. Hungry bellies make for short loyalties."
"Cynical, lass."
"Practical." She adjusted her grip on the reins, her fingers stiff from the cold. "But ye handled it well. That speech about unity and shared prosperity was effective."
"Flattery now?" A grin tugged at his mouth. "Careful, or I'll think ye actually like me."
"Dinnae push yer luck, MacBain."
His laugh rang out, warm and genuine. "There's the sharp tongue I've grown so fond of."
Despite herself, Maighread felt her lips quirk. The banter felt easier than it had any right to, given how close they'd come to destroying their arrangement entirely. Perhaps that was the trick of it. Pretend the night hadn't happened. Pretend her skin didn't still burn where he'd touched her.
Pretend she hadn't wanted him to continue.
"The women were watching ye," she said, steering her thoughts back to safer ground. "Did ye notice? Nae the elders. The younger ones. They were whispering about ye the entire time we distributed supplies."
"Were they now?" Tavish's tone turned amused. "Should I be flattered or concerned?"
"Both, probably. Ye made quite an impression when ye lifted those grain sacks single-handed. Very heroic."
"Are ye mocking me?"
"Observing." She kept her gaze forward, though she could feel his eyes on her. "But it worked in our favor. If the women approve, they'll convince their husbands tae support the match. That's how these things work."
"Clever lass."
"I learn quickly."
The escort ahead shifted formation, spreading wider as the road opened into a broader stretch.
The distance gave them privacy, though Maighread suspected Tavish had arranged it that way deliberately.
He seemed to understand instinctively when she needed space to breathe, when the performance of their betrothal became too suffocating.
It was one of the things that unsettled her most about him. How easily he read her.
"Are ye comfortable?" he asked, glancing over. "We can stop if ye need tae rest."
"I'm fine. We should press on while the weather holds."
"If ye’re sure."
"I am."
But she appreciated the offer. Another small kindness in a growing collection of them.
Tavish MacBain was proving to be far more considerate than she'd anticipated when she'd blurted out that reckless lie about their betrothal.
She'd expected help, certainly. Protection, maybe.
But not the attentiveness. This quiet awareness of her comfort and needs.
It made everything more complicated.
They rode in companionable silence for another hour, the sun climbing higher and burning away the last of the morning frost. Maighread's shoulders gradually relaxed, the steady rhythm of travel soothing some of the restless energy that had plagued her since leaving the tavern.
The visit had been successful. More than successful, if she was honest. They'd secured the villages tentative support, demonstrated unity, and given the border folk reason to question Keir's influence. Small victories, but victories nonetheless.
"Ye did well back there," Tavish said suddenly. "With the children, especially. They adored ye."
"Children are easy. They dinnae care about politics or alliances. Just whether ye're kind."
"Exactly." He shifted in his saddle, his gaze thoughtful. "That's why it mattered. Their parents saw how gently ye spoke to them, how ye didnae talk down or dismiss their questions. It showed them who ye really are."
Maighread felt heat creep up her neck. "I was just being meself."
"I ken. That's what made it effective." He paused, then added more quietly, "Ye'll make a good laird, Maighread. When the time comes."
The words settled over her, unexpected and affecting. She'd spent so long fighting for the right to inherit, to prove herself worthy, that genuine acknowledgment felt foreign. Especially from him.
"Thank ye," she managed.
"Dinnae thank me fer stating the obvious."
The road began to narrow, trees pressing closer on either side. The open countryside gave way to dense woodland, the canopy overhead thick enough to dim the sunlight.
Maighread's horse nickered softly, ears swiveling forward.
Something felt wrong.
The forest had gone too quiet. No birdsong. No rustle of small creatures in the underbrush. Just stillness that prickled along her spine and raised every instinct she'd learned to trust.
"Tavish," she said softly.
"I ken." His hand moved to his sword hilt, easy and practiced. "Stay close tae me."
The escort ahead had slowed, sensing the shift as well. Hands reached for weapons. Horses pranced nervously.
Then the attack came.
Men erupted from the trees on both sides, moving with coordinated efficiency that spoke of training and planning. Not bandits. Men wearing Sinclair colors poorly hidden beneath rough cloaks.
"Take the lass!" The shout came from somewhere to her left. "Alive! Laird Sinclair wants her alive!"
Ice flooded Maighread's veins. Not just an ambush. An abduction.
Keir intended to steal her. To force a marriage before Tavish could make their betrothal legitimate. One ceremony, one consummation, and all her careful planning would crumble into dust.
"Ride!" Tavish's voice cut through the chaos. "Maighread, ride now!"
But she couldn't. Two men blocked the road ahead, weapons drawn. Three more closed in from the right. The escort engaged, steel ringing against steel, but they were outnumbered.
Trapped.
A man lunged for her mare's bridle. Maighread kicked out, her boot connecting with his shoulder hard enough to send him stumbling. Her horse reared, hooves flailing, and she clung to the saddle with white-knuckled desperation.
"Get back!" Tavish appeared beside her, his sword already bloodied. He drove the attacker away with brutal efficiency, putting himself between Maighread and the advancing threat.
"There's too many," she gasped.
"I ken. Stay behind me."
Two more men rushed forward, coordinating their approach. One went low while the other struck high, trying to divide Tavish's attention. He parried the high strike and spun, catching the low attacker with his blade before the man could hamstring his horse.
Blood sprayed. The man fell.
Maighread's mare danced sideways, panicked by the smell of death. She fought to control the animal, to keep from being thrown, while chaos erupted around her.
The escort had engaged the bulk of the attackers, but one man slipped through. He moved fast, dangerously fast, angling straight for Maighread with single-minded focus.
His eyes met hers. Cold. Determined.
He was going to reach her.
Terror spiked through her chest. She fumbled for the dagger at her belt, but her hands shook too badly to draw it cleanly. The man closed the distance in heartbeats, reaching for her leg to drag her from the saddle.
Then Tavish was there.
He intercepted the man mid-lunge, shoulder checking him so hard the attacker's feet left the ground. They crashed into the dirt together, rolling in a tangle of limbs and steel. Tavish came up first, his blade finding the man's throat before he could recover.
"Touch her again," Tavish snarled, "and I'll carve yer heart out through yer ribs."
The man gurgled something unintelligible and went still.
Tavish spun back to Maighread, his eyes wild. "Are ye hurt?"
"Nay. I'm fine. I'm—"
Another attacker charged from the left. Tavish met him head-on, their blades crashing together with enough force to send sparks flying. The fight moved fast, vicious, each strike meant to maim or kill.
Maighread's escort had rallied, driving back the remaining attackers with coordinated strikes. Bodies littered the ground. The air stank of blood and fear and churned earth.
One of the mercenaries shouted orders to retreat. The survivors broke formation, fleeing into the woods as quickly as they'd appeared.
Maighread's hands trembled on the reins. Her breath came too fast, too shallow. She couldn't seem to pull enough air into her lungs.
Tavish appeared at her side, his hand gripping her calf through her skirts. "Maighread. Look at me."
She did. His face was spattered with blood, his chest heaving, but his eyes held steady on hers.
"Are ye hurt?" he asked again, slower this time.
"Nay. I'm... I'm fine."
"Ye're sure? He didnae touch ye?"
"Ye stopped him." Her voice came out thin, shaky. "Ye stopped him before he could."
Something passed across Tavish's face. Relief, maybe. Or fury barely contained. His hand tightened on her leg, grounding them both.
"Check the men," he called to the escort without looking away from her. "Any injured?"
"Bruises and scratches, nothing serious," one of the guards reported. "We were lucky."
"Luck had naething tae dae with it. Ye fought well." Tavish finally released Maighread's leg and stepped back, though his attention remained fixed on her. "Can ye ride?"
"Aye." She straightened in the saddle, forcing steel into her spine. "I can ride."
"We need tae reach MacEwan lands before they regroup. This wasnae random. They kenned our route."
"Keir." His name tasted bitter on her tongue. "He planned this."
"Aye. And he'll try again." Tavish wiped his blade clean on a dead man's cloak, his movements sharp with barely suppressed rage. "He wants ye badly enough tae risk open conflict. That makes him desperate."
"And dangerous."
"Aye. That too."
Maighread watched as the escort moved through the aftermath, checking bodies and securing weapons. Five attackers dead. Three fled. The odds had been too close for comfort.
If Tavish hadn't been there…
She shoved the thought away. He had been there. That was what mattered.