"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 shemattered 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.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The afternoon sun the next day hung low over Keppoch, casting long shadows across the healer's garden. Tòrr stood at the edge of the yard, watching Liliane kneel among the herbs, her fingers moving with practiced efficiency as she plucked leaves and stems, placing them carefully in the basket beside her.
Saints, but ye are beautiful lass.
The memory of their kiss still burned through him, the taste of her, the way she'd melted against him before pulling away. The way everything had felt right for those few perfect moments before he'd ruined it with talk of alliances and political necessity.
Fool.
He'd spent most of the morning in council meetings, dealing with patrol reports and security measures. But his mind had kept drifting back to her, to the way she'd looked at himwith disappointment in her eyes when he'd reduced what was between them to practical terms.
