Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"The sky's finally clear."
Liliane looked up from the book she'd been pretending to read, finding Tòrr in the doorway of their chamber. He was still dressed in training clothes, his shirt clinging to his shoulders with sweat, his damp, dark hair damp.
"So it is," she said carefully.
"I thought we might take that ride, if ye're still willin’."
She set down the book, her heart beginning to race. Two days had passed since their conversation in the portrait gallery, two days of careful politeness, of meals shared with his family, of sleeping in his bed while he remained in that damned chair.
Two days of tension building between them that she didn't quite have a name for.
"I suppose so," she said, aiming for indifference.
"Dinnae sound so enthusiastic. Such reluctance could wound a man's pride."
Despite herself, her lips twitched. "I'll come. Give me a moment tae change intae ridin’ clothes."
"Ye look fine as ye are."
"I'm wearin’ a mornin’ gown. Hardly suitable fer ridin’."
"It makes nay difference tae me, lass. We're sharin’ a horse."
She raised a brow. "Sharing a horse? I ken how tae ride me own horse ye ken."
His expression shifted, became unreadable. "I'd prefer tae keep ye close. Fer safety."
"Whose safety? Mine or yers?"
"Both, as it happens." He pushed off the doorframe. "Five minutes. Meet me in the courtyard."
After he left, Liliane stared at the closed door, her mind spinning. A ride alone with Tòrr. Away from the castle walls. Away from watchful eyes and listening ears.
This could be dangerous. Or it could be... it could be something else.
She changed quickly into a simpler gown that was more suitable for riding and pulled her hair into a single braid to keep it from tangling in the wind.
She made her way down to the courtyard, where Tòrr waited with his black stallion.
"Ready?" he asked, offering his hand.
She nodded with a shaky sigh, taking his hand, and trying to ignore how warm his palm felt as he helped her onto the horse.
His grip was firm, steady, and when she settled into the saddle, she could still feel the ghost of his touch lingering against her skin.
Then he swung up behind her in one smooth movement, the leather creaking as his arms came around her to grasp the reins.
The air between them vanished. His chest pressed lightly to her back, his breath brushing the curve of her neck. From shoulder to thigh, they fit together as if the horse itself had conspired to make her aware of every inch of him.
"Comfortable?" His voice was low against her ear.
"Nay," she gasped.
"Liar."
"I'm nae lyin’." She stopped, realizing he was baiting her. "Just ride, MacDonald."
"As me lady wishes."
They rode through the gates and down the winding path that led away from the keep. The morning was crisp and clear, the kind of Highland day that made the mountains look close enough to touch. Birds called from the trees, and somewhere in the distance, she could hear water running.
"Where are we goin’?" she asked after several minutes of silence.
"Somewhere I think ye'll like."
"That's nae an answer."
"Be patient, lass."
She huffed but didn't press further. Truth was, being out of the castle felt good, freeing, even if she was still in his custody. The wind on her face, the sun on her shoulders, the rhythm of the horse beneath them.
She shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position in the saddle, and felt Tòrr's arm tighten fractionally around her waist. His breath hitched, just barely, but she caught it. The realization sent an unexpected flutter through her chest.
Testing, she adjusted again, this time letting her back settle more fully against his chest. His muscles tensed beneath her, rigid as iron, and his grip on the reins seemed to tighten until his knuckles went white.
Curious now, emboldened by some reckless impulse, she let her head tip back slightly as if admiring the sky. Her hair brushed against his jaw, and she heard the sharp intake of breath near her ear.
"Ye ride well," she observed, keeping her voice steady even as awareness prickled along her spine. "Better than most men I've kent."
His response came a beat too slow, his voice rougher than before. "I've been ridin' since I could walk. Me faither put me on a horse before I could properly talk."
"That sounds dangerous."
"It was." She felt rather than saw his smile. Felt it in the way his chest expanded against her shoulders, in the subtle shift of his jaw near her temple. "Me maither told me she nearly had an apoplexy the first time. But me faither insisted. Said a Highland laird needed tae be one with his horse."
"And are ye? One with yer horse?"
"Ask him." Tòrr patted the stallion's neck, and Liliane noticed his other hand had shifted lower on her waist, his thumb resting just above her hip bone. Whether he realized it or not, she couldn't tell, but one thing was clear. She was struggling to keep her racing heart steady.
They rode higher into the hills, following a narrow path that wound through stands of pine and birch. Liliane found herself hyperaware of every place their bodies touched, of the warmth radiating from him, of the careful control in his breathing that suggested he was fighting the same awareness.
When the path narrowed further and the horse stumbled slightly over loose stones, Tòrr pulled her closer, steadying her. This time there was no mistaking the deliberateness of it, or the way his fingers flexed against her ribs before he loosened his hold.
I should pull away, should put distance between us.
Instead, she found herself relaxing into him despite her intentions, lulled by the steady rhythm and the warmth of Tòrr's body at her back—and by the knowledge that whatever that pull was between them, she wasn't the only one feeling it.
"There," he said finally, his voice still carrying that rough edge as he guided the horse around a final bend.
Liliane's breath caught.
They'd emerged onto a cliff edge that overlooked a massive loch, its surface gleaming like hammered silver in the morning sun.
Beyond it, mountains rose in layers of blue and purple, their peaks still touched with snow.
Forest stretched in every direction, broken only by the occasional croft or village.
"It's bonnie," she whispered.
"Aye." Tòrr dismounted and reached up to help her down. "This is MacDonald land. All of it, as far as ye can see tae the west and north."
She turned slowly, taking it all in. "I never kenned the Highlands could look like this."
"Like what?"
"Like somethin’ worth fightin’ fer."
His hand had remained around her waist, she realized. They stood close enough that she could see the flecks of darker green in his eyes.
"It is worth fightin’ fer," he said quietly. "Every inch of it. Fer every person who calls it home."
"Is that why ye bid fer me? Tae protect this?"
"Partly. Aye." He released her and moved to the cliff edge, staring out over the loch. "Ross bid fer ye, and if he had won, yer faither would have had access tae his trade routes, thereby strangling our own. That would have given the Pact and Campbell too much control over the western approaches."
"So I was a strategic acquisition."
"Ye were a necessity." He turned to face her. "But that daesnae mean I'm nae tryin’ tae make it more than that."
"More than what?"
"More than just politics and duty." He gestured to the landscape. "This is what I'm offerin’ ye, Liliane. A place in somethin’ larger than either of us. A chance tae be part of protectin’ somethin’ that matters."
"By marryin a man I dinnae love? By givin’ up everythin’ I wanted?"
"What did ye want?" The question was genuine, not mocking. "Before all this. What did ye dream about?"
She was quiet for a long moment, surprised by her own desire to answer honestly. "Healin’. I wanted tae learn healin’ properly. Nae just the basic herb lore me maither taught me, but real knowledge. How tae set bones, treat fevers, ease pain."
"Why?"
"Because..." She struggled to find words. "Because there's so much sufferin’ in the world, so much pain that could be prevented or eased if people just kenned how. Me maither died because nay one kenned how tae treat her fever properly."
"That is sad tae hear."
"Aye." She wrapped her arms around herself. "And that is why I vowed I'd learn everythin’ I could. That I'd never watch someone die needlessly again if I could prevent it."
Tòrr was quiet for a moment. "Moira could teach ye."
"What?"
"Our healer. She kens more about medicine than anyone I've ever met. Me maither taught her, like I told ye before." He moved closer. "If ye truly want tae learn healin’, she'd be the perfect teacher."
Liliane's heart began to race. "Ye'd allow that?"
"Allow?" He raised an eyebrow. "Lass, I'd encourage it. The clan always needs healers, and if ye have the callin’ fer it, why would I stand in yer way?"
"Because most men think healin’ is foolishness. Superstition and old wives' tales."
"Most men who think that must be idiots." His voice was matter-of-fact. "Me maither saved more lives with her herbs and poultices than half the surgeons in Scotland with their bleedin’s and amputations. If ye want tae learn, learn. Ye'll have me full support."
She stared at him, trying to reconcile his offer with the man who'd bought her at auction. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why offer this? Is it tae get on me good side? Tae make me more... amenable tae other things?"
"Ye mean tae sharin’ me bed?" His directness made her flush. "Nay. Though I willnae pretend that wouldnae be a welcome development."
"Then why?"
"Because me maither loved healin’. Because she made a real difference in people's lives.
Because when she worked she was truly happy.
" The natural roughness of his voice softened a fraction. "And because ye deserve tae dae somethin’ that makes ye happy, even if everythin’ else about this situation is bollocks. "