Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
Maighread's chamber felt too small, the walls pressing closer with each circuit she made across the floor. Rain lashed the windows, wind howling through gaps in the ancient stone. She'd been pacing for an hour now, her thoughts spiraling darker with every step.
He could have died today.
The image wouldn't leave her mind: Tavish and Keir circling each other, blades flashing, death lurking in every strike. One misstep, one moment of hesitation, and she would have watched him bleed out on those courtyard stones.
Because of her. Because she'd dragged him into this mess with a desperate lie that had become something far more dangerous.
She stopped at the window, pressing her forehead against the cool glass. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the grounds below in stark white. The storm matched her mood perfectly: violent, chaotic, relentless.
He shouldn't stay. The Council had offered him freedom, and she should insist he take it. Send him back to MacBain lands where Keir's schemes couldn't reach him. Where he'd be safe.
Even if the thought of losing him carved through her chest with vicious claws.
She moved toward the door. She'd find him immediately, and make him see reason. Force him to understand that staying there meant certain death eventually. That she couldn't bear having his blood on her hands.
Her fingers closed around the latch. She pulled.
Nothing happened.
Frowning, Maighread tried again, yanking harder. The metal refused to budge, stuck fast in its housing. She braced her foot against the doorframe and hauled with both hands. Still nothing.
"Brilliant," she muttered. "Absolutely bloody brilliant."
Thunder crashed overhead, shaking the very foundations. The storm was intensifying, turning from mere rain into something primal and furious. Wind shrieked through every crack, making the shutters rattle violently against their hinges.
She needed to get out. Needed to find Tavish before her courage failed and she convinced herself that keeping him close mattered more than keeping him alive.
Maighread threw her shoulder against the door. Pain bloomed hot across her collarbone, but the wood didn't shift. She tried again, ramming the solid oak with mounting desperation.
"Open, ye cursed thing!"
Footsteps pounded down the corridor outside. Heavy boots moving fast.
"Maighread!" Tavish's voice carried through the door, rough with concern. "Are ye all right?"
Her heart lurched. "The latch is stuck. I cannae get out."
"Stand back from the door."
She retreated three steps. A moment of silence, then Tavish's shoulder hit the wood with tremendous force. The door shuddered but held. He struck again, the impact resonating through the chamber. On the third attempt, the latch finally gave with a screech of tortured metal.
The door flew open. Tavish stumbled through, rain-soaked and breathing hard. Wind howled into the room behind him, carrying sheets of water that soaked the floor within seconds. He fought the door closed again, muscles straining as he forced it back into the frame.
They stood there, both breathing heavily, water dripping onto the stones between them.
Then Maighread laughed.
It started as a surprised huff, then built into something uncontrollable. The absurdity of it all: the storm, the stuck door, him bursting through like some hero from a bard's tale while looking utterly bedraggled.
Tavish's mouth twitched. "What's so amusing, lass?"
"Ye." She gestured at him, still laughing. "Ye look as though ye've been swimming in the loch with yer clothes on."
"And ye look as though ye've been trying tae batter down that door with yer bare hands." His smile faded, replaced by something more serious. "Which is exactly what ye were daeing, wasnae it? Where were ye going in such a hurry?"
The laughter died in her throat. "Tae find ye."
"Why?"
"Because..." She swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "Because ye need tae leave. Take the Council's offer. Return tae MacBain lands before Keir kills ye."
His expression went very still. "We've already discussed this."
"Nay, ye made a declaration and didnae give me time tae argue." She moved closer, her hands curling into fists. "Tavish, please. I cannae… I willnae have yer death on me conscience. If ye stay, Keir will find a way tae hurt ye. He always finds a way."
"So I should run? Abandon ye tae face him alone?"
"Better that than watching ye die!"
"Nay." He closed the distance between them, his presence overwhelming. "I already told ye, Maighread. I'm staying. Ye’re nae getting rid of me that easily."
Frustration blazed hot in her chest. "This isnae about getting rid of ye. This is about keeping ye alive."
"Then ye should have thought of that before ye claimed me as yer betrothed." His voice dropped lower, rough with something dangerous. "Before ye dragged me intae this mess and made me care whether ye lived or died."
"I never asked ye tae care."
"Nay, ye just asked me tae protect ye. Tae play a part. Tae stand beside ye and pretend we were something we werenae." He moved closer still, forcing her to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. "Except it stopped being pretend weeks ago, and ye ken that fine."
Her breath caught. "Tavish—"
"Tell me ye dinnae feel this." His hand came up, cupping her jaw. "Tell me yer heart daesnae race when I touch ye. That ye dinnae think about what almost happened in that tavern bed. That ye dinnae want me the same way I want ye."
She should lie. Should protect them both by maintaining the fiction that this was still just strategy, still just political maneuvering.
But she couldn't.
"I cannae tell ye that," she whispered. "Because it would be a lie."
Something blazed in his eyes. "Then stop trying tae send me away."
"But ye could die—"
"We all die eventually, lass. The question is whether we live first." His thumb stroked along her cheekbone. "And I'd rather spend whatever time I have fighting beside ye than waste decades somewhere safe and miserable."
"Ye’re an idiot."
"Aye. Yer idiot, apparently."
The storm raged outside, wind battering the shutters. Rain drummed against stone. Lightning flashed, illuminating them both in stark relief.
Maighread reached up, her fingers threading through his damp hair. "If ye die because of me, I'll never fergive ye."
"Then I'd better nae die." His other hand found her waist, pulling her flush against him. "Wouldnae want tae disappoint ye."
"Tavish—"
He kissed her.
Not gentle. Not careful. Just pure need and frustration and weeks of restraint shattering all at once. His mouth claimed hers with devastating certainty, one hand fisting in her hair while the other splayed across her lower back.
Maighread melted into him, her own hands clutching at his shoulders. The kiss turned fierce, tongues tangling, teeth scraping. She tasted rain on his lips, felt the solid heat of him pressed against her.
When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing hard.
"I'm nae leaving," he said again, the words rough. "Nae taenight. Nae tomorrow. Nae ever, unless ye tell me ye dinnae want me here."
"I want ye here." The admission cost her, but she meant it. "I want ye so much it terrifies me."
"Good." His hand slid from her hair to cup the back of her neck. "Because I'm terrified too. And we're going tae face it taegether."
He kissed her again, slower this time but no less intense. Maighread's fingers found the laces of his shirt, working them loose with trembling hands. She needed this. Needed him. Needed to prove to herself that he was here, alive, whole.
Tavish's hands moved to the fastenings of her gown, deft despite the urgency driving them both. The fabric parted, sliding from her shoulders to pool at her feet. Cool air hit her overheated skin, raising gooseflesh across her arms.
"Saints above," he breathed, his gaze traveling over her. "Ye’re beautiful."
Heat flooded her cheeks. "Dinnae just stare at me."
"Why nae? I've been thinking about this fer weeks." His fingers traced the curve of her waist, feather-light touches that made her shiver. "About how ye'd look. How ye'd feel."
"Then stop thinking and dae something about it."
“We said we would wait… are ye sure? Dae ye ken what this means?”
Aye and I want ye tae dae it now,” she whispered.
His answering smile was pure sin. "As me lady commands."
He lifted her easily, carrying her to the bed. The mattress dipped beneath their combined weight as he settled her onto the linens.
They kissed passionately, his tongue exploring her mouth and his hands moving across her body, caressing every curve, responding to every sound she made, discovering what she liked the most.
When her hips started to buck, asking for more, he covered her body with his. The heat of him, the solid weight, felt achingly right. They moved together with desperate urgency, but Tavish took his time despite the fever burning between them, learning her body.
Maighread felt like her body burning up from desire and called out his name, instinctively opening her legs for him.
When he finally entered her, Maighread's back arched, a cry escaping her lips. Pain flared sharp and bright, then faded into something else entirely. Something that built with every slow thrust, every whispered word against her skin.
"Alright?" he asked, his voice strained.
"Aye." She pulled him closer, wrapping her legs around his hips. "Dinnae stop."
He didn't. They moved together, finding a rhythm that turned the world outside irrelevant. The storm could rage all it wanted. Nothing mattered except his hands on her skin, his mouth at her throat, the exquisite friction building between them.