"The fever came in winter," she continued. "She'd been more fragile than usual that year. More bruises, more days spent in bed. When the sickness took hold, her body just... gave up. The healer tried everythin', but there was nothin' tae be done. She died three days after the fever started."
"Liliane." Her name was barely a whisper, rough with emotion.
"But now..." She took a step back, pressing her hands to her face, trying to hold back the tears. "Now he's failed tae reclaim me. His plans are ruined. His alliance is broken. And when men like him fail, they need someone tae blame. Someone tae punish."
"Nessa," Tòrr said grimly.
"Aye. Nessa." The tears came now, hot and unstoppable. "She's there with him. And I'm here. And I dinnae ken, I dinnae ken if she's safe. If he's hurt her already. If he's done somethin’ worse. I cannae protect her."
Arms closed around her, strong and steady, pulling her against a solid chest. She stiffened for just a moment before the dam broke completely and she sobbed into Tòrr's shirt, years of fear and grief and helplessness pouring out.
"I've got ye," he murmured against her hair. "I've got ye, lass. Let it out."
"I cannae lose her. She's all I have left. If he hurts her because of me, I willnae fergive meself."
"He willnae. I willnae let him." Tòrr's arms tightened. "I swear tae ye, Liliane. On me life, on me clan, on everythin' I hold sacred. We'll get her out. We'll bring her here, where she'll be safe."
Fresh tears spilled over, but these felt different. Lighter somehow. Like the weight she'd been carrying might finally have someone to help bear it.
"Thank ye," she whispered.
"Dinnae thank me yet. We havenae gotten her out." His forehead dropped to rest against hers. "But we will. I promise ye that."
They stood there for a long moment, wrapped in each other, the chamber quiet save for the crackle of the hearth. Liliane felt something shifting inside her, some wall she'd built brick by brick over years of protecting herself finally beginning to crumble.
She'd told him everything. The worst parts of her past, her deepest fear. And instead of using it against her, instead of dismissing it or telling her to be practical, he'd simply held her. Had promised to help. Had made her feel, for the first time in years, like she wasn't carrying that burden alone.
"Tòrr?" Her voice was small, uncertain.
"Aye?"
"When ye checked me wound earlier, after the fight..." She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "Yer hands were covered in blood. Their blood. But ye touched me face so gently. Like I might break."
"Ye looked like ye might break. Like one wrong move would shatter ye completely." His expression was impossibly soft. "I've killed men before. Done violence when necessary. But the thought of hurtin' ye, even accidentally..." He shook his head. "I'd rather cut off me own hand than cause ye pain."
"I believe ye." And she did. That was the terrifying part. "I believe ye mean that."
"Because it's true." His hand slid down to rest over her heart. "Whatever happens next, whatever we have tae dae tae get yer sister tae safety, ken that I'm with ye. Completely. Ye're nae alone anymore, Liliane. Ye'll never be alone again."
The words settled into her chest like stones; heavy, permanent, impossible to ignore and it made her cry. She'd spent years building walls to keep people out, to keep herself safe from the kind of pain her mother had endured. But standing there, wrapped in Tòrr's arms, feeling his heart beat steadily beneath her palm, those walls felt less like protection and more like prison.
Maybe, just maybe, it was time to let them fall.
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."
