Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The last attacker disappeared into the trees, and Tavish's sword arm dropped. Blood dripped from his blade, dark against the frost-pale ground. His chest heaved, lungs burning, but none of that mattered.
Only Maighread mattered.
He spun toward her, his heart still hammering from the moment that bastard had lunged for her. The image was seared into his mind: the mercenary's hand reaching for her leg, his cold eyes fixed on her. Two more seconds. Maybe three. That was how close she'd come to being stolen.
To being taken to Keir.
The thought sent fury blazing through his veins all over again.
Maighread sat on her mare, spine straight despite the tremor in her hands. She was trying to appear calm, controlled, but Tavish could see the fear she was working so hard to hide. It showed in the tightness around her mouth, the too-quick rise and fall of her chest.
He crossed the distance between them in three strides.
"Down," he said, reaching up.
"I'm fine, I can—"
"Down. Now."
She must have heard something in his voice, because she didn't argue further. Her hands found his shoulders as he gripped her waist and lifted her from the saddle. The moment her feet touched ground, his control snapped.
His hands moved to her arms, gripping firmly, feeling for wounds through the fabric. Nothing. He shifted to her shoulders, pressing carefully, searching for any sign of injury she might be hiding.
"Tavish," she said softly. "I'm nae hurt."
"Let me check."
His palms slid down her sides, urgent and thorough, checking ribs for fractures. She tensed under his touch but didn't pull away. He moved to her back, running his hands along her spine, then around to her waist, his fingers splaying wide as he searched for any indication of harm.
Nothing. No blood. No breaks. No wounds.
But he couldn't stop touching her. Couldn't let go.
The terror that had gripped him when that mercenary had reached for her was still pounding through his system, demanding proof that she was whole. Safe. There.
"Tavish." Maighread's voice carried a breathless quality now. "I promise ye, I'm fine. Nae a scratch."
His hands stilled on her waist, his forehead nearly touching hers. "I saw him reach fer ye."
"I ken."
"If I hadn't gotten there in time—"
"But ye did." Her hands came up to rest on his chest, steadying them both. "Ye got there in time."
"Barely." The word came out rough, scraped raw. "Another second and he would've had ye."
"He didn't."
Tavish's grip tightened on her waist. The rational part of his mind knew he should release her, step back, restore some semblance of propriety. But the part of him that had just watched a stranger try to steal her away refused to let go.
She was alive. Unharmed.
Because he'd been fast enough. This time.
"Ye ken," Maighread said, and he could hear the smile in her voice even before he looked at her face, "I thought ye werenae going tae touch me again. Nae unless I begged."
The absurdity of it hit him all at once. There they stood, surrounded by corpses and blood-soaked earth, and she was making jokes about their bloody rules. A laugh burst from his chest, sharp with relief and something bordering on hysteria.
"Och, lass." He pulled her closer, his hands still spanning her waist. "I'll always make sure ye're safe. Whether ye want it or nae. Whether ye beg or nae. That's nae negotiable."
"Is that so?"
"Aye. Ye can hate me fer it if ye like. Ye can scold me fer breaking our agreement. But I'll be damned if I let anything happen tae ye because I was too concerned about some foolish rule we made."
Her eyes searched his face, softer than he'd ever seen them. "I dinnae hate ye fer it."
"Nay?"
"Nay." Her hands slid up from his chest to his shoulders, her touch gentle where his had been frantic. "Ye saved me life, Tavish. Again. I think I'm allowed tae be grateful instead of annoyed."
"Grateful enough tae fergive me fer pawing at ye so thoroughly?"
"Ye weren't pawing. Ye were checking fer injuries." A hint of mischief crept into her expression. "Though I'll admit yer methods were… thorough."
"I had tae be certain."
"I noticed." Her thumb traced the line of his collarbone through his shirt. "Yer hands were everywhere."
"I needed tae ken ye were safe."
"And now ye dae."
"Aye." But he still didn't release her. Couldn't seem tae make his hands let go. "Now I dae."
They stood there, breathing unevenly, very close. The battle had left them both shaken, stripped away the careful distance they'd been maintaining since the tavern. Without it, the truth blazed between them, undeniable.
He wanted her. Not just physically, though that hunger burned hot enough to consume him. He wanted to keep her safe. To stand between her and every threat. To be the one she turned to when the world became too much.
And from the way she was looking at him, her pupils dilated and her lips parted, she wanted him too.
"Tavish," she whispered.
"Aye, lass?"
"We should—"
"M'laird!" One of the escort guards called out, shattering the moment. "We need tae move. If they regroup and come back with reinforcements, we'll be trapped."
Reality crashed back over them. Tavish forced himself to release Maighread's waist, his hands falling away reluctantly. She stepped back, putting proper distance between them, though her cheeks remained flushed.
"Ye're right," Tavish called to the guard. "Everyone mount up. We ride hard fer the castle. Nae stopping until we're behind those walls."
The escort moved into formation quickly, checking their weapons and securing the horses. Tavish turned and lifted Maighread into the saddle with ease. When she settled, gathering her reins, their eyes met again.
"Stay close tae me," he said quietly.
"I will."
"I mean it, Maighread. Ye dinnae leave me sight until we're safe inside the castle."
"I understand."
He wanted to say more. Wanted to tell her that the thought of losing her had nearly driven him mad. That seeing that mercenary reach for her had awakened something fierce and possessive in his chest that he didn't quite know how to name.
But the guards were watching, waiting. There was no time for confessions.
Tavish mounted his own horse, positioning himself at Maighread's side. Closer than strictly necessary. Close enough that their legs nearly brushed with each movement.
"Move out!" he ordered.
They rode hard, leaving the bodies behind. The forest blurred past as they pushed the horses to their limits. Tavish kept his attention split between the road ahead and Maighread beside him, watching for any sign she was struggling to keep the pace.
She rode well, her seat steady despite the speed. But he could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her knuckles whitened on the reins. The attack had shaken her, though she'd never have admitted it.
It had shaken him too.
The reality of what Keir was willing to do had become brutally clear. This wasn't just political maneuvering anymore. This was kidnapping. Forced marriage. Violence without hesitation.
And it would happen again.
Keir wouldn't stop. He'd keep sending mercenaries, keep orchestrating ambushes, until he either succeeded in taking Maighread or died trying.
Which meant Tavish had to be smarter.