Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The council meeting had been mercifully brief.
Maighread had recounted the attack, watching the faces of her father's advisors shift from concern to outrage.
They'd agreed to increase patrols and tighten security, but beyond that, the solutions felt thin.
Inadequate. Keir Sinclair was escalating, and they all knew it.
Now, hours later, Maighread found herself in a small sitting room tucked away in the east wing, far from the bustle of the main halls. Kathleen sat across from her, pouring tea neither of them would drink.
"Ye've been quiet since the meeting," her cousin said, settling back into her chair. "More than usual, I mean."
Maighread traced the rim of her cup with one finger. "I've been thinking."
"About?"
Everything. The attack. The traitor somewhere within these walls. How close she'd come to being stolen. How Tavish had thrown himself between her and death without hesitation.
"Tavish," she said finally.
Kathleen's expression shifted, softening into something knowing. "Och, lass. I wondered when ye'd admit it."
"Admit what?"
"That yer feelings fer him have changed." Her cousin leaned forward, voice dropping low. "That this isn't just a convenient arrangement anymore."
Heat crept up Maighread's neck. "Is it that obvious?"
"Tae anyone paying attention, aye." Kathleen smiled gently. "The way ye look at him when ye think nay one is watching. How ye gravitate toward him in a room. The fact that ye nearly came undone when that mercenary reached fer him during the fight."
"I didnae—"
"Ye did. The servants heard from the guards. How ye went pale as death until ye saw him stand up again." Kathleen set her untouched tea aside. "Maighread, ye care fer him. Deeply. Why are ye so afraid tae say it?"
Because saying it makes it real. Because real things can be lost.
"What if it's only obligation for him?" The words tumbled out before she could stop them. "What if he's just honoring a debt tae me faither? What if, when Keir is dealt with and the danger passes, he'll want tae leave?"
"Dae ye truly believe that?"
Maighread thought of how Tavish had held her in the courtyard, refusing to let go. How his hands had moved over her so frantically after the battle, checking for injuries. How he'd looked at her on the ride home, his expression stripped of all pretense.
"I dinnae ken what tae believe," she admitted. "Me head says one thing, but me heart..."
"What daes yer heart say?"
That I'm falling fer him. That the thought of losing him terrifies me more than anything Keir could dae. That I want this tae be real so badly it aches.
"It says I'm a fool," Maighread whispered.
"Nay, lass. Yer heart says ye’re brave enough tae feel despite the risk." Kathleen reached across the space between them, gripping Maighread's hand. "But ye'll never ken how he truly feels if ye dinnae ask him."
"I cannae just walk up tae him and demand tae ken his feelings."
"Why nae? Ye've demanded everything else from him. His protection. His name. His presence in yer life. Why should honesty be any different?"
Because honesty is terrifying. Because once the words are spoken, they can't be taken back.
"What if he daesnae feel the same?" Maighread's voice came out small, vulnerable in a way she hated. "What if I tell him how I feel and he… pities me?"
"Then at least ye'll ken the truth. But Maighread," Kathleen squeezed her hand tighter, "I've watched that man with ye. I've seen how he looks at ye when ye’re nae payin’ attention.
How he positions himself tae always be between ye and any threat.
How he smiles at yer sharp tongue instead of being offended by it. "
"That could just be—"
"Actions matter as much as words, cousin. Sometimes more." Kathleen's expression turned serious. "He nearly died protecting ye today. He didnae hesitate. Didnae calculate the risk. He just moved. Dae ye truly think that's merely obligation?"
Maighread's throat tightened. "I want tae believe it's more."
"Then talk tae him. Give him the chance tae show ye instead of torturing yerself with maybes and what-ifs." Her cousin released her hand, sitting back. "Ye've never been a coward, Maighread. Dinnae start now."
The words struck home, sharp and true. She wasn't a coward. She'd faced down her Council, stood up to Keir's machinations, claimed a false betrothal in front of armed men. Why should seeking clarity be any more frightening than that?
Because those things didn't involve her heart.
The walk to Tavish's chambers felt endless. Each step took effort, her nerves screaming at her to turn back. To protect herself from potential heartbreak. But Kathleen's words echoed in her mind.
Actions matter as much as words.
Tavish had proven he cared through his actions repeatedly. He'd protected her, challenged her, stood beside her when he could have walked away. Perhaps it was time she trusted that those actions meant something real.
The corridor leading to his quarters was quiet, most of the household busy with evening tasks. Maighread paused outside his door, her hand raised to knock. Her heart hammered so loudly she could hear it in her ears.
Just knock. Just talk to him.
She rapped her knuckles against the wood before she could talk herself out of it.
"Come in," Tavish's voice called from inside.
Maighread pushed open the door, stepping into the chamber. Tavish sat at the small desk near the window, bent over a piece of parchment. He'd changed since the attack, his bloodied clothing replaced with clean trews and a fresh shirt. His hair was damp, suggesting a recent wash.
He glanced up as she entered, and his expression shifted immediately. The quill stilled in his hand.
"Maighread." He set the quill down. "Is something wrong?"
"Nay, I just..." She faltered, suddenly unsure how to begin. "I wanted tae speak with ye. About our situation."
He gestured to the chair across from him. "Of course."
She settled into the seat, her hands folding in her lap to hide their trembling. Tavish leaned back, but his attention remained on the letter before him, his expression distant.
"I've been thinking about the attack," he said, picking up the quill again. "About how organized it was. How they kenned our route." His jaw tightened as he dipped the quill in ink. "This threat is more serious than we anticipated."
"Aye, I ken."
"Which is why I'm writing tae me clan." He gestured tae the parchment. "Requesting military support. Fionnlagh will send men, I'm certain of it. With MacBain warriors reinforcing yer guards, we'll be better positioned tae deal with Keir."
Maighread blinked, thrown by the practical turn of conversation. There she'd gone, prepared to speak about them, about what was growing between them, and he was discussing military strategy as though this afternoon's terror had been nothing more than a tactical problem to solve.
"That's… sensible," she managed.
"It's necessary." He continued writing, his focus on the letter. "I'll also request that Fionnlagh send word tae our allies. If we can gather enough support, we might force Keir tae back down without further bloodshed."
She watched him write, his movements efficient and controlled. The practicality of his approach stung more than it should have. While she'd spent the afternoon consumed with thoughts of them, of what they meant to each other, he'd moved straight into planning and strategy.
Perhaps she'd been wrong. Perhaps it was still just obligation to him after all.
"I should go," Maighread said quietly, starting to rise. "Let ye finish yer letter."
"Wait."
The single word stopped her. She looked at him, finding his eyes already on her, the quill forgotten in his hand.
"Ye came here tae talk about something," he said. "What was it?"
"It daesnae matter. Ye have important work—"
"Maighread." Her name on his lips carried a note of frustration. "Dinnae dae that."
"Dae what?"
"Shut me out." He set the quill down carefully. "Ye came here fer a reason. What is it?"
She hesitated, her earlier courage faltering. "I just… after today, I wanted tae make certain we were… that we understood each other."
"About?"
"About what this is. Between us." The words came out rushed, uncertain. "The betrothal started as a lie, but now with everything that's happened, I thought perhaps we should discuss—"
"Dae ye have any doubt ye linger on me mind constantly?"
The question cut through her rambling, sharp and direct. Maighread's breath caught.
"What?"
Tavish stood, the chair scraping against stone. "Dae ye truly think I can sit here calmly writing letters about strategy and reinforcements when all I can see is that mercenary's hand reaching fer ye?"
"Tavish—"
He moved around the desk, closing the distance between them. "When all I can hear is the sound of steel against steel and the terror in yer voice when ye called me name?"
Her heart slammed against her ribs. "I thought ye were focused on the threat. On dealing with Keir."
"I am focused on the threat. Because the threat is tae ye." He stopped in front of her chair, looking down at her with an intensity that stole her breath. "Every strategy I devise, every plan I make, it all comes back tae keeping ye safe. Tae making certain nay one can take ye from me."
"From ye?"
"Aye. From me." His hands curled into fists at his sides, as though restraining himself from reaching for her. "Because somewhere between that first lie on the road and today's battle, this stopped being about debt or obligation. It became about ye. Just ye."
Maighread rose slowly, bringing them nearly eye to eye. "Ye should've said something."
"I'm saying it now." His gaze dropped to her lips, then back up. "Though I'm nae certain words are enough tae explain what I feel when I look at ye."
"Then show me."
For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then Tavish closed the final distance, his mouth claiming hers with devastating certainty.
The kiss was nothing gentle or tentative. It was heat and hunger and weeks of restraint shattering all at once. His hands moved up to cup her face, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. Maighread gasped against his lips, her fingers clutching at his shirt for balance.
The world narrowed to just that: the taste of him, the solid warmth of his body mere inches from hers, the way he kissed her as though she was air and he was drowning.
When he finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard. His forehead rested against hers, their lips still inches apart.
"That," he murmured, his voice rough, "is what lingers on me mind. Nae strategy. Nae letters. This."
Maighread's hands smoothed the wrinkled fabric of his shirt, her fingers trembling. "I thought I was the only one who felt this way."
"Nay, lass. Ye’re nae alone in this." He stepped back slightly, though his hands remained on her face. "I've been fighting it. Trying tae be honorable and proper and all the things I should be. But today, when I saw that bastard reach fer ye..."
"Ye saved me."
"Barely." His jaw tightened. "And the thought of what could've happened if I'd been too slow, if he'd gotten ye on tae his horse and ridden off before I could stop him—"
She pressed her fingers to his lips, silencing him. "But he didnae. I'm here. We're both here."
He kissed her fingertips, his eyes never leaving hers.
"What would happen if I begged?"
His grip on her waist tightened, his breath catching. "What?"
"Ye said before that I'd have tae beg before ye touched me again." She placed her palms flat against his chest, feeling his heart thunder beneath her hands. "I'm asking. What would happen if I did?"
For a moment, he just stared at her, conflict warring across his features. Desire battled restraint in his expression, both equally fierce.
"Maighread," he said, his voice strained. "Dinnae ask me that."
"Why nae?"
"Because I can't give ye what yer asking fer. Nae yet." He stepped back, putting distance between them even though it clearly cost him. "Because if this starts, it can never stop. And ye deserve better than being tumbled in me chambers before we're properly wed."
She stared at him, the words striking harder than she expected. “Wed?” she echoed, almost breathless. “That was never the agreement,” her voice wavered. “This was meant tae be a pretense. A bargain. Naething more.”
“Aye, it was.” He ran a hand through his hair, restless, then stepped closer again, his gaze locked on hers. “But I’ve had enough of pretending. I willnae stand here and act a though I can walk away from ye when this is done.”
She searched him, waiting for the teasing edge, the strategy—but there was none.
His voice dropped, rough with feeling. “I want ye. Nae just like this. I want ye as me wife. Nay more pretendin’ between us.”
“And if I refuse?” she asked softly. She still feared the word marriage, what that would mean for her future, her independence, her freedom to make choices.
His jaw tightened, but his answer came without hesitation. “Then I’ll still want ye. But I’ll nae force yer hand.” A pause. “It has tae be yer choice.”
The honesty of it unraveled something in her.
All that time, she had told herself it wasn’t real. That it couldn’t be.
But standing there she was no longer sure she wanted it to be false. Because she knew what her feelings were for him, even if she didn’t know how to combine them with the concept of marriage.
“We’ve made a mess of things,” she whispered.
“Aye,” he said quietly. “We have.”
Another heartbeat passed.
Then she stepped closer, closing the distance between them.
“Then we’ll have tae make it true,” she said. “By begging ye tae touch me again.”
"Nay. I––" He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body.
"I care about yer reputation. About daein’ this right.
About making certain that when we finally come taegether, there's nay question of legitimacy or propriety.
" His expression turned fierce. "But until then, ye can't ask me that.
Because me control only extends so far, and yer standing there looking at me as though ye want me tae devour ye isn't helping. "
Despite the ache of unfulfilled desire, Maighread found herself smiling. "I suppose I can wait. If I must."
"Ye must. We both must." He gestured to the door, though his eyes never left her. "Now go. Before I forget every good intention I have and show ye exactly what would happen if ye begged."
She moved toward the door slowly, reluctantly. At the threshold, she paused and looked back at him.
He stood by the desk, tension radiating from every line of his body. His hands gripped the edge of the wood as though anchoring himself in place.
"Soon," she said softly.
"Soon," he agreed, his voice rough with promise.
Maighread slipped into the corridor, closing the door behind her. She leaned against the wall for a moment, her heart racing and her skin flushed.