"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. Hadtae 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 pullback, 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.
