Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The kitchen fires blazed hot enough to make Maighread's skin prickle beneath her sleeves.
She'd shed her formal gown hours before, trading silk for plain wool that wouldn't show flour stains or grease spatters.
The repetitive work of baking settled her restless thoughts, give her hands something tae do besides shake with worry about Tavish, Keir, and everything spinning out of control.
The head cook, Moira, had given her one long look when she'd appeared in the doorway but had said nothing, merely nodded toward the bread table with understanding.
Maighread pressed her palms into the mass of flour and water, copying the other girls’ rhythm. The simple, repetitive motion was exactly what she needed—something concrete tae focus on instead of the endless spiral of fear and uncertainty.
Moira moved past, stirring a massive pot of stew. "MacBain eats like three men. We'll need more bread."
Heat crawled up Maighread's neck. "He's recovering from injury."
"Aye, and eatin' like a bear preparin' fer winter." The old woman's mouth twitched. "Cannae say I mind feedin' a man with that appetite."
The kitchen girls giggled. Maighread focused on her dough, punching it harder than necessary.
"He watches ye at meals," another girl added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Me braither serves in the hall. Says the MacBain laird looks at ye like he wants tae devour ye instead of his food."
"That's enough gossip," Maighread said, but her pulse kicked up a notch.
"Isnae gossip if it's true." Moira dumped chopped onions into the pot. "The man looks at ye like a starving wolf. And ye look right back."
Maighread's fingers stilled in the dough. "I dinnae..."
"Lass." Moira's tone gentled. "I've been cookin' in this kitchen since before ye were born. I ken what hunger looks like, and it isnae just fer food."
The younger girls exchanged glances, eyes bright with curiosity.
"Tell us," one breathed. "Is he as fierce in private as he looks in public?"
Maighread's mind flashed to the tavern room, Tavish's mouth hot on her throat, his hand sliding beneath her shift. The raw command in his voice when he'd told her to beg.
"That's none of yer concern."
"So he is." The girl grinned. "Saints, I'd let a man like that..."
"Ye'll let nay one dae anythin' until ye finish those turnips," Moira interrupted, whacking her wooden spoon against the table. "And ye, Lady Maighread, stop torturin' that poor bread. It's supposed tae rise, nae surrender."
Maighread glanced down. She'd pummeled the dough into submission.
"Sorry." She shaped it into a ball, setting it aside to proof.
Moira studied her. "Somethin' weighin' on ye?"
Everything. The Council's doubts. Keir's threats. Her father's fading health.
"Just tired," she lied.
"Mmm." Moira didn't sound convinced. "Marriage is a heavy thing, even when ye want it."
Especially when ye want it. The thought ambushed her, sharp and unwelcome.
"How did ye ken ye wanted tae marry yer husband?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.
Moira's weathered face softened. "He made me laugh. Even when everythin' felt impossible, he'd find a way tae make me smile." She paused, stirring the stew. "And when he touched me, I felt alive. Nae scared. Nae alone. Just… alive."
The kitchen girls had gone silent, listening.
"That's how ye ken it's real," Moira continued. "When a man makes ye feel more like yersel', nae less. When he stands beside ye instead of in front of ye."
Maighread thought of Tavish redirecting the villagers' attention back to her. The way he'd stepped half a pace behind, deferring to her authority without hesitation.
"Aye," she murmured. "Aye, I understand."
Moira smiled. "Good. Now go speak tae yer faither. These girls can finish the rest."
"But I…"
"Ye came here tae think, nae tae bake." The old woman's eyes were knowing. "And ye've thought enough. Time fer action."
Maighread wiped her hands on her apron, heart thudding. "Thank ye."
"Dinnae thank me yet. If that MacBain breaks yer heart, I'll poison his porridge."
The girls burst into laughter. Maighread managed a smile, but it felt fragile on her lips as she left the kitchen's warmth and headed toward her father's chambers.
The corridor outside Angus's room felt colder than it should. Maighread paused at the door, steadying her breathing. Two guards stood watch, their faces neutral.
"He's awake," one said quietly. "Been askin' fer ye."
She nodded and slipped inside.
The chamber smelled even more of herbs and sickness. Her father sat propped against pillows, his face gaunt but his eyes sharp. A single candle flickered on the bedside table.
"Come here, lass." His voice rasped, weaker than she remembered.
Maighread crossed to him, settling into the chair beside his bed. "How are ye feelin'?"
"Like a man who's run out of time tae dance around the truth." He studied her face. "The Council's still grumblin'?"
"Aye. Some of them."
"And Keir?"
"Circlin' like a vulture."
Angus grunted. "Bastard always did have patience. I'll give him that much." He reached for the cup of water on the table. Maighread handed it to him, steadying his shaking grip. "What about the MacBain lad?"
Her pulse kicked. "Tavish?"
"Aye, Tavish. How is he with ye. I'm nae blind, lass." He set the cup aside. " I've seen the way ye look at him when ye think nay one's watchin'. And I've heard how he speaks of ye when he thinks I cannae hear."
Maighread's throat tightened. "What daes he say?"
"That ye're the fiercest woman he's ever met. That ye'd burn the world down before lettin' anyone take what's yers." Her father's mouth curved. "He said it with enough admiration tae make me think the lad's already half in love with ye."
"Faither..." The word caught in her chest.
"And ye?" He leaned forward slightly, his breathing labored. "Are ye half in love with him?"
She could lie. Should lie. But sitting there in the dim candlelight with her father's life slipping away, dishonesty felt obscene.
"I love him," she whispered. The admission felt monumental, terrifying and perfect all at once.
"When I'm with him, I feel… capable. Strong.
Like I could face down Keir and the Council and anyone else who thinks they can decide me future fer me.
" She met his eyes. "He makes me want things I thought I'd given up on.
A future. Happiness. Partnership instead of servitude. "
"What things, truly?" her father pressed gently.
"Love, Faither. Real love. The kind that daesnae ask me tae dim me own light.
The kind that stands beside instead of in front of.
" Her voice gained strength. "He treats me like an equal.
Even when we argue, even when we disagree, he daesnae try tae diminish me.
He just… stands firm and expects me tae dae the same. "
"Sounds like a man worth keepin'."
"Aye." The admission felt monumental. "If he'll have me."
Angus laughed, a rough sound that turned into a cough. Maighread reached for the water again, but he waved her off.
"Lass, that lad would crawl through fire if ye asked. Dinnae pretend ye dinnae ken it."
"It started as a lie, Faither. A desperate gamble tae avoid Keir."
"And now?"
"Now I dinnae want it tae end." The words tumbled out. "I ken it's mad. But when I think about him leavin', about him goin' back tae his own lands and me bein' left here alone tae fight Keir and the Council…" She swallowed hard. "I cannae breathe right."
Her father reached out, his hand finding hers. His grip was weak, but steady.
"Daughter." Angus squeezed her fingers. "I've lived long enough tae ken when a man's committed, whether he's admitted it tae himself or nae. That lad isnae goin' anywhere unless ye send him away."
"The Council wants proof. They want..."
"Bugger the Council." The curse surprised her.
Her father rarely swore. "This is yer life, Maighread.
Yer future. Nae theirs." His voice roughened.
"I'm dyin', lass. We both ken it. And when I'm gone, ye'll need someone beside ye who'll fight fer ye, nae just fer yer lands or yer title. " He paused. "Is Tavish that man?"
She thought of him catching her when she'd stumbled. The way he'd looked at her in the tavern, hunger and restraint warring in his expression. How he'd whispered that she'd have to beg, then held himself back when she'd refused.
The way he'd listened when she'd told him about feeling erased by marriage. No platitudes. No dismissals. Just truth meeting truth.
"Aye," she breathed. "Aye, he is."
"Then ye have me blessin'." Angus smiled, his eyes glistening. "Marry the lad. Make it real. Build somethin' that'll last longer than clan politics and Keir Sinclair's ambitions."
Tears spilled down her cheeks. "Faither..."
"Dinnae cry, ye daft girl. This is supposed tae be happy." But his own voice wavered. "I'm proud of ye, lass. Yer maither would be too."
Maighread pressed her forehead to their joined hands, shoulders shaking.
"I miss her," she whispered.
"I ken. I dae too." He stroked her hair with his free hand. "But she'd be glad ye found someone who sees ye the way Tavish daes. Someone who willnae try tae cage ye."
She lifted her head, wiping at her eyes. "What if I'm terrible at bein' married?"
"Then ye'll be terrible taegether." He grinned. "Seems tae me ye're already halfway there."
Despite everything, she laughed.
"Ye'd be bored otherwise." Angus settled back against his pillows, exhaustion creeping into his features.
"Ye need rest…"
"I'll rest when I'm dead. Right now, I want tae see me daughter claim her happiness." He closed his eyes briefly. He yawned, his body sinking deeper into the mattress. "Now go. And send word when it's done."
Maighread stood, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Thank ye."
"Fer what? Givin' ye permission tae dae what ye were goin' tae dae anyway?" But his smile was fond. "Go on. Before I change me mind and lock ye in the tower."
She left the chamber, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Her father had given his blessing. The Council could grumble all they wanted, but she had what mattered most.