Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Dawn broke cold and clear over MacEwan lands, painting the courtyard stones in shades of amber and rose.
Maighread wrapped her shawl tighter as she descended the stairs from the kitchens, a small bundle balanced in her hands.
Sleep had eluded her again, her mind too full of everything that had passed between her and Tavish.
The solar. The quiet admission of fears.
The certainty that had settled in her chest despite all the uncertainties surrounding them.
She'd finally given up on rest and sought the kitchens instead, helping the cook prepare the morning meal. It gave her hands something to do while her thoughts spiraled.
The courtyard was nearly empty at that hour, most of the household still abed. But she'd known where to find him. Tavish rarely slept well after violence, she'd learned. He'd be up with the dawn, working through the restlessness the only way he knew how.
She spotted him near the far wall, seated on a low bench with his blade across his knees. The whetstone moved in steady, rhythmic strokes along the steel, the soft scraping sound carrying in the morning stillness. He'd tied his hair back, and his shirt hung loose, unlaced at the throat.
Maighread's steps slowed as she watched him work. There was something meditative about the motion, the focused concentration on his face as he tested the edge with his thumb before returning to the stone. Beautiful, in a way she hadn't expected to find such a simple task.
He glanced up as she approached, his expression shifting from distant to warm in an instant.
"Morning, lass," he said. "Ye're up early."
"So are ye." She settled onto the bench beside him, not quite touching but close enough to feel his warmth in the chill air. "I brought ye something."
She unwrapped the bundle, revealing fresh bread still warm from the ovens and a steaming cup of tea. The simple meal wasn't much, but she'd wrapped it carefully, adding a pat of butter and a small dish of honey.
Tavish set the whetstone aside, his eyes on the food. "Ye didnae have tae dae that."
"I ken. But ye need tae eat, and I suspect ye've been out here since before the sun rose." She placed the bundle on the bench between them. "So eat."
A smile tugged at his mouth. "Bossy this morning, are ye?"
"Always." She tucked her shawl around her shoulders. "Did ye sleep at all?"
"A few hours. Ye?"
"About the same."
They fell into comfortable silence as Tavish broke off a piece of bread, spreading butter across it with economical movements.
Maighread watched the courtyard slowly come to life around them.
A stable boy leading horses to water. Guards changing shifts at the gate.
Servants crossing from one building to another on morning errands.
Normal. Peaceful.
It felt strange after yesterday's violence. As though the world should still be reeling, but instead it simply carried on.
"I've been thinking about what ye said last night," Tavish said quietly. "About being afraid tae need someone."
Maighread's fingers tightened on her shawl. "Have ye?"
"Aye. I understand ye." He took a drink of tea, his eyes on the distant hills. "Yer whole life, ye've had tae fight fer every scrap of autonomy. Every choice. The thought of giving that up, even tae someone ye trust, feels risky."
"It daes."
"But needing someone daesnae mean losing yerself." He turned to look at her. "It just means ye're nae facing everything alone anymore."
The words settled over her, gentle and true. "When did ye become so wise?"
"I'm nae wise. Just observant." His smile turned wry. "And maybe a bit desperate tae convince ye that letting me stay isnae a mistake."
"I dinnae think it's a mistake."
"Nay?"
"Nay." She met his eyes, letting him see the truth of it. "I think it might be the best decision I've made in a long while."
His expression softened, something tender flickering across his features before he looked away, clearing his throat. "Careful, lass. Keep saying things such as that and me head will get too big fer me helm."
"I doubt that's possible. Yer ego is already insufferable."
"Och, there's the sharp tongue I kenned was hiding." He finished the bread and picked up his blade again, examining the edge. "Though I notice ye brought me breakfast anyway, despite finding me insufferable."
"The bread was getting stale. Someone had tae eat it."
"Liar."
She smiled, watching as he tested the blade's sharpness. The steel caught the morning light, gleaming cold and deadly. A weapon meant for killing, yet in his hands it looked almost graceful.
"How dae ye ken when it's sharp enough?" she asked.
"Feel mostly. And practice." He ran his thumb along the flat of the blade, avoiding the edge. "A properly sharpened sword should slice through cloth without catching. But ye can tell before that if ye ken what tae look fer."
"Show me."
He glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. "Ye want tae learn blade maintenance?"
"Why nae? I should ken how tae care fer a weapon properly." She gestured to the sword across his knees. "Besides, ye said yerself it's mostly feel. I'd like tae understand what that means."
Tavish studied her for a moment, then nodded. He shifted on the bench, angling the blade so she could see better. "Come closer. Ye willnae be able tae tell from over there."
Maighread moved nearer, closing the small gap between them until their shoulders nearly touched. She could smell the clean scent of soap on his skin, the faint metallic tang of steel and whetstone oil.
"First," he said, his voice dropping to something almost instructional, "ye test the edge without cutting yerself.
Which means using the flat of yer thumb, nae the pad.
" He demonstrated, running his thumb perpendicular to the blade's edge.
"Feel how it catches slightly? That tells ye the angle is right. "
She watched the motion closely, noting how his thumb moved with confident sureness. "What if the angle is wrong?"
"Then it'll feel smooth instead of catching. Means ye need more work with the stone." He offered the sword to her, hilt first. "Try it."
Maighread took the weapon carefully, surprised by its heft. She'd held swords before but never paid attention to their balance the way she did now. The blade felt solid, well-made.
"Now," Tavish said, leaning closer, "place yer thumb here, flat against the steel."
She did, her hand trembling slightly from the sword's weight.
"Nay, nae quite right." His hand came up, hovering near hers but not touching. "May I?"
"Aye."
His fingers wrapped around hers, adjusting her grip on the hilt. Warmth flooded through her at the contact, simple as it was. He shifted her thumb's position, angling it properly against the flat of the blade.
"There," he murmured, his breath stirring the hair near her ear. "Now move it across the edge. Gentle. Ye just want tae feel the texture."
Maighread drew her thumb perpendicular to the blade, following his earlier demonstration. The steel caught slightly, a barely-there resistance that she wouldn't have noticed without knowing to look for it.
"I feel it," she said.
"Aye. That's a properly sharpened edge." His hand remained over hers, warm and steady. "Too dull and ye wouldn't feel anything. Too sharp and ye'd cut yerself before ye realized."
They stayed frozen for a heartbeat, his hand covering hers on the sword. Then Tavish pulled back deliberately, putting space between them once more.
"Try it again," he said, his voice slightly rougher. "On yer own this time."
Maighread adjusted her grip, repeating the motion without his guidance. The catch of steel against skin felt different now that she knew what to expect. More noticeable.
"Good," Tavish said. "Ye've got it."
She tested the edge in several more places, checking for consistency. Each time, she felt that same slight resistance. Finally satisfied, she offered the sword back to him.
Their fingers brushed as he took it, the contact fleeting but electric.
"Thank ye fer showing me," she said.
"Anytime, lass." He set the blade aside, reaching for the whetstone again. "Though I'm surprised ye wanted tae learn. Most ladies dinnae concern themselves with weapon maintenance."
"I'm nae most ladies."
"Nay. Ye're nae." His smile was soft, genuine. "Ye're far more interesting."
Heat crept up her neck despite the morning chill. "Flattery will get ye naewhere, MacBain."
"I'm nae trying tae get anywhere. Just stating facts."
They fell back into silence, but it felt different now. Charged with awareness and things neither of them would say aloud. Maighread watched as Tavish returned to his work, the whetstone sliding along steel in that same meditative rhythm.
The sun climbed higher, burning away the last of the dawn mist. Even more people appeared in the courtyard, going about their morning tasks, but sitting there beside Tavish, Maighread felt cocooned in their own small bubble of peace.
"I should go," she said finally, though she made no move to stand. "The Council will be expecting me soon."
"Aye. And I need tae finish this before training begins." But he didn't look up from the blade, didn't acknowledge her impending departure beyond the words.
Maighread rose slowly, gathering the empty cloth and cup. She paused, looking down at him. His profile was sharp against the morning light, all clean lines and focused concentration.
Beautiful.
The word came unbidden, but she didn't push it away. He was beautiful. Not in the conventional sense perhaps, but in the way he moved. The way he spoke to her as an equal. The way he'd placed his hand over hers to teach her something simple yet strangely intimate.
"Maighread?" He glanced up, catching her watching him.
"Aye?"
"Be careful today. We still dinnae ken who's feeding information tae Keir."
"I will be. Ye as well."
He nodded, then returned his attention to the sword. Dismissed, but not unkindly. Just a man who knew she had duties waiting and didn't want to keep her from them.
Maighread turned and walked away across the courtyard stones, conscious of his presence behind her even when she could no longer see him. She felt the lingering warmth of his hand over hers, the memory of his breath against her ear as he'd guided her through testing the blade's edge.
Small things. Inconsequential moments that should not have meant anything.
But they meant everything.
She climbed the stairs to the main keep, a smile tugging at her lips.