I need tae fix this. Explain meself better, dae what it takes tae make ye understand that even as important as the alliance is, ye matter me tae more.
Drawing a breath, he started across the yard toward her, his boots crunching softly on the gravel path. But as he drew closer, he heard something that stopped him in his tracks.
Laughter. Liliane's laughter, bright and genuine, floating on the afternoon air.
And it wasn't directed at him.
A guard stood near the garden wall; young, barely twenty, with an easy smile and the kind of carefree demeanor that came from not yet bearing the weight of command. He was saying something to Liliane, his expression animated, and she was laughing in response, her whole face lighting up in a way Tòrr had never seen.
"Och, I cannae believe ye actually did that!" she was saying, grinning up at the guard. "Yer poor sister must have been mortified."
"She didnae speak tae me fer a week," Malcolm replied cheerfully. "But it was worth it tae see the look on her face when that frog jumped out of her basket."
Liliane laughed again, the sound doing something strange to Tòrr's chest. "Ye're terrible. Remind me never tae cross ye."
"Och, ye could never cross me, me lady. Ye're far too kind fer that."
Something hot and unpleasant twisted in Tòrr's gut. Jealousy, sharp and unexpected, flooded through him like poison. He'd been walking toward her with the intention of apologizing, of trying to rebuild what he'd damaged the night before.
Instead, he found her laughing with another man. Looking at Malcolm the way she'd never looked at him; open, unguarded, genuinely pleased.
His jaw clenched as he closed the remaining distance between them, his earlier lightness evaporating like morning mist.
"Malcolm," he said, his voice coming out harder than he'd intended. "Dinnae ye have patrol duties tae attend tae?"
The young guard straightened immediately, his easy smile faltering. "Aye, me laird. And... "
"And ye were just leavin'. Now."
Malcolm's eyes widened slightly, and he glanced at Liliane briefly before Tòrr stepped between them, blocking the guard's view of her completely.
"Go."
"Aye, me laird." Malcolm backed away quickly, shooting one last apologetic look in Liliane's direction before hurrying toward the keep.
Silence settled over the garden, broken only by the rustle of wind through the herbs and the distant sounds of the keep. Tòrr turned to face Liliane, who had risen to her feet and was now regarding him with an arched eyebrow.
"What are ye daein' here?" she asked, her tone carefully neutral.
"I came tae see ye." The words came out more awkwardly than he'd intended, his earlier jealousy making him clumsy. "Tae see what ye were doin'."
"I'm collectin' herbs." She gestured to her half-filled basket. "As ye can clearly see."
"Aye. I can see that."
They stared at each other for a moment, the tension from the previous night hovering between them like a living thing. Tòrr felt uncharacteristically uncertain, unsure how to navigate that strange territory between them.
Finally, desperate to do something with his hands, he knelt beside her basket and reached for a sprig of rosemary. "What are ye collectin' them fer?"
"The healer needs them fer her remedies. And I'm learnin' how tae use some fer different purposes." She knelt as well, though she maintained a careful distance between them. "Why are ye really here, Tòrr?"
"I told ye. I came tae see ye."
"Aye, but why?" Her fingers moved deftly through the lavender, selecting stems with practiced care. "Ye're the laird. Surely ye have more important things tae dae than watch me pick herbs."
He should talk to her about last night. Should apologize for making her feel like she was just a political tool. Should explain that the kiss had meant more to him than any alliance ever could.
Instead, he heard himself ask, "What were ye laughin' about?"
