Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
"Lass, I wish I could make it all go away."
Tòrr's voice was rough, barely above a whisper as his hand moved in slow, steady circles against Liliane's back. She'd stopped crying, but her body still trembled against his, the weight of her confession hanging heavy between them.
"Make what go away?" Her voice was muffled against his shirt, thick with tears.
"Everything ye've had tae endure. Fer what yer maither suffered.
For the fact that ye've carried this alone fer so long.
" His jaw clenched, fury rising like bile in his throat.
"And fer the bastard who calls himself yer faither.
For every blow he landed on yer mother, every bruise, every moment of fear he inflicted on ye both. "
She pulled back slightly, her eyes red-rimmed but steady as they met his. "It's nae yer fault."
"Nay. But I'm still sorry it happened." His hand came up to cup her face, his thumb brushing away a lingering tear.
"Nay woman should have tae endure what yer maither did.
Nay child should have tae witness it. And nay sister should have tae bear the weight of protectin' another the way ye've protected Nessa. "
"Someone had tae."
"Aye. But it shouldnae have been ye. Ye were a child yerself.
" His voice roughened with barely controlled rage.
"Christ, Liliane. Ye were fifteen when yer maither died.
Fifteen. And instead of bein' allowed tae grieve, instead of havin' someone care fer ye, ye had tae become a maither tae yer sister while livin' under the same roof as the man who killed the woman who birthed ye. "
"He didnae kill her. The fever did."
"Didnae he? Maybe he didnae literally but what about the years of abuse that weakened her body until she had naethin' left tae fight with?" He saw the answer in her eyes before she could speak it.
She was quiet for a moment, staring at his chest rather than meeting his eyes. "I've never said it aloud before. That he killed her. It feels... wrong somehow. Disloyal."
"Disloyal tae who? The man who beat yer maither? Who threatened yer sister? Who sold ye at auction like livestock?" Tòrr's hand tightened slightly on her back. "Ye owe him nay loyalty, lass. None whatsoever."
"He's still me faither."
"And that makes what he did worse, nae better." He tilted her chin up gently, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Blood daesnae excuse cruelty. It daesnae justify violence. And it certainly daesnae earn loyalty when it's been so thoroughly betrayed."
Fresh tears spilled over, and she pressed her face back against his chest. "Why are ye bein' so kind tae me?"
"Because ye deserve kindness. Because ye've had far too little of it in yer life." His arms tightened around her. "And because... because I understand what it's like tae carry a burden too large fer one person."
She stilled against him. "What dae ye mean?"
Tòrr was quiet for a long moment, the words sticking in his throat. He didn't speak of this often, didn't let himself dwell on those dark days when everything had changed in the span of a heartbeat.
"Me faither died when I was twenty," he said finally. "I was barely a man, still figurin' out who I was, what I wanted from life, but suddenly I was laird. Responsible fer an entire clan, fer me siblings, fer keepin' everyone safe and fed and protected."
"Tòrr." Her voice was soft, understanding.
"Me maither had died two years before, a fever took her too, same as yers.
And when me faither fell on that battlefield, I was there.
I saw him die." He stopped, throat tight.
"I wasnae ready, wasnae prepared, even though I’d been trained fer me whole life tae become one.
I'd always kent I'd be laird someday, but I thought I'd have more time.
I thought he'd live long enough tae teach me more. "
"But he didnae."
"Nay. He died, and I was thrust intae a role that was so much bigger than me.
Three young sisters tae protect and raise, Michael barely eighteen himself, Daemon just a lad of fifteen.
" His hand resumed its gentle motion against her back.
"Everyone looked tae me fer answers, fer leadership, fer strength I wasnae sure I possessed. "
"But ye managed."
"I survived. That's nae the same." He pulled back enough to meet her eyes. "I made mistakes, Liliane. So many mistakes those first few years. Trusted the wrong people, made poor decisions about alliances, nearly bankrupted the clan once because I didnae understand trade agreements."
"Yet ye're here. The clan's still strong."
"Aye. But it cost me." His voice dropped lower. "I had tae put aside what I wanted, who I might have been, tae become what the clan needed. Had tae sacrifice personal desires fer duty. Had tae be hard when I wanted tae be kind, ruthless when I wanted tae be merciful."
"That's nae so different from what I did."
"Nay. It's nae." His hand came up to cradle her face again. "That's why I understand. Why I ken what it costs tae protect those ye love, even when it means losin' pieces of yerself along the way."
They stood there in the quiet of the healer's chamber, two people who'd been forced to grow up too fast, to shoulder burdens too heavy, finding unexpected understanding in each other's pain.
"I'm sorry," Liliane whispered. "About yer parents. About havin' tae take on so much so young."
"And I'm sorry about yers. About yer maither, about what ye witnessed, about the fear ye've lived with." His forehead dropped to rest against hers. "But we're nae alone anymore, lass. Neither of us is. We have each other now."
So he did what felt natural, what he'd been wanting to do since the moment he'd burst into that washroom and seen her in danger. He closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers.
The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, asking permission rather than taking. Her sharp intake of breath made him start to pull back, but then her hands fisted in his shirt and she rose up on her toes, meeting him halfway.
Heat flooded through him as the kiss deepened, as her mouth opened under his and suddenly gentle wasn't enough. His hand slid into her hair, angling her head to give him better access, and she made a small sound in the back of her throat that nearly undid him completely.
Christ, she tasted like tears and courage, like everything he hadn't known he needed until this moment.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, her eyes were wide and dazed.
"That was..." She touched her lips, seeming unable to finish the sentence.
"Necessary," he supplied, his voice rougher than he'd intended. "Long overdue. And somethin' I've been wantin' tae dae.” He brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Aye. I've wanted tae kiss ye fer a while now."
She stared at him fer a long moment, something complicated flickering across her face. Then she stepped back, putting distance between them that felt like a chasm.
"We should return tae the chamber," she said quietly. "It's late, and ye need tae rest after... after everythin'."
He wanted to argue, to pull her back into his arms and kiss her until that guarded look left her eyes. But he recognized the signs of someone retreating behind walls, and pushing now would only drive her further away.
"Aye. Let's go."
They walked in silence through the corridors, the keep quiet save for the distant sounds of guards changing watch. When they reached a window overlooking the courtyard, Tòrr paused, drawn by the moonlight spilling across the stones below.
"Wait," he said, catching her arm gently. "Before we go back. There's somethin' I need tae say."
She turned to face him, moonlight casting her features in silver and shadow. "What is it?"
"I need ye, Liliane." The words came out rawer than he'd intended. "I need ye here. By me side. As me wife."
Her expression shuttered slightly. "We're already married."
"In name, aye. But I need more than that." He moved closer, trying to read her face in the dim light. "I need ye tae stand with me. Publicly, completely. Tae show the clan, the other lairds, yer faither, tae show everyone that ye're mine and I'm yers."
"Why?"
"Because as long as yer faither thinks he can reclaim ye, as long as he believes this marriage is unstable or forced, he'll keep tryin'.
Keep sendin' men. Keep threatenin' Nessa.
" His hand found hers, their fingers intertwining.
"But if we present a united front, if we show him that ye've chosen tae stay, that this marriage is real and strong.
.. it weakens his position. Makes it harder fer him tae secure the alliance he wants. "
"So this is about politics." Her voice was carefully neutral. "About stoppin' him from allyin' with the Pact."
"Partly, aye. I willnae lie tae ye about that." He squeezed her hand. "But it's also about keepin' ye safe. About protectin' what's mine. And about givin' ye the leverage tae protect yer sister."
She pulled her hand free, wrapping her arms around herself. "What dae ye mean?"
"If yer faither sees that ye're nae comin' back, that this marriage is permanent and recognized, he loses his ability tae use ye as a bargainin' chip. And without that..." Tòrr leaned against the window frame. "Without that, he'll need tae find other ways tae secure his position."
He met her eyes steadily. "I vow tae ye, Liliane, on me honor as laird and as yer husband, I will get yer sister here safely. I will bring her tae Keppoch where she'll be under me protection, where yer faither cannae touch her."
"How?”
His voice hardened with determination. "Give me time tae plan it proper, tae make sure it's done right. But I will bring her here. That's me promise tae ye."
"So it's a bargain." Her voice was flat. "Me cooperation in exchange fer Nessa's safety."
"It's an alliance. One that benefits us both.
" He moved closer, trying to read her expression in the moonlight.
"I get a wife who willnae undermine me at every turn, who'll help me maintain the position I need tae keep the clan safe.
And ye get the resources and protection tae save yer sister.
Tae give her the life she deserves, far from yer faither's cruelty. "
"That's very practical."
"It is. But practicality daesnae make it less true." His hand came up to touch her shoulder lightly. "I meant what I said earlier, Liliane. About carin'. About wantin' tae help ye. This isnae just cold calculation. It's about buildin' somethin' real between us."
"But the alliance comes first."
The words hit harder than they should have. Because she wasn't wrong, the political reality of their situation did take precedence. Had to, for both their sakes.
"The alliance keeps us both alive," he said carefully. "Keeps yer sister alive. Keeps the clan safe. So aye, it comes first because without it, naethin' else matters."
She turned to face him fully, and in the moonlight he could see the disappointment flickering across her features. "I understand."
"Dae ye?"
"Aye." Her voice was steady, controlled. "It's a fair exchange. Reasonable, even."
"Liliane." He reached for her, but she stepped back.
"I agree tae yer terms."
"This isnae about terms."
She met his eyes, and the warmth that had been there after their kiss was gone, replaced by something harder.
"Ye need me as yer wife tae stop me faither's alliance.
I need yer help tae save me sister. It's a bargain, Tòrr.
A practical one. So aye, I agree. I'll stay. I'll be the wife ye need me tae be."
"That's nae what I meant."
"Isnae it? Because it sounds exactly like what ye meant." She moved toward the stairs. "I'm tired. Can we continue this conversation in the mornin'?"
He wanted to argue, to explain that he'd somehow said everything wrong. That yes, the alliance mattered, but she mattered more. That the kiss hadn't been political calculation but genuine desire.
But looking at her closed-off expression, at the walls she'd just rebuilt brick by brick, he knew pushing now would only make things worse.
"Aye. We'll talk in the mornin'." He followed her up the stairs, the distance between them feeling wider than the few feet of stone. "Get some rest. Ye've had a difficult night."
"We both have."
They reached their chamber, and Liliane moved immediately to the far side of the bed, putting as much space between them as possible. Tòrr watched as she climbed under the covers, turning to face the wall.
"Liliane."
"Good night, Tòrr."
The dismissal was clear. He stood there for a moment longer, then moved to the chair by the fire. Not because he wanted to sleep there, but because she clearly needed the distance.
"Fer what it's worth," he said quietly, "that kiss wasnae part of any political calculation. That was just me. Wantin' ye."
She didn't respond, but he saw her shoulders tense slightly.
"And the alliance... aye, it matters. But nay more than ye dae. I just did a poor job of explainin' that."
Still nothing.
Tòrr settled into the chair, his body protesting after the day's violence. But physical discomfort was nothing compared to the ache in his chest as he watched Liliane's rigid form across the room.
He'd promised to help her save her sister. Had vowed to keep her safe. Had kissed her like he'd been drowning and she was air.
And somehow, in trying to be honest about what he needed, he'd made her believe that was all she was. A political necessity. An alliance to be secured. When the truth was far more complicated and far more dangerous to admit.
Because somewhere between that auction and that night, between fighting for her and holding her while she cried, he'd started to care.
Not just about keeping her safe or maintaining political advantage.
But about her. About making her smile, earning her trust, being worthy of the fierce loyalty she showed to those she loved.
He'd started to fall, and he hadn't even realized it until he'd already hit the ground. The chair was uncomfortable, his ankle ached, and his heart felt like it had been put through a wringer.