The answer, he suspected, was exactly what she'd said. Stop being the laird for just a moment. Stop calculating and strategizing and protecting himself behind walls of necessity.
Be the man who'd kissed her. The man who'd killed three people without hesitation to keep her safe. The man who'd held her while she cried and felt her pain as if it were his own. That man who knew what she meant to him. That man didn't need political justifications or practical reasons.
That man just wanted her. Period.
CHAPTER THIRTY
"Ye look like someone kicked yer favorite hound."
Tòrr glanced up from the cup of ale he'd been staring at for the past ten minutes to find Catherine settling into the chair across from him. The great hall was quiet in the late afternoon, most of the clan busy with their duties. His sisters, apparently, had other ideas about how to spend their time.
"I'm fine," he said automatically.
"Och, aye, ye look fine," Sofia said, appearing at his elbow with a teapot. "That's why ye're sittin' here glowerin' at innocent ale like it's personally offended ye."
"I'm nae glowerin'."
"Ye absolutely are." Alyson claimed the seat beside Catherine, her embroidery forgotten in her lap. "What's happened?"
"Naethin's happened."
Three pairs of eyes fixed on him with identical expressions of disbelief. Tòrr had faced down enemy warriors with less trepidation than he felt under his sisters' combined scrutiny.
"Right," Catherine said. "And I'm the Queen of England. Come on, braither. Out with it."
"There's naethin' tae tell."
"Is it Liliane?" Sofia asked, pouring tea with practiced efficiency. "Did ye two have a fight?"
"We didnae fight."
"Then what did ye dae?" Alyson leaned forward.
"We had a conversation," he said finally. "In the herb garden."
"What kind of conversation?" Catherine pressed.
"The kind where I made a complete arse of meself."
That got their attention. Sofia set down the teapot, Catherine abandoned her teasing grin, and Alyson's put down her embroidery.
"Tell us," Sofia said gently. "What happened?"
Tòrr took a long drink of his ale, buying himself time. But there was no avoiding it, his sisters would pry it out of him eventually. They always did.
"I kissed her last night," he said finally. "After the attack. After she told me about her maither and her faither and everythin' she's been carryin'."
Catherine's eyes went wide. "And?"
"And it was..." He searched for words. "Perfect. Right. Like naethin' I've ever felt before."
"But?" Alyson prompted.
"But then I ruined it by tellin' her I needed her tae stay. That I needed her as me wife tae stop her faither from securin' his alliance."
Three identical groans filled the hall.
"Och, Tòrr," Sofia said, pressing her hand to her forehead. "Ye didnae."
